Note** I wrote this blog a few months ago but wasn’t ready to publish it yet. I feel it’s time to start talking a little about what’s been going on. While I wrote this back in June, our situation is pretty much still the same. This blog post is real and raw, but know that I do not hate my husband. I do not want to speak ill of him, especially in front of my children. It helped me to write this and I hope it’ll help explain what’s happening and maybe my story will help others. Who knows
Im writing this with tears in my eyes in hopes that it will help me to begin to heal.
I’m not sure that I’m going to publish it, but if you’re reading it, I guess I did.
It’s not a secret that writing helps me. I’ve written hundreds of blog posts and I’m known for my long Facebook posts about my insecurities. I’m hoping this post helps me do the same.
When I got married almost nine years ago, I made promises. I promised that it would be forever. I promised that I would do anything I could to make that marriage a good one. And I believe strongly that I have done that.
I’m not going to go into detail with all the things I feel I have done over the years, but I know in my heart that I have given it almost everything I have.
But sometimes that’s not enough.
A few times during our marriage, my husband has expressed to me how hard marriage is for him. Like all of us, he isn’t a fan of responsibility, or the restrictions that come with marriage. But we promised each other forever, so I assumed we would just figure it out and it would get better with time.
It turns out I was wrong.
In February of this year, my husband and I separated. He moved out of our fifth wheel that we had moved in to for him to go back to school and into his office at work. I didn’t tell anybody for a week, hoping he would just come home. But he didn’t. I cried silently, with the exception of my sister in law, nobody knew. I’d never felt more alone. But, that part was on me. I have lots of friends and family I could have reached out to, but I didn’t want others to know my pain, or my shame.
Weeks turned into months, and his office turned into his own apartment.
The hurt and sadness grew inside of me. I felt (feel) so inadequate. And I know what you’re thinking. I’ve heard it over and over again, it’s not my fault. And I get that, I really do. But that doesn’t take the sting away. That doesn’t help.
When the school year ended, I took the kids and moved eight hours away to my parent’s home. My husband stayed in the apartment, still working on his degree. The sting of this move was amplifed by the fact that I had lost a baby just a few months before the separation happened, and this summer was supposed to be spent with that new baby.
Clearly, life doesn’t work out how we plan.
I’m writing this because I want to be real. I want to be transparent. I want someone else who is struggling with this or who will struggle with this in the future to be able to reach out to me for help. Because every single trial I’ve been to up until this point has allowed me to help others, and I know this one will be no different.
I’ve been at my parent’s house now for two weeks and things have gotten worse. When I was in the same town as my husband, I’d hear lots of hopeful words from him. Lots of things that made me think that everything was going to be okay. Now those words are few and far between. Hope seems about gone.
And the truth is that if somebody wants to fix a marriage, it doesn’t take them six months to decide they want to fix it.
During our separation, our youngest daughter was in a bicycle accident and was life flighted to Spokane. Thank goodness she was okay, but I thought for sure that situation would help him see what he was losing. It didn’t.
We had a few other experiences, including our fifth wheel that we had lived in for the previous 3 years burning down, that I thought would definitely help him see what he was missing. But it never did.
*note* while the fifth wheel fire resulted in a total loss, we were not hurt and most of our stuff was out, so I am very grateful for that
Now that I’ve been here for two weeks, more and more information has been sent my way. Some of it is rumors, some of it truth. All of it seems to be more and more evidence that our marriage is over.
It hurts not being in control. It hurts to have your dreams taken away from you. What hurts the most is when your babies ask where daddy is, why he’s not here, and if they’re half orphans now.
It hurts spending nine years with somebody to find out that it can be so easily thrown away. And what hurts the very most is the fact that I still want to fix things, even after all this time.
I feel pathetic. I feel like a loser. I know what I would say to you if you were saying these things to me. He doesn’t deserve us. We don’t deserve his treatment. I know these things in my head. I know I’m not a loser, and I know that my worth isn’t dependent on him. But my heart just isn’t there yet.
I don’t want to talk bad about him. He’s given me three beautiful children, and while I think his actions are 100% his own, I do think he’s being tempted extremely well by the adversary. The devil’s main plan is to destroy families, and with mine at least, he’s succeeding.
I hope that in a few months, I’m able to write a blog post about surviving a divorce without losing yourself, or better yet, I’m able to write a post about how my marriage was saved when I thought all hope was gone. I’m holding out hope that it’s the second. But if it’s not the second, I know it will be the first. Because I can do all things through Christ. I’ve got a 100% survival rate up to this point in life, and this trial isn’t going to kill me either.
I know the first thing people want to know is how they can help. I get that. But there’s really nothing you can do. I’m okay. The kids are okay. If you have a few prayers you can spare, and some love you can give, that’s all we really need. Please love us through this. Me, the kids, and especially him. Because he needs it most of all.Share