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17.3.24

Let There Be Light

Mid-Marchish last year I took a trip to Calgary with the kids while Jon stayed home to study. My sister Hannah was visiting from Tofino, so we spent time with her and the kids had fun with their cousins. I was so spoiled the entire time I was up there. Jon's sisters watched my kids so I could spend time with my sisters. We shopped, we ate out, we visited. My mind was distracted. I even got a massage, it was so wonderful I fell asleep during it and woke myself up when I snored. When it was finally time to drive home we were all tired from playing so hard for two days. I texted Jon to let him know we were on our way. He let me know he was going to a friend's house in Lethbridge, but would be home when we got there so he could help me put the kids to bed.


As I made the trek back to Raymond, I texted Jon two more times to let him know where we were. We just turned onto the Granum road. We're passing through Lethbridge now. We also had each other on "Find My Friends," so I was sure he'd be keeping track on that too. As I got closer to home and watched him on "Find My Friends," I began to realize he wasn't going to beat us there. In fact, he wasn't moving at all. Fortunately, my mom and sister came home with me to help unload four exhausted and grumpy kids and get them ready for bed. 


It's hard to describe what I felt at that moment, as I wrestled my sleepy babies from the van, into their pajamas, into their beds. As they cried because it was uncomfortable to be woken up and taken from the warm van. As they asked me where their Dad was. As I could feel how angry my mom and sister were for me while they helped. As I kept looking at a stupid blue dot on my phone that refused to move and acknowledge where it should have been. I probably felt every emotion you could imagine: anger, disappointment, frustration, self-pity, and more.


It wasn't until after the kids were in bed and my mom and sister gone that Jon texted me. He had missed my texts, he was sorry, he was on his way home. Half an hour later he sheepishly walked through door, apologizing that he didn't get home in time to help. By then I was half numb, but knew we needed to talk. I told him he hadn't given me any sign that he wanted our marriage to work. His response infuriated me: "You haven't either." And there it was. The indignation, the fury, the wrath of a woman more than slighted, thawed from the permafrost of courtesy and etiquette. 


What happened next could best be described as a monologue; I wish the words that flowed from my mouth could have been transcribed for me to read over again and again. I told Jon it wasn't my job to let him know I wanted to stay married, I wasn't the one who had messed up. I hadn't wandered, he had. I was offering him an olive branch all this time to step up, to step back in, while he had been vainly waiting for me to beg him or something, who knows. I listed all the ways he could have let me know, all the ways he could have made amends, and he didn't. You could have apologized, you could have shown remorse. You could have deleted What's App, deleted her number, quit messaging her. You could have asked your clinical instructor to change your cohort so you wouldn't be around her. But you did NOTHING. I asked him if she had been at his friends. "Yes." Did you know she would be there? "Yes."


That was the last straw. There was the light. I had told him he could wait until the end of the semester to move out, but now he needed to leave ASAP. And the monologue continued. I told him we were pretty well passed the point of reconciling. That he had chosen the wrong thing over and OVER again. He could have stopped and made things right when I told him I was pregnant. But he kept cheating. He could have stopped when he saw how devastated and hurt I was when he wouldn't tell me he loved me. But he kept making the wrong choice. He could have stopped when I patiently and kindly talked to him when I found out he had a crush on someone, when I encouraged him to "get out of Vancouver." But he kept making the wrong choice. And even now, that night when I needed his help to unpack and put kids to bed, he made the wrong choice again. And he was speechless as per usual.

14.3.24

The Atonement

As I continued to "sit in the dark," waiting for a direction or any kind of inspiration, I could feel myself beginning to lean towards the direction of divorce. Instead of being relieved that my gut was finally telling me something, I found myself wondering why the scales weren't being tipped in the other direction. Why didn't I feel like repairing my marriage was the right thing to do? And because I'm a deep thinker, this triggered a whole Rube Goldberg mental machine of questions until I found myself asking the biggest question of all:


Do I not believe in the Atonement of Jesus Christ?


I'm fairly certain the majority of my readers are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but if there's someone who has ventured here and isn't, allow me to explain.


