Sometimes I think hypocrisy is one of the most hurtful things out there.
I married young (20) to a guy 11 yrs older who acted like I was the stars and the moon and he fully supported my dreams of an advanced degree and a life where my career meant travel and my off time meant new adventures.
Turned out he liked the idea, the pretty words, but hated the actual living. When he met me I had a lot of responsibility for my age and worked long hours. Once married? Constant complaints, wanted me to shirk duties to spend more time with him, didn't want me to go out of town, or spend time with friends, or travel with my sister. He "needed" me and "worried." But don't worry, this was all for me, all because of his love.
I was pregnant 5 months later, and spent years at home with my children, of which I have three. I get very sick and have morning sickness all day, all pregnancy as well as dizzy spells and etc. I worked through most of my first pregnancy, then part time with my second. I nannied full time in summers after her and with my 3rd. My husband worked normal daytime job hours for most of this, but switched a couple times. He had a dream of having his own construction business. I backed him, and again for another reason delayed going back to school. I worked hard as his accountant, three babies, unknown health issues as this time caused my pain and exhaustion (years later I would find out systemic immune responses to foods) and still did all of the cooking, cleaning, bill management, packed lunches everyday for his little team, groceries, everything.
He's very vocal, I'm not necessarily the quiet type in full, but I am not one to critique and compare like that. You do you, your way, take responsibility, I'll do the same.
Everyday he picked me apart, but framed it like I was unreasonable if I was hurt, I should never make him walk on eggshells, I need to understand my shortcomings. With each job there was no established time home, yet I was criticized when dinner wasn't hot and ready for him. 4pm? 7pm? Didn't matter. But I should have checked in more. I should have known.
He was the one who insisted on babies. He was the perfect dad at the hospital. Everything on me when we got home. Not only was I recovering from childbirth without help, taking care of a baby, then more, he expected to be waited on still as well, and continuously complained about the 6 week wait rule.
I will never forget when my ab muscles started tearing in the 2nd pregnancy, diastasis recti. My Dr said it doesn't usually hurt but can in some cases, especially stronger muscles ironically. He said to listen to my body, don't lift things so heavy it causes that tear sensation or pain. I asked hubby to empty the big heavy kitchen trash for me, reiterated it was causing me pain. "Your Dr said pregnancy isn't sickness, I was there. You'll be just fine baby. You can do it."
I lost some of myself in that moment.
I kept doing the trash. It kept hurting.
I realized that a lot of the tiredness was depression.
He told me to get medication because he was tired of dealing with me not being energetic. So I did. I hurt less... but I didn't feel joy more.
He said I was cold. I was frigid. I tricked him. I'm not particularly expressive of deep or sad things... so more and more often, quiet. He said to be hurt and thus withdrawn was vile manipulation like "those wordly women." I had to carefully preserve his ego, while he trampled mine then demanded starry eyed infatuation. Anytime I tried to ask him to help, to be kinder, to just stop complaining at me because for the love of God I AM TRYING... I was criticized.
I gritted my teeth and lifted my head and fought with every bit of will left in my spirit to keep up with everything and not to sink into the black hole calling for me and sucking at my heels.
I failed, everyday. But damn it I got back up the next and tried again.
For years he told me I had it easy, he could do what I do much better. He could stay on top of it. I needed to keep struggling and learn to be less weak. I needed these trials. I needed set straight.
His business failed and he was looking for work again. This time I said "me too, we're going under now so it's whoever can land income first." He said don't worry, people have my back, something great will fall into my lap it always does. So he sat. And I fought for us. Months pass, and at the final stretch I finally got a solid lead. I interview, am hired on the spot.
I'm nervous- it's a lot, and most of the year consists of grueling hours. Lots of interaction with people, accounting, management... but salary. I wonder how things will go- maybe I'll learn watching him succeed at what I've tried at for years, but it'll still hurt to have pushed so hard and fallen constantly short. I hope I can be enough at work. I hope he doesn't lose even more respect for me as he easily manages the household.
Yet somehow, I still need to do groceries and bills, even though he did nothing to help. Ok.
The house doesn't get cleaned. So, I still do it, but am less perfect, I don't have the time and energy.
The dishes sit in the sink. I do them.
Dinner is rarely ready for me. I make it.
I don't complain. I don't get even. I don't nag, point out his flaws, I stay gentle. I bite my tongue. I keep trying.
It's like a knife in my spirit.
I excelled at work, they loved me. Those weirdos even think I'm smart.
He keeps complaining about me, and I realize I've never felt so lost. My eyes are opening and I'm struggling to make sense of this all, of him. Reality as he painted it is crumbling.
He says older kids (elementary) are harder than littles.
They are in school most of the day.
But I'm sure they seem harder to him... he never had to work at it before. The sleepless nights, the worry, the work, organizing, appts., meals, everything was on my shoulders. He couldn't do it. He didn't understand. And I realized I knew this pattern; when things got hard, he gave up.
This is where I found out a lot of my physical pain and issues were caused from reacting to foods. I went on yet another elimination diet, but with a twist- carnivore. I lost 20 lbs of inflammation the 1st week. My body healing helped my mind clear more, but as weight fell off and I started being my old self again, taking care of my body through exercise and my new dietary limits, I saw a new side of him on display.
He lashed out at me in insecurity. He constantly expressed worry I would get too thin, and not look good to him. He tried to encourage me to eat the things that hurt me. But this was it, this was my desperate push to regain myself and I, for one, refused to bend. I was finally healing.
Then Trump, then Covid hit. The man who didn't touch politics was obsessed. Sometimes 3 devices at once. I was laid off beginning of 2020. "Great!" He tells me. "About time I get a freaking break." And just like that the little bit he shouldered slipped back onto mine.
But reality had already cracked.
I kept protecting my health, and I kept taking care of my family. The contrast continued to grow more clear.
He was always the best, the smartest, the most efficient at every job. But now we're home together for months. I hear the conversations. I realized I believed in a character he painted, not a reality. I realized how much I didn't trust my own thoughts. I realized my effed up childhood of gaslighting, abuse, and manipulation had set me up for this. He could come away from a debate he objectively lost, and believe he won it. He could sit on his ass for months leaving his little wife to nearly despair trying to keep her head up... and feel no remorse, instead more insults. I pitied him.
I went back to work. I was promoted.
Everyday I listen to crazy political talk. I've asked him to leave me out of it, he won't, despite that there's plenty I am not allowed to say. He should always get to talk about what he wants, I should always listen. If I'm smart enough I'll see what he sees and agree.
But I can't unsee it all.
I have realized I'm the strong one.
He relies on his emotions. He's fickle, he'll break promises, he seeks his own gratification no matter what pain he causes me. He doesn't take responsibility, he doesn't face his problems. He might be able to break me physically but I've spent my life bending under this weight and only grown stronger.
Sometimes I laugh to myself now. I often wonder what was wrong with me before to fall for his shit in the first place... but at the same time I get it. I didn't trust my own reasoning because I was taught I couldn't... all the uncertainty was just the dissonance of their manipulation with reality.
I don't know what the next step is. I keep the peace, I protect and care for my children. I tuck them in every night. I shoulder it all.
I'm picking up French, learning new exercises, facing a new work season, trying to be better at my priorities.
I don't want to be fickle, to break my vows and be no better.
But I realize there is no fixing this. There is no fixing him. So I spend my life here or I leave.
I don't know where I'm going.
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