Written by Anonymous

I was in a relationship with my ex-husband for nearly six years. It was my first really serious relationship, and I got into it when I was in my mid-twenties. It started out well, but always felt kind of forced. Over time, little joking comments he made to belittle me became more serious. When he called me a bitch and I got upset about it, I was being too sensitive. When he called me fat and I got upset about it, I was blamed for feeling bad about myself. I was never good enough, never skinny enough, never smart enough, never paid enough attention to him… He claimed he was only so hard on me because he cared about me. The sex was bad, but it was my fault according to him. Obviously, the problem had to be me, and I was unlike other women who found it easier to get off with him. When he came home from work, he felt entitled to sit on the couch and play games on his phone or watch TV all evening, while I came home to more work, the work of running and managing our home, and got no down-time for myself. When I asked for help or mentioned my frustration that the weight of our life was all on my shoulders, I was reminded that his job was more important than mine, and harder than mine because it was more physically demanding. He deserved to relax, and I shouldn’t expect his contribution. I was belittled at every turn, and I was ignoring every red flag. I convinced myself that all relationships have issues. There’s no perfect relationship, right? These were just our problems. I convinced myself that it would get better and eventually, he would see that he was wrong, and he would change. Or maybe it would be easier for me to find ways to cope. Maybe I’d just stop caring that he made me feel bad all the time. I married him, convincing myself the whole time that something was bound to change at some point and everything would be fine. But the verbal, emotional, and mental abuse continued, along with the manipulation, attempts at controlling me, and the gaslighting. He began pushing for us to start a family–he wanted kids. I knew, desperately, deep down, I did not want kids with him. The idea became suffocating, but any of my objections were written off. My opinions and concerns didn’t matter, and my feelings weren’t valid. In addition to this, the verbal abuse began happening in front of others. I started to feel trapped, suffocated, and like I had lost myself. I had accepted so much less than I deserved for so long, I saw no way out. Then, a man from my past unexpectedly reentered the picture. When I confided in him about what I was experiencing in my marriage, he was upset. The girl he used to know would never have accepted that. He reminded me of my value, and frankly, I saw him as my way out. If not a way out of my marriage, he was a way out of the headspace my marriage put me in. We began having an affair. It was exciting and affirming. I felt more love and acceptance than I had in years. About two months after beginning my affair, I told my husband about the affair and I moved out. I had the conversation with my husband that, yes, I knew having the affair was wrong, but that I couldn’t continue in our relationship as it was. I couldn’t live the rest of my life the way I’d been living the prior five years. I wouldn’t put up with the abuse, the lack of support from him, the lack of respect for me and my opinions, or the gaslighting any longer. My husband and I spent the next few months going back and forth about the idea of divorce–can we save our marriage? Is it worth it? Obviously, there was a lot of anger on his part, and rightfully so. I was just as angry–and rightfully so. My anxiety was overwhelming. I had panic attacks, constant tightness in my chest, and astounding guilt. We both began individual therapy and counseling. I pushed for marriage counseling, believing that marriage is serious, a commitment, and that I had an obligation to make it work. I use the word obligation, because that’s what it felt like to me. Deep down, I knew I didn’t really want to make it work–I was checked out, I wanted someone else, I wanted more for myself, but…marriage. You’ve got to fight for your marriage unselfishly, right? Each time I mentioned marriage counseling, he balked at the idea. “What will that fix?” and “I don’t think a therapist can fix our issues,” became his most common responses. Yet still, each time I mentioned divorce as the alternative, he shot it down claiming it didn’t feel right and divorce wasn’t what he wanted. Finally, a few months after I’d admitted my affair and moved out, I made one last suggestion for marriage counseling. This time, his response wasn’t his usual. This time, his response burned itself into my brain and I will remember the words for the rest of my life: “I’ll consider marriage counseling when you lose weight and prove to me that you’re committed to being skinny.” That ultimatum was so absurd to me. It seemed so obvious to me that he didn’t get it. The past few months had been filled with exhausting back-and-forth conversations around divorce or staying together. He had admitted to treating me badly, saying horrible things about me and to me, and devaluing, belittling, gaslighting and blaming me–and still, in response to my suggesting marriage counseling, he wanted to lay out one more thing that was wrong with me, still insisting that I was the one needing to change? And until I changed my weight–he wouldn’t even consider counseling? I just shut down. His response that day told me that he didn’t take this seriously and that no matter what he said, he didn’t care if we saved our marriage or not. The decision had to be made, and I was tired. Divorce was the only option that made sense for me. It was the right decision, but it was hard. It was emotionally and mentally one of the hardest processes I’ve ever gone through. The relationship with the man I’d had an affair with ultimately ended in heartbreak, too. We share a child now, a very unexpected byproduct of our relationship. The last few years of my life have been the most heart wrenching, hard, anxiety-filled years I have ever experienced. I’m struggling through co-parenting with a person I love, who’s just emotionally incapable of being there for me romantically. Every day is hard, and every day I must choose to do the best I can for my child. I look back with the benefit of time and space. I can see that my affair, no matter how badly that relationship ended, too, saved me. It was a cry for help. It was a desperate attempt to get out of a bad marriage. It was an attempt to reclaim myself, and remind myself of who I am. Still, it wasn’t a good way to end my marriage, and it brought a lot of ridicule from outsiders. Guess what? I don’t care. My affair might have been a bad choice, but I don’t feel bad about it. I am happier now than I have been in years. I know my value. I am single and content to remain single if I never find someone who adds to my life in a positive way and values me for who I am, and what I have experienced. My child deserves to see a healthy relationship between two healthy adults, and if that never happens for me, my child deserves to see me happy and strong. I decided to share my story here because Michelle’s platform has helped me to realize that I am not alone. Many women have found themselves in similar situations, making similar decisions, and like I was once, unarmed with the tools to understand and process why and what those decisions mean. My growth is not done, and I am not on the other side of healing. I am still in the trenches, and parts of me will probably always be. But I own my experiences. They’ve made me more open, loving, and raw. I found some light in the darkest times. I survived, and I’m still surviving.