It’s been just over three weeks since my entire world started over, but it was a long time coming.
My husband and I had never really gotten along that well. Not even before we were married. We ignored the red flags and stayed together even though we fought nearly every single day. Even though we said we’d never be married, after he figured out it was about a $12,000 difference in what we’d pay in taxes he decided we should and we had a little wedding to seal the deal at the end of 2014.
By this point he was already telling me that my children and I need to “get out” every time I tried to stand up for myself during his outbursts. I made plenty of mistakes myself, and I own that. Nothing I did though was ever quite enough. Every time a video game upset him or the dogs made a mess, he poked and prodded and interrogated me until he found a way to make every single negative thing that happened to him something he could yell at me for.
He was angry. He was aggressive. He said horrible things that tore down every shred of confidence I had.
I stayed anyway and tried to do the one thing he wanted in the world, to give him a child that was “his”. He never quite accepted my two sons even though he’d lived with us since they were babies. He wanted a child of his own and I agreed to try. I had a violent miscarriage that left me in the hospital with serious complications and his response was to tell me, “Miscarriages don’t just happen. You did this. You did something wrong. You killed my baby and you must have done it on purpose.” We had two confirmed (painful) miscarriages, and two more we figured out at home, in just a year’s time.
By January a doctor had told me it was a bad idea to keep trying in my medical state, I shouldn’t be trying at all and should accept not having any more children, and that if I did insist on trying more that I should wait a year. He couldn’t accept that and calmly looked at me in the living room before saying, “We should divorce.”
I know my world should have been shattered and destroyed, but in a small way I was relieved. I’d no longer be getting constantly yelled at. No more walking on eggshells. No more worrying that every time he was upset about work, he’d search for a reason to yell at me instead. No more watching my sons turn into him. Even my child said after we left, “That means you won’t have to get yelled at when we go to sleep anymore mom.”
So we packed up what I could fit into my van and left for my parents’ house. On Sunday it will be a month since we came here. It’s funny how things seem to work out though. My parents had just bought a new house with several extra rooms and two living rooms. They want me to stay while I finish school and not rush back out of here. I don’t know what I’d do without them. I have a job interview tomorrow so I can start working again for the first time in five years. My kids are getting along in their new school after a bit of a transition. I’m closer to the people I love and finding myself again for the first time in a long time.
I’m almost 28, a single mom of two kids, twice divorced, living with my parents, starting over my career, going back to college, preparing to do a lot on my own…
So here’s to starting over in every way. I have an incredible support system and I’m ready to dive right in.