I am a stout and steadfast believer in and follower of Jesus Christ. I have a testimony in the reality of His existence and that He lives, even now, as a resurrected being. I believe in the miracles He has performed and continues to perform. I strive daily to emulate His example of love and kindness. Teaching my children about Jesus and how to be like Jesus is my life's biggest priority. I am humbled by the magnificent gift of His Atonement and believe that because He died for me, I am able to be perfected in Him. Not yet on this earth, but each week as I partake of His sacrament I am given the divine gift of renewal, a fresh start, a clean slate. Unfortunately, because I'm human, I mess up. I yell at my kids, I swear under my breath, I think something unkind. But each and every week that I remember Him and take the sacrament, I get another chance to do my best. To begin again. To forgive myself. To try to do better. I believe all of this and I'm immensely grateful for it. As a recovering perfectionist, it is such a breath of fresh air to be able to accept Jesus' grace and offer the same to myself. It's okay to not be perfect, it's okay to try again. I am greedy for forgiving myself and getting a fresh start. Which brings us back to my dilemma: If I believe in forgiving myself and fresh starts through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, doesn't the same apply to my marriage? Do I not believe that I can forgive Jon and we can begin again? That my heart can be healed and made new?


The answers to those questions were incredibly complicated. Yes, I believed I could forgive Jon, I had done it once before. But no, I could never, ever see myself loving him with the same naive and reckless abandon that I had over a decade ago, or the same seasoned, calm, contented love I had come to know as we worked side by side to raise a family and build a life together. He was no longer a safe place for me. Yes, I believed my heart could be healed. But no, it could never be put fully in his hands again. The reality of my situation was beginning to dawn on me. No matter what forgiveness or healing I could find through the Atonement, I would be insecure, guarded, and hesitant with Jon for the foreseeable future.


In addition to these complicated yes-no answers, there was other rhetoric fogging my mind with confusion. My aunt I spoke to on Valentine's Day told me about forgiveness. About a woman who had forgiven her husband. About the Tutsi people of Rwanda who had survived the genocide and forgiven the very people who had killed their loved ones and families. What was I lacking if I couldn't comprehend the sort of forgiveness that enabled others to remain steadfast in their situations?


These weren't just passing thoughts. They weighed on me heavily. I'd cry trying to talk through my thoughts with my parents. I'd cry as I read my scriptures or wrote in my journal. It wasn't until I spoke with my Bishop that these thoughts were quieted.


I'm sure everyone thinks this, but I really do have the best Bishop. He checked in with me often. His family welcomed my kids over with open arms. Although it seemed like every time I sat down in his office I'd just cry and mumble, I really did leave feeling more direction and peace than when I entered. After explaining to him my confusion and doubts regarding saving my marriage, the atonement, and forgiveness, he made some really powerful points. First, that I don't need to reopen myself up again to be hurt to truly forgive someone. And second, just because divorce is the last choice I want to make, it's still not a wrong choice. I finally realized that Jesus never meant for His Atonement to be the reason someone continues to put themselves in a situation that hurts them time and time again. I can still believe in forgiveness and being made new AND protect myself.


That afternoon I left my Bishop's office with my doubts and fears quieted. If I had to pinpoint a moment where I realized that I was likely going to get a divorce, this was it. The light was beginning to appear. And less than a week later, Jon would do something that pushed me towards it.

29.2.24

Sitting in the Dark

Not a lot changed following Jon's revelations that Valentine's Day week. At least outwardly. Inwardly, I was navigating life like a person who has survived a bomb going off. You know how they portray that in movies? The high-pitch ringing, teetering camera angles, muffled speaking or sounds in the background, unrecognizable bursts of light? It was like that. Ultimately, I was the one who had to determine what was going to happen next. But I had no idea what to do. So I chose to "sit in the dark."


Sitting in the dark meant accepting there simply was no direction at that time, that I had no clue what to do. So often in life we're expected to make these kneejerk decisions, especially ones where emotions are running high. If you or a loved one are deeply offended, you need to strike back instantly. You're expected to almost lash out. But that just isn't me. I'm not an impulsive person. So I continued to live each day as if nothing had changed, all while waiting for a light to appear and lead me out of the dark. I figured there were two different lights that could appear, and by "light" I mean a future I could imagine happening. Because at that point I really couldn't imagine anything beyond surviving in that status-quo, fugue state of pretending nothing had happened.


