I made a huge mistake. It was 12 years ago and Bub and I were in marriage counseling. We were married 8 years and had two small kids at that point, and we hated each other. Not just a little. I know I can only speak with truth from my own perspective—and I did hate him. I hated him with a ferocity that one only has for someone that they once loved, or still love. But even though the H word never passed his lips—sure, other ones did, much worse ones—I knew, as I know my own name, that he hated me. What I don’t know is why he agreed to counseling. I have theories: 1) It was free. Bub doesn’t pass up a lobotomy if it is free. 2) By refusing to engage, he would thereby concede our marriage was over. Bub concedes nothing. Ever. And here is what I suspect the true reason was 3) Bub found a new way to try to change me. Maybe an impartial third party could convince me that I am a horrible person who needs to be different to make him happy. So we go to weeks of sessions and it’s clear that I am worthless and that Bub is inattentive and he is inattentive because I am worthless and on and on and on. After months of this, we reach the end of our free sessions and our counselor gives us an assignment that in retrospect I think she should have given at the beginning of our therapy. She asked each of us what we would like the other to do to make us happy, and “be sure you do it every day.” Don’t you think that that is something that should have been put on the table at the beginning of therapy? Maybe get some positive dialog going instead of just the negative. I’m just saying. So Bub tells her this long list of things that I do wrong, most involving organization and cleaning. I tell her one thing, and this is where my huge mistake came in. I asked that—not everyday mind you, but just occasionally—just occasionally tell me I’m pretty. In 12 years he has not said that I am pretty or any variation of the phrase. Until the end of our marriage earlier this year, Bub is the only one I cared would think me attractive. His omissions became truth. Looking back at pictures of me from that time, I see a pretty woman who did nothing to enhance her beauty. No makeup, no hair care, no care in clothing, no confident posture. No confidence. Since I left Bub that has changed. I care what others think now, and more importantly I know that it is vital that I think of myself as pretty. I am pretty. And it’s surprising to me that I am now in my late 40s and I get more attention than I did when I was in my 20s. I get asked out a lot, but I’m still too timid to actually go on a date. But something happened last week. At school, a beautiful, outgoing 18 year old girl asked me on a date. Of course, I won’t be dating her either. But it turns out Bub was right. I’m not pretty. I’m fucking HOT!
