Is that a gaslight in your pocket or are you just happy to keep me?
When you live in the yellow tinge of a gaslight life becomes hazy and dull, you don’t realize how crisp the real world can be.
Thinking back, I could now identify a pattern I couldn’t or wouldn’t look at too closely before now. The divorce, it seemed, had lifted the haze. It took him leaving for me to connect the dots. What follows are some of those dots that stand out in my mind; potential turning points where I chose, with a stern suggestion or impossible situations, to keep the status quo.
My job
After the birth of my first son, and before my second son was born, I had been let go from work. The time spent alone with my only child is still precious to me. Having my second son was a joy as well, but I quickly found that juggling two kids with no family or outside help was harder than words can describe. I was often lonely and depressed. Mostly, I had the kids to talk to while my husband worked on conquering the outside world for us and his new business. We lived comfortably, but I was careful of how I spent money. Paying attention to the cost of groceries, clothes and other necessities, we did not live extravagantly.
It was for these reasons, that when my husband came home and blew his stack over a $6 dollar train craft project I had purchased for the boys, I announced I was going back to work. He didn’t argue, which I interpreted as consent.
Four months later, after daily searches on monster.com, I secured a good paying job with excellent benefits. At the time, I thought my husband would begin to participate more fully in our kids’ lives. The opposite occurred; the more successful I became at work the less help I received. Arranging child care, transporting the kids, doctors’ appointments, and sick days were all on me. The non-verbal cues of the arched eyebrow and glares combined with the questions of “How was I planning to coordinate X, Y or Z” made it clear that I had chosen to go back to work so the burden of logistics was mine.
The next few years consisted of the same push and pull. The hubs was never satisfied with my abilities as a mother, wife, or housekeeper because of the time consumed by my job; but when I would get fed up and discuss quitting my job he would review the budget and conclude that the family needed the income and benefits.
So there I was. Trapped between two worlds. I could not fully participate in or excel in either world. Finally, one day after being humiliated once again for failing to meet his expectations of working a full day, picking up all of our now 3 kids, feeding them and making it to soccer on time, I laid it on the table.
“I need help,” I told him.
He looked blank for a minute then replied: “leave work early”. “You make time to work out, you can make time for this” He added.
“Yes” I agreed, “I make the time by getting up at 5 am. I have no control over when practices are held.”
“I have no control over my schedule” He countered.
“Look” I pleaded, I know you are busy but you have to understand that I have no family here and my friends are just as busy as I am. I see other fathers finding time to help.”
He shrugged. “Leave work early and make it work. If you lose your job it would be a windfall in unemployment money.”
I can’t articulate how angry his words made me.
I’d listened to him constantly rambling on about “his workers” showing up to work late and leaving early. I have held a job for the better part of my life and have a solid work ethic. I took pride in my job and wanted to do it well. I could not justify or imagine sauntering in and out of work as a volunteer. His attitude towards my work made me feel as though he did not value my self-respect.
I stood my ground. “I’ll do what I can, but realize that you are asking me to do the same thing that you complain your employees do all the time so I don’t want to hear about it anymore!”
This encounter was the beginning of the end for us. I took my first step out of the haze.
Cooking school
I began cooking school during my second pregnancy. I attended morning classes while baby boy number one stayed with another stay at home Mom. Back to work and pregnant with our 3rd child, I had three courses left to complete my culinary degree.
Cooking had always been my passion and the focus on the possibility of one day working in a real kitchen filled me with joy! Working full time and taking classes until 10 pm, while waddling around with 60 extra pounds (tasting was part of the class), was both exhausting and exhilarating!
I was taking evening classes which, unfortunately, caused me to miss class when my husband was unable to watch the kids. Knots would form in my stomach as class time got closer and I was unable to relax until he confirmed that no schedule changing crisis had occurred. These unplanned schedule changes and missing class became a bone of contention between us. In the end, I was forced to give up the dream. I had been unable to keep up when I missed class. Additionally, money was always tight. The Hubs had begun calling me “Scholarship” (obviously I went to school on his dime). I hoped that since I quit, he would stop.