There were two different "lights," almost like opposing ends of a tunnel, I waited on while sitting motionless in the dark middle. At one end, the light that would lead me out of the dark would be a life where I moved forward with forgiveness, reparations, counselling, and remaining married. At the other end, the light would be moving forward with separation, divorce, and single parenthood. Until either one of those lights began to shine, I let myself become comfortable in the dark. Here are some things that happened while I sat in the dark:


> I waited for Jon to make an ounce of effort. There had been no apologies, no signs of remorse. He did begin speaking with a counsellor, so good for him on that, but by and large Jon was a case study in apathy. I recall one time speaking with him and trying to make sense of his actions. He told me, "I thought our marriage was over," as if we had both been on the same page and it justified what he had done. Every so often after our kids were in bed, he would broach the subject of, "Have you decided what you want?" I can't begin to express how big of a mindf**k that question was. It makes my blood boil now just remembering it. There I was, nursing a broken heart, running a home, caring for kids, providing the only income, and now it also fell on me to determine the outcome of our eternal marriage. Well gee Jon, I wanted you to stay faithful. It was all up to me to make a massive decision while Jon remained apathetic and not showing a vested interest in remaining married. I mentioned that I couldn't make a decision because I had no idea if he wanted in or not, to which he neither confirmed nor denied. I'm under the impression that he perceived doing the bare minimum of continuing to exist in the same home as me and the kids meaning he was willing to entertain staying if I told him that's what I wanted. But that wasn't enough, so I waited and waited, giving him chance after chance to redeem himself. One of our last "have you decided what you want" conversations I snapped in a way. I told him I was waiting for him to show a sign he wanted to remain married, and then I listed a bunch of ways he could have shown it: you could actually delete her from your phone, quit messaging her; you could ask to be switched out of her clinical group at school; you could apologize and show remorse. To which he said nothing and continued to do nothing. He would later attribute this to being mentally unwell, which I frankly find offensive to people who have or do actually struggle with mental illness. Like myself, the spouse who was diagnosed with depression yet never once ever entertained ideas of infidelity. There's a difference between being mentally and morally unwell.


> I spoke with a beloved cousin who also happened to be a counsellor. After summarizing my situation and answering some of her questions, she began to explain how things that I had just accepted as Jon's idiosyncrasies were actually forms of abuse. I shudder to write that word though. There's a spectrum of abuse and I rightfully reserve the word to more accurately define the unfathomable acts of verbal, physical, or sexual abuse. But what I had accepted to just be parts of my marriage were actually forms of emotional abuse. Stonewalling, or the "silent treatment," in particular. For years, whenever I tried to have difficult conversations or bring up grievances I would be met with the silent treatment, which would last until I couldn't take it anymore and apologized to Jon for bringing up whatever I had. This in turn conditioned me to keep things to myself because whatever I felt or had to say honestly wasn't worth the inevitable silent treatment. 


> I brought on another emotional pallbearer. While walking laps of a church, I shared the sorry state of affairs with a friend. She was horrified. I still had no idea what I was going to do and I asked her, "Is it even possible to stay married after two affairs?" To which she responded that she actually knew a couple that was still together even after more than one affair. And me being me, a comparative and competitive lunatic, took this to mean that if someone else can do it, then so can I! Mind you, that was all me - at no point did my friend make it seem like I should because someone else she knew did.


> I woke up one night to Jon touching my waist. It repulsed me. I shifted out of his touch and gently pushed him back over to his side of the bed. Yes, this entire time we continued to sleep in the same bed. When you go to sleep at vastly different times and share a king size mattress, this is feasible. Another day Jon texted me asking if I ever thought of being intimate with him because he was "struggling." I was speechless. I guess this meant he was no longer having romantic rendezvous on campus, but how in the heck was I supposed to feel drawn to someone who had hurt me so badly and done nothing to repair our relationship?


