Does Your Spouse Dictate Your Identity?

A struggle no one talks about during divorce is shedding the persona of who you were in your marriage.

Specifically, who your spouse said you were. And you believed them.

Before I begin my tirade, let me preface by saying that I may be guilty of doing this to my soon-to-be ex-husband Joseph. I can only speak from my perspective but I acknowledge that I am not flawless.

Even with my husband absent during most of our marriage due to his work commute, my identity for almost twenty years was shaped as part of being an “us” and a “we”. While I was more than just a wife, being his spouse was still a job and part of my self-identification.

I was the nag. The controlling one. The one who panicked about money, cleaning, and doing all the adulting. Joseph got the title of being fun and romantic.

The first time I separated over a decade ago, I dated an eventual stalker who nicknamed me “Sweet Girl”. It drove me nuts. I cringed every time I heard it. Every part of me wanted to convince him that I was not sweet. I must have conned him and in reality, I was an overbearing monster.

Looking back, I was sweet to him. I just couldn’t see it, because engrained in my brain was this idea that if anyone really knew me, they’d know I wasn’t a sweet person.

And it continued for over a decade after I reconciled with Joseph and had two kids. My identity of being a mean, shitty person was further cemented each year.

I was also labeled the one who never made an effort in the relationship. A real effort. I’d spend months of trying after a major argument or some initiative prompted by the marriage counselor. But it always ended with Joseph telling me that I never really tried. I wasn’t really making an effort.

I believed him. He was right; I didn’t put 100%. However, I didn’t have 100% to give. But I gave all that I had, after primarily caring for two small children (one with autism and one with ADHD) while also working full time. Maybe I only had 60% to give, but I gave all of it.

There was nothing more of me to give.

Joseph got angry at how I was so nice to my friends, implying that I was fake or saving the best for them. However, they didn’t berate me and I wasn’t in a perpetual state of walking on eggshells. My friends weren’t dicks and they weren’t the ones giving additional work on me instead of sharing responsibilities. I didn’t have to clean up after them when they were slob, nor did I have to beg them for help.

It’s like Joseph threw a boulder on my back, then got upset because I wasn’t being happy and chipper while carrying it. I was merely trying to survive and carry the burden. There wasn’t anything left in me to give.

But I felt guilty anyway, for not giving more of what I didn’t have.