At this moment in my life, I am not sure where my husband is. He left last night to take the rubbish to the dump after announcing that he’s not sure he loves me any more, and hasn’t come home. He isn’t answering his mobile phone. He isn’t responding to texts.
But I don’t buy it. The part about him not loving me. As much as it’s devastating to hear, I believe there’s more to the story. I believe he’s in a state of personal crisis. I believe this is about him.
I’m going to give you a challenge here. I’m going to give both you and me a challenge here. Let’s try in all this not to take sides. Because how does it feel to take sides? Do we get to be right? Self-righteous? I think there’s more suffering in self-righteousness than most of us are willing to fathom.
I see it like this: we all have our seasons of personal woe. I’ve certainly had mine. I know how much he hates his job, how much he punishes himself for not making enough money and not knowing where to go next with his career; how stuck and desperate he feels, especially in our small mountain town where the high-paying jobs are NOT plentiful.
I know that he’s suffering intensely. I know because I’ve been there. I feel his pain and I’ve told him so.
Advertisement
But he’s not hearing my voice. His own is too thunderous. He has to come to the end of it by himself. Just like Dorothy and me. And I know it’s more helpful to practise empathy here. Not anger. Or fear. Even though his words were like sharp sleet.
It’s like when teenagers scream “I hate you” and slam the door in their parent’s face. Does that “I hate you” have credibility? Or does the parent know instinctually that something upsetting happened at school? That it’s not about the parent at all?
I’m not saying that my husband is acting like a teenager. (Or, God forbid, that I’m his parent!) I’m just saying that I think there’s more to the story.
My husband is a great guy. Loyal. Supportive. Loving. A true family man. Staying out to all hours of the night and not calling isn’t something he does. But he’s been doing it a lot lately. I figure it’s his version of slamming the door in my face. And that’s when I know something really bad happened at work. He apologetically calls it “blowing off steam”, which is fairly easy to do in a place where there are countless lakes and rivers all around, a national park near by, not to mention ten bars in three blocks.
On those nights, he sleeps on the couch in his office, a short walk from downtown. How do I know this? It’s a small town. Everybody is under a microscope here. People like to report on each other like it’s an assignment for social studies class. Like this: “Is he doing OK?”
Advertisement
Just how important is it for me to know right now in my life . . . that in no uncertain terms . . . my husband is or is not having an affair?
It’s such a powerful question to ponder. How will the definitive truth help my commitment to not suffer? Never mind my marriage. To what extent is knowledge power right now?
Because what exactly am I supposed to do with that information?
If he is, in fact, having an affair, is it a deal breaker? Is it the automatic end of the marriage? Do I issue ultimatums and temporarily kick him out and turn the family on its ass? Is there any leveraging power there for me? Like-aha! Now I can FORCE you to go to therapy because . . . because . . . because — wait, why?
If I wanted to make him wrong, I wouldn’t have to work very hard. Because isn’t the declaration that his love for me is in question, by nature, an act of unfaithfulness in and of itself? A violation of our marriage vows? It does, however, beg the question: what is the “worse” I signed up for in “for better, for worse”? Maybe it would be a good exercise for minister types to make us write down our criteria when it comes to “worse”. But truth be told, I always knew that “worse” could be really, really bad.
Advertisement
The definitive truth I know for sure is this: my husband is in crisis, whether or not he’s having an affair. Whether or not he loves me.
And I love him.
Now, I know, dear reader, there’s a strong possibility that you’ve got your hackles up. You want to tell me I’m being a fool to put up with this unacceptable behaviour. You want me to fight.
Well, I do, too. I’m a good fighter. I’m famous for cutting to the chase and expediting genius make-ups at Mach speed.
But I’m opting for a different strategy, and I’m going to believe it will work in a way that fighting, persuading, and demanding never have. Because whether or not he comes back to me, I will be ultimately empowered by my commitment not to suffer. It’s a way of life. A way to life. And it’s about many and no religions. Plug it in wherever it meets your life. We all want to be free, don’t we?
Advertisement
And yes — this strategy is new to me, too. I’m sure it’ll be shaky at times. But I’m going for it. And I’m going to write my way through it. Both for my process. And for yours. For anyone in any situation in which one is tempted to go into panic mode, or worse, victim mode, rather than taking responsibility for one’s own wellbeing.
This is Not the Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness by Laura Munson (Piatkus Books, £9.99) is out on April 7. Pre-order a copy from the Times Bookshop for £9.49 on 0845 271 2134 or timesbookshop.co.uk