Why Did It Take So Long For Me To File For Divorce?

I Thought I Knew Him

His voice fades to the background. In TV land, this would be the part where the focus softens and the camera then pans to another background.

“I’m thinking we need…” My sweetie is mentioning grocery items.

But I am lost. There is a slight little catch on my pinkie nail and I keep running another finger over it.

Where did I leave the nail clippers?

I can feel the damn catch, and it’s annoying me.

That reminds me, I need to buy some new nail clippers. The old ones are not doing a good job.

I scrutinize the little miscreant. This demonic fleck of a nail. I must take action NOW.

I rise from my chair. I am marching off to war. Where the HELL did I put those clippers?

“So, what do you think?” my sweetie says. He was evaluating the empty spot on the snack shelf.

Important stuff fo’ sure.

Shit. I am caught with my hand in the in-attentional cookie jar. I feel a blush of shame as I realize that yet again; I am checked out.

Not that this is anything new to me. Besides falling off perfectly flat shoes and choking on my own spit, I am highly skilled in the art of checking out of a conversation in a blink.

It’s true.

Even worse, I’m afraid the attentional issues are more pronounced of late. I drift off in my inner world with alarming frequency.

Hangnails aside, it’s the oh-my-god-I’m-divorced moments that interrupt my thoughts. I will get triggered by the most random thing in my day.

Inside jokes. His favorite cake (his mom’s oatmeal cake with broiled coconut frosting). Kid stories. Wondering if he could put together a spreadsheet for me for my business.

Oooops! Not no mo.

The opportunities are legion for these mental escapades.

For 32 years, I was married. And now I am not.

It’s been over a year since the divorce was finalized, almost two years since we split. We had an initial cover story to tell people-I would be the advance team in moving out and finding a new place to live in a different city.

We were still very much undecided on to divorce or not. Or at least that is what I thought he thought.

As I do a post-mortem of my marriage, I realize I had no fucking clue what he thought.

And that is a huge iceberg of a thought for me to explore. There are a shit ton of presumptions underneath.

I had no clue.

But wait, we were married for so long. I KNOW him, damnit.

Certainly, that allows me a little liberty in thinking I knew what he was thinking.

Familiar with his habits, yes. Familiar with his thinking process (a way more detail-oriented process compared to mine), yes.

But what he is thinking?

Nope. I had no clue.

Was he the man I thought I knew or the man I created in my imagination? Keeping that fantasy going was getting exhausting.

He was a player in my fantasy of a “Good Christian Marriage.” Sort of like playing house only there’s a real mortgage to pay.

The more my marriage crumbled, the more I tried to double down.

If I just work harder. Get into therapy. Try to help him more.

Use leg braces if you can’t walk, ffs!

I excused his behavior. Rolled with the contempt. Made myself smaller. Allowed myself to be treated less than I was worthy of.

Friends could see what was going on. But not I.

They just don’t know him the way I do. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

I thought I knew him.

I did not.

That’s as good a place as any for me to surrender: I did not know.

I wasn’t a chump. Not a fool. I just did not know.

When the curtains were pulled back, my ignorance was on full display.

I did not know.

But I DO know him, my heart protests. I understand the goodness. I understand the sacrifices he made for our family. I know deep down who he is.

I thought I even knew aspects of his shadow.

But I did not know.

Is it any wonder I get distracted by a hangnail? Preoccupation with a hangnail is so much easier than processing trauma.

These mental gyrations are exhausting. And this is, in part, why it took me so long to finally file for divorce.

I thought I knew him. I thought we were on the same page.

I did not know.

Thankfully, I DO know where the clippers are. I paused from my writing and dealt with my annoyance.

My mind is back online. I am in the present moment.

And yes, Sweetie, we are indeed fresh out of Oreos.

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