I am posting again.
I am truly writing a life right now. I started this blog a different person. I was a woman stuck. I could see where I wanted to be in my life but I was weighed down by the unhappiness and gloom of my husband. A naturally caring and nurturing person, I gave up myself to the moods and emotional swings of a man never satisfied.
I believed we shared our lives together. Both of us were married before and knew what it was like to be in marriages where our spouses were disconnected from the idea of family- my ex-husband because of the drugs and alcohol he used to self medicate; his ex-wife struggled with her sexuality and theirs was a passionless relationship.
We dreamed of lives of true partnership where we could live out our dreams- me as a writer, him as an artist. We wanted our children to experience what it was like to have parents who adored one another so they could seek out the same examples for themselves.
I thought I'd found it. Despite the occasional cracks in the careful image he cultivated of a passionate, warm, loving, happy and involved man- I loved him deeply. We married and brought another child the world. This child would never have to refer to "Mommy's" or "Daddy's" house.
Now my husband questions every aspect of our life together. He doesn't think he loves me. He doesn't think he'll ever be romantically interested me again. He's not sure he wants to be married but he doesn't think he wants to be divorced. He's content to live together in a house with no passion.
For years, I watched him struggle with himself- his weight, his creativity, his self image. Now he has chosen to turn that inward hatred on me, making me the enemy. Unfortunately I have come to realize this is a pattern he has fallen in to before.
But through all of this I have learned something incredibly important- EVEN THOUGH SOMEONE CAN BREAK YOUR HEART, THEY CAN NOT BREAK YOU. As my blind grandmother who died at 102 used to say, "I'm navigating."
I have been hurt by my husband more than anyone has ever hurt me before but I can say with all honesty it has been the best thing that has happened to me. I sacrificed myself and my dreams to emotional and mental illness. I wasn't writing or creating, I was desperately trying to placate a man with a deep well of emptiness.
Now, I am writing. I am picking up the pieces of my life and creating a real family for my children. We were fractured for too long, retreating from the emotional vacuum that accompanies my husband. My older children are now not running from the room when he comes in, they have learned to ignore him and feel a desire to hold on to our life and our house. My children are proud of me for not breaking.
I pray. I meditate. I run. I laugh and I take care of myself. I hope he will find peace but I know now it is not up to me to do it for him. This detour has led me to see no one can write my life but me.