Being a Wife and Mother is a Woman’s Highest Calling

And the descent from such height is a real bitch

I thought things couldn’t get any worse. Boy, was I wrong. So much for all the praying, book reading, and therapy. I wasn’t even sure what I was dealing with. But my body was picking up the signals my mind couldn’t bear to think. Fibromyalgia flares, IBS that had me running to the bathroom multiple times a day, and growing anxiety punctuated with panic attacks.

Good times.

We didn’t renew our lease on our rented home. But where to go with an unstable income, our youngest son in college, and a husband who is increasingly stonewalling?

I had bird-dogged our homes over the years and was good at it. But this was a new level of challenge.

Ah! Looky here! An ad for a position at one of our favorite hiking spots. It was the last day of the ad, so I immediately emailed an inquiry. In exchange for accommodations in a small trailer on the property, we would perform cleaning duties and be the gatekeeper.

With my best cheerleading energy, I presented the idea to my husband. We had always wanted to try tiny house living and this would be the opportunity to explore the idea.

The interview resulted in the offer. It seemed providential on some level; we would be the new caretakers.

With no rent due, we would reduce our living expenses and since both of us were working, we could pay off the debt we had accumulated pursuing a business idea that didn’t work out.

Our son could live in the dorms and we would use the time to focus on rebooting our marriage and business. Bonus- my favorite hiking trails were literally right outside the camper door.

Well, that was the bullshit positivity I was sputtering.

Inwardly, the despair was growing. I could see our standard of living continuing to shrink. We packed up our household once again and put into storage.

What the fuck are we doing?

During this time, he introduced me to an accounting colleague. He found her edgy flavor a refreshing change from a typical accountant personality.

I found her to be nice enough but told him after meeting her, she seemed a little unstable to me. (A mutual friend would later confirm my intuition, and bluntly stated, “yeah, she’s a little cray cray.”)

But hey, I was happy he found a colleague with some energy and vision. I noticed there seemed to be more of a friendship forming than just professional.

I was supportive. If this is encouraging him, yay. Then things started to feel a bit weird.

We had also tried to keep an eye out for young single moms over the years. My sister had been a single mom, so I grew up seeing the struggles firsthand.

He suggested we “adopt” this young woman and her young daughter. He mentioned getting a Christmas present for the daughter.

WTF?! We are barely hanging on financially and you want to buy a present for this child?

More weirdness was unfolding. My spidey senses could no longer be ignored.

While we were walking downtown during Christmas activities, the tension was thick. I would often reach for his hand when we walked but there was no hand available. He was busy texting.

The silence from him was only interrupted by incoming texts. Then he was giggly and smiling.

Who are you texting? I asked.

The irritation over my question was clear. But he told me. It was her.

Say what? The cray-cray single mom who was young enough to be our daughter? I don’t remember much of the rest of the evening.

Time in the camper became even more tense. Except for when he was buried in his phone, his body was positioned to block any view I might catch.

I knew he was talking to her. Finally, I drew a deep breath and asked him what the hell was going on.

Finally, a reality check. He told me he had gotten emotionally attached to this gal. I had heard about “emotional affairs” before and was horrified it was now my reality.

He asked me to read and watch YouTube videos by Ester Perel, a psychologist who specializes in affairs. I immersed myself, hoping I could find some hope to grab onto.

What I found only brought more despair. Perel’s clinical approach to emotional and sexual affairs had a “well, things happen” flavor to it I found abhorrent. Sometimes people just need to explore untaken paths, she advised. It seemed to me she was offering tacit approval to those wanting forbidden fruit.

She described the history of marriage as a societal construct that for some, no longer works.

The train sped up. No amount of positive reframing could deny this truth.

I reached out for help. Begged him to talk to me. Stonewall. Stonewall.

Turned to a respected life coach friend for input. It was a waste of time. It was clear he didn’t want to talk.

Meanwhile, that close friend who described the gal as cray cray dropped not one bomb, but two.

She informed me that my husband had propositioned this young woman to take things “to the next level.”

The world began spinning as my friend repeated what he had told her. The young woman refused his advances and informed him he was solidly in the friend arena.

When I confronted him on this later, he denied it. I couldn’t believe my ears. My friend was a close confidant and I would trust her with my life. She had no reason to lie.

It was this same friend who told me a short time later, “I hear he’s in massage therapy school now.”

Another leg sweep. We had discussed him switching careers and how to pull it off. God knows, I was more than ready to sacrifice anything in order for him to enjoy in his work.

The deal had been, he would finish tax season and enroll the following fall. He would pay cash for the tuition.

Instead, he quiet quit his clients during tax season, took out an $8000 student loan and enrolled in the next class. I was the last one to know. It was another violation of my trust, as we had agreed in the early days of our marriage to never make a big financial decision without consulting one another.

And not only has he made a huge financial decision independently; he’s now telling me he’s not sure if he “believes” in marriage.

The dumpster is engulfed in flames. I’m beside myself with worry and fear. While all this was going on, I stood by helpless as I watched our adult children struggle with entry into the adult world. There was no longer a place to call home for them to come to. And there sure as hell wasn’t any extra money to help them with college expenses.

What to do…what to do????

I would still support his new school path. But requested he block all contact with the young lady. It was clear the resentment for me was growing. I felt like I was being compared to her and came up short in every measure. The message came through snappy replies, stonewalling, and passive aggressive comments: I couldn’t do anything right. I was a critical, controlling bitch.

Any blocking, if at all, was short-lived.

This time period was a strange mixture of life going slow motion with Covid, and speeding train.

There was pleasant news during this time. Our oldest was engaged. We adored his fiancée and delighted at the addition to our family.

I thought, thank God, maybe his wedding will be an opportunity for us to renew our commitment to each other. It was a happy distraction, and we had something to discuss that wasn’t heavy or confrontational. It felt like an act of mercy, really. I honestly don’t know how I held it together as I look back. (And I’m also mindful of the fact that during this stressful time, cancer cells were slowly building up in both my breasts. The body keeps the score when mental and emotional health is in tatters.)

We head to Montana for their wedding. What could be a more perfect setting for healing? A glorious Montana summer day to celebrate love!

At the reception hall, the bride’s mom set up a table with pictures of relatives from both sides. It felt like such a good omen. Her parents were married many years like us, and samesies for grandparents on both sides. No divorces! Yes, siree…marriage is a commitment. You work through the hard times! Surely such a legacy would divorce-proof their marriage.

While I had, once again, naively thought these were good signs portending a better future.

When one is on a speeding train, who’s got time for reading signs? Especially the ones that warn Bridge Out Ahead.

Besides, I dismissed any such negative musings. Focus on the positive! Certainly, things couldn’t get any worse. We hit bottom and now the only way to go was up.

A sign doesn’t care if you pay attention or not. It’s just a sign after all, right?

But to ignore is to your own peril. I didn’t know it, but the train was now over the edge.

I would find out, several months later, he had been talking to his new girlfriend, in between wedding activities.

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