At the time, I chalked his unpredictable hours up to the erratic schedule of a business owner. Now though, I see that he deftly manipulated his schedule to spend time with the children at his convenience, spouting “I own the place so I can leave when I want”. I realize it was never couldn’t, it was always wouldn’t or didn’t want to. I’ve come to the sad realization that he didn’t want me to chase my dream.
Grad School
About 2 years ago it dawned on me that I was never quitting my job. The husband would not support it and I was not prepared to fight him. Once that realization set in, I wanted to commit more fully to my work.
Grad school was the next step, so when “Dearest” put his full support behind the idea I took the plunge. Our state school happens to have a program tailored to my specific discipline that met one weekend a month with a completion date approximately 3 years down the road. The program was perfect and I enthusiastically collected the required documents and references submitting my application with a sense of purpose. After a month, the review of my application led to 2 phone interviews before acceptance for the fall.
Rushing home to share the good news, I was caught off guard with the wall of negativity that suddenly met me.
Hubs started with “You’ll never see me or the kids. You’ll work 40 hours a week, you’ll need 20 for school, then there’s sleep.”
Hubs ended with “We don’t have the extra money to pay for grad school. Vacations will be out”.
I sat there without uttering a word. I was stunned. I watched the vein in his forehead bulge with tension and couldn’t believe this was the same person who had encouraged me to consider grad school 2 months ago. Did he encourage me for the purpose of enjoyment in shooting me down later? Was he trying to kill my self-esteem? Did he not believe I would follow through and apply or that I would not be accepted to the program? These are all questions I ask myself and the answer is always, “Yes.” In my mind.
I gave up without a fight. I submitted my withdrawal from the program via email the next day. I let go of that future in exchange for the future peacefulness of my family.
Strong First Certification
Cut to present day. I have been strength training for about 6 years and have fallen in love with the kettlebell.
Kettlebell you ask? A kettlebell is a massive round hunk of metal with a handle, it’s a meditation master that when handled properly forces all other thoughts from your mind. It’s a teacher that, when handled improperly, gives immediate feedback (that sometimes leaves a mark). Most importantly, it’s a tool that helps me to feel and be powerful.
My attraction to the kettlebell led me to the “Strong First” Community (SFC), a group of highly skilled coaches. The SFG community lead by Pavel Tsatsouline really encapsulated my transition from aesthetic goals to achievement goals. The individuals of StrongFirst regularly display feats of strength and rarely show off the six-pack that I assume resides under the sleek black shirt. I idolized these people but never imagined I could be one of them. Or could I?
A year and a half ago I began training for certification but had not officially signed up. After much cajoling from my kettlebell tribe, I signed up for a certification course. The training was a slow process that put my patience to the test. Grinding through presses and snatching until I wanted to hurl 3 times a week was simultaneously heartbreaking and uplifting as I learned to fail forward.
Two months before the certification test that followed a year of training, my husband of nearly 15 years announced that he wanted a separation.
This was it! This was my first test, the point where, in the past, I gave up what mattered to me to focus my attention on him. Something in me had recently changed and the pattern was becoming clear.
I did not give up training.
I powered through my workouts, sometimes with tears streaming. I fueled up on muscle building calories. Despite the knots in my stomach, I fought through and did not give up on myself.
The certification test arrived. During the extraordinary certification weekend, I met people from all walks of life with a common interest. I passed the certification and the experience rejuvenated me. The joy was short-lived, however; once I arrived home, my husband let me know that the separation was not temporary, he wanted a divorce.
The question haunted me. Would we be divorcing now if I had not continued? I can’t answer that. If it wasn’t this, I believe it would have been something else. I am certain that if we had not, and I had not continued to work towards my goal, I would have been stuck in an endless loop of the noxious gaslight.
Making my way out – it’s scary and a little lonely, but crisp and real.
To Myself: