“Until we move and discuss, or you – arrive at an answer, I can’t,” my husband said.
He’d come home for lunch and was about to leave, and I’d attempted to hug him.
Apparently if he can’t have connection and intimacy at the exact minimum level he believes the relationship should have, he’ll have none at all, thanks.
I had gone out of my way not to cut him off, but what I left him wasn’t enough.
So he cut himself off entirely.
I’m not going to lie. My gallows humor kicked in immediately. As soon as he walked away I wanted to laugh.
The laughter, of course, is covering fear of what will happen.
He contacted me via messenger later, to try and clarify that he needs physical distance, that he’s ‘in stasis’ until we move.
Then he chatted with me, light, friendly, even teasing – reminding me of what I’ve always liked about him. He was passing the time until he could leave work, because he hadn’t slept well and wanted to come home and nap.
When he came home, he said to let him know if anything changes before we move, or if it’s not going to change.
He said he knows I’m trying to keep my head above water, but that he’s being shredded by what’s happening.
My empathy might be provoked into a more powerful response in his favor if not for the fact that I know what I’ve been through for 16 years now, and how I just kept pushing myself and pushing myself, sacrificing my comfort and happiness for his.
He’s been confronted by my insistence on one of humanity’s most basic needs for less than a year. Asked to give me emotional space and let me process my feelings on my own for a month, and already it’s proving to be too much for him.
That man laid beside me every night for years, knowing full well that I had trouble sleeping because of his habits, and he didn’t even offer to move his habits to another room, or sacrifice his comfort for mine.
I’ve sacrificed my comfort and happiness for 16 years, and merely reduced, rather than ended, my sacrifices for his comfort for the last month, and he’s being shredded.
What am I supposed to do with that?
That’s a rhetorical question.
I remember him telling me that he’d feared I outgrow him. That he wanted me to get help, anyway. That he wouldn’t screw me over because I’m the mother of his children.
Divorce can make monsters out of people, even people you wouldn’t think could become that.
I don’t know what the safest path forward is. I don’t know if there IS a safe path forward.
I just know that I’ve been reduced to practically begging for my needs while he falls apart because my needs have interfered with his comfort.