I never cried while dating my husband. But then I married him. He didn’t make me well up, tear or boo-hoo. He made me violently cry until my face was swollen and the tears couldn’t find their way out.
It was unbearable, but at nine months pregnant it was unthinkable.
A man shouldn’t make a woman cry.
And preventing the tears of a pregnant wife generally falls under most guys’ boundaries. Not my husband. He refused to pick me up after delivering our son. He didn’t want to take off the time.
I’m strong, not weak.
Confident, not insecure.
Marriage has a way of making you think you’re in it for life, even when you shouldn’t be. At least it did for this Irish Catholic girl.
I’m angry at myself for staying.
But I couldn’t discern what was happening. I didn’t know this man for a few months. We dated for years. I had never seen him get mad or be mean to anyone. I hadn’t ever witnessed him lose his patience, in traffic, in a line, or over bad service. Nothing.
Not to mention the entire world loved him.
There was no warning of the grotesque man immune to a woman’s tears.
Worse, a bully who would induce them.
To mix it up, a few times he refused to speak to me for weeks.
I’m not a crier. I knew this but it took my sister pointing it out to get my attention. She was right. No one else filled my cheeks with salty sadness. I was a joyful girl.
Until I married.
The tears centered around my needs or angering him.
If I had a request that would disrupt his day, such as, my surgery, our son’s ear surgery, my mom passing away, and a car accident. Or me getting upset when he went MIA on mother’s day, ruined birthdays, holidays, charitable and school events I was on committees for, and more.
Essentially, anything and everything that had to do with me.
When my first article was published in Washingtonian Magazine it was huge.
I had worked for years and received many rejections, I just never gave up. Not to mention, D.C. is one of the top ten media markets in the country. Making it more difficult to defy the odds.
I planned a happy hour at a local restaurant.
Even if he didn’t want to celebrate this achievement, I did. The dreamer never gave up. I wasn’t the best, I didn’t get lucky, and I didn’t know anyone. I just persevered.
He sat in a chair and looked at his phone the entire night.
My friend later told me how bad she felt for me.
I remember years later, my sister saying, “Why are you going to see him acknowledged for something? He’s never showed up once for you.” Another time, hearing I drove myself home under anesthesia my other sister said, “Colleen, where was your self-respect?”
I had never told my family some of the worst stories until then.
It wasn’t a matter of self-respect because my husband had a convenient excuse. Being self-employed made it seem as if he didn’t have a choice. At least, that’s the way I rationalized it in my youth.
And I didn’t consistently tolerate him.
I left him, came back, wanted to leave again, he talked me out of it, tried to win me back for two years, won me back, got angry, started uncharacteristically drinking, I kicked him out a few times, got separated, and finally left.
When I say it like that, it sounds even worse.
Enablers tolerate what others won’t, and give chance after chance.
And this wasn’t happening day in and day out.
It was episodic.
Our daily life was calm. Months would go by without stress or an angry word. But then I would need something, or he would ruin a holiday, or he would cross a serious boundary, like going out with his friend and not showing up for an event I planned.
Like clockwork, it happened twice a year.
I would cry for three weeks, with no resolution.
The alternatingly charismatic and callous man’s charm would ultimately return.
I’m angry at myself for staying.
But marriage has a way of making you think you’re in it for life.
Even when a man makes you cry.
— The following article explains why I left the first time — more detail about not picking me up from having our baby. I write about my own experiences but men fall in love with narcissists too.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love.
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