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Dear Breakup Girl,
I'm back, 6 months later, still ruminating, but with a smidgen of progress.
(You posted my last letter in your October 5
column.)
Where to start? Well, in the middle. First, to address the dilemma that was
plaguing me back then, I can say with a smile that I have (almost) completely
gotten over the affair guy, a fortunate product of both time and the fact that
he left the company and I didn't have to see him anymore. Time and distance,
that age-old cure-all. I have a twinge now and then, but I can actually look
back on the whole experience with some compassion for him and for me, and I'm
quite grateful that he put up the boundaries that I couldn't muster.
And yes, I took Belleruth's and your advice and have focused on the
marriage. I did so, however, not by being *in* the marriage, but by stepping
out of it. Things remained very volatile throughout the Fall; my husband had a
very hard time dealing with the affair and with my questioning of my feelings,
which resulted in a great deal of pressure, a lot of rage, some verbal abuse,
and a very unhealthy situation for both of us. We were in marriage counseling,
went to a program for troubled marriages called Retrouvaille, and both
continued individual therapy. However, the combination of my finally facing
some of the dramatic doubts I had buried for so long, especially regarding my
sexual attraction/passion for him, and his panic over the thought of losing me,
didn't let any of those things work very well, and we were both miserable and
the whole situation felt very destructive. I had been desperate for a
separation anyway and had only stayed because I thought it would be too
traumatic for him after finding out about the affair and learning of my doubts
about everything. But one morning I got up and wrote him a note saying,
"We need a separation. We're going to destroy ourselves and each other
this way." He moved out, which he later admitted was his way of keeping me
from doing so, a situation which brought me enormous, immediate relief.
During that time, I continued my obsessive rumination on what I wanted, how
I felt so incredibly ambivalent, how I longed to move on, to let go, but how I
also doubted about whether I was just running away from the situation, from the
guilt, from the hard work it would take, not only to get over the events of the
past months but also to address the serious sexual problems we'd had all along,
and to overcome that sense inside me that something was somehow *missing* for
me. (See?)
I read every book I could get my hands on, talked to my trusted and very
supportive, loving friends, confided in my mother, wrote in my journal, read
web sites about marriage and divorce, you name it.
I guess the whole exercise was really one of finding and then listening to
my own voice. I didn't know that I had lost it, or buried it, but now, shocked
into reality, I had to deal. Meanwhile, though, my husband decided he was
moving back in, that leaving was not what he wanted, and that he wanted us to
work on things. The problem? I guess what I was trying to do was to get there
myself, to get to that point where I really knew, deep in my heart, that I
wanted to work on things, that I was doing it not because I thought I should,
or because I didn't want to devastate him, but because I had the fire in my
belly for it. Several weeks later, I moved out, stayed with friends for several
weeks until I found my own apartment, and have been living alone, for the first
time in my life, for 3 months now.
The result? For me: A lot of relief, a sense of joy at experiencing some of
the individuality and freedom I never had, having been in a relationship with
him since age 20 and marrying at 23, a sense of my own strength and resilience
that I didn't even know I possessed, space to think, a place to decorate, an
excitement over the future. I was also escaping my husband's understandable but
quite unpredictable and destructive verbal abuse (an anger I could certainly
understand but could not take). To be honest, when I left, I thought it was
over, but I was also trying to give myself an "out" in that, maybe,
just maybe, I would feel that fire in my belly to return.
Where am I now? Well, I don't really feel it, but I'm wondering now if I'm
waiting for something to happen that I shouldn't expect after everything that's
happened. I do indeed love him, I do. He's been part of my soul, we grew up
together, and it kills me to know how badly I have hurt him. I do miss him in
many ways, but in a strange way I guess I just find myself wanting to let go,
to let us have the past and give ourselves a chance to start over.
My fear? That I'm making the biggest mistake of my life. That I'm violating
the basics of what marriage is all about, that I am running, that I'm being
lazy, that I will wake up one day and realize that I'm searching for a feeling
I may never find. My fear of going back? That I won't get to do the searching
and will feel resentment and never really know.
I have even had a few dates, real dates that were just about getting to know
someone new. It was funny: I felt guilty each time before going, but better
afterwards. I wasn't particularly interested in either guy, but at the same
time I enjoyed the breather and the feeling of potential for the future. One of
the real problems in my relationship with my husband, I guess, from Day One,
was that his feelings always seemed stronger and more all-encompassing than
mine, which early on felt very romantic and definitely not something someone
should turn away from, especially when the person was kind, loving, giving,
devoted, funny, fun, and all that. Another problem was that, from the
beginning, his feelings were always so loud and clear that I felt overpowered
and didn't know how to, or even if I should, listen to mine.
How, exactly, do I turn away from someone who has loved me through so much,
supported me through so much, and who is eager to work on things and try to
save our marriage? It all just sounds so ideal, like this is what marriage and
commitment are all about. Why can't I get there? I have these endless fantasies
about dating and having lovers and learning more about myself in the process,
but I guess I keep wondering if I have the right to any of that, or if I'm
being a big fool by letting a very good man go. I know this is heavy stuff.
Sorry. Any thoughts are so welcome, you don't even know.
-- Lucinda
Dear Lucinda,
Running? Lazy? Work on it? Lucinda, if you had decided
to leave because the Magic 8 Ball said to, that would be one thing. But you
have read books, consulted websites, talked to good friends, done turbo
therapy, gone to marriage retreats with french names and silent letters -- even
confided in your mother -- and you wonder if you're throwing something
away willy-nilly? What the dilly? Look, some relationships don't work out
because one or both partners don't want them to, or because they just won't,
which are the same. What can I tell you? Well, I won't tell you to walk away
from your husband. But I will tell you that if you choose to, you've made a
pretty airtight case for Having Tried.
How do you turn away from someone like your husband?
That, my dear, is, like, the Breakup Question of the Universe. Isn't it
galling? Someone is standing there, holding out his/her heart and saying,
"Here," and you are saying, "No, thank you." It's
unbelievably melancholy. If breakups didn't almost always, by definition,
include that kind of turning away, me and those Ratatouille people would be out
of a job
So if you do turn away, do so gently, firmly, clearly,
lucidly. Knowing you've done all you can -- and everything you learned in the
process -- will actually cushion the earth where his heart slips through his
fingers; he will pick it up again. You may not measure six feet like our water
girl, above -- but you are walking taller than most already, I
promise.
Love,
Breakup Girl
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