> I visited my sisters. As I've said before, sisters want blood. If there was anyone whose own remorse and pain came close to my own through this ordeal, it was my mom and sisters. I was strongly urged to kick Jon out, to throw all his belongings out the door. One sister even offered to pay movers to come and take all of his stuff away and change the locks. I was chastised for not doing anything, for letting Jon continue to make a fool out of me. There were tears. One sister even excused herself with, "Being around you right now isn't good for my mental health." Later that day I revealed to the remaining sister my motive for being slow to act. We both couldn't help but laugh at how messed up it was that I was pregnant. When the other sister learned about this factor, she became more understanding of my impulse control.


> I eventually came to the conclusion that Jon needed to move out. And like the kind and thoughtful wife I was, I said he needed to find a new place to live when his current semester of school ended. Because what kind of wife would kick her unfaithful husband out while he was in school? 


> Another night I woke up to see that Jon had fallen asleep with his phone still on. In all of our almost 11 years of marriage, Jon had always been open about what his passcode was to unlock his phone. Now it was a secret. As I navigated away from the video he fell asleep watching, I realized he had installed the "screen time" app blocker, something he had never used before. This still didn't deter me, as I knew I could open his blocked messaging apps for one minute. Except, sometime between his blocker turning on and then he had already opened those apps for one minute. I was truly blocked from seeing anything. He was still truly keeping secrets. As a last resort, I decided to look at his texts. What I found was an exchange between him and his sister. He was lamenting what his life would be like if we ended up separated or divorced. His sister's response was damning. 



16.2.24

We All Start Out Knowing Magic

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I know I said I was done this week, but I just remembered another story from this week I want to document. 


While speaking with my aunt on Valentine's Day, she mentioned a couple whose marriage had survived a spell of infidelity. I knew them, but who I really knew was the sister of the wife in that marriage. In fact, she was a good friend and we worked together.


I don't recall exactly what day, but sometime that Valentine's Day week I found my friend in the Junior High School staff room. I honestly had no idea how to broach the subject ("Hey! So your brother-in-law cheated on your sister, eh? How'd that go?), so I didn't think I would. In any case, I was happy to sit a moment and just have some company.


My friend was getting ready to teach a class on writing (she's a beautiful writer, I loved wandering into her classroom during the lunch hour and reading any examples she had slapped on the whiteboard). She had prepared a handout with a segment from the book "Boy's Life" by Robert McCammon to help them see how storytelling can be lyrical, beautiful, more than just getting a reader from point A to B. Since she was busy, I knew now probably wasn't a good time for a conversation so I asked if I could read the handout. This is what I read:


"I wanted to set my memories down on paper, where I can hold them. You know, I do believe in magic. I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians. Oh, most everybody else didn't realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by the silver filaments of chance and circumstance. But I knew it all along. When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present, and into the future. You probably did, too; you just don't recall it. See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God's sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they'd allowed to wither in themselves.

"After you go so far away from it, though, you can't really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it's because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they're left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.

"That's what I believe.

"The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good. Things happen to us. Loved ones die. People get in wrecks and get crippled. People lose their way, for one reason or another. It's not hard to do, in this world of crazy mazes. Life itself does its best to take that memory of magic away from us. You don't know it's happening until one day you feel you've lost something but you're not sure what it is. It's like smiling at a pretty girl and she calls you "sir." It just happens."


I don't think I made it to the end of the first paragraph before the tears started to fall. I didn't know the words to describe it, but I too have always believed in magic. My patriarchal blessing describes me as "having an exuberance for life." I love it here, and I've done my best to carry what little magic remained from my childhood into my parenting and adult life. But there I was, every day that year getting "... farther away from the essence that is born within us." My magic had been stripped and broken down into something unrecognizable. I didn't even realize it until I read that. I was in survival mode and I didn't know if I would ever feel the magic again.


Imagine my friend's surprise when she looked up to ask if I liked it and she found me with tears running down me face. Part of me thought I could pretend I was crying because it was such a beautiful passage, fortunately I was saved from playing the fool when my friend asked, "Oh no! What's wrong?" And I just went for it, "How did your sister and brother-in-law stay married?" 


Truthfully, I don't really remember a lot of the conversation that followed. I summarized the state of affairs in my marriage. I explained how my aunt mentioned her sister as the gold standard to follow. She shared how hard it was as a sister to watch her endure that pain and remain faithful (there's something about sisters I tell ya, they want blood). I took two things away from our conversation:


1. The transgressing spouse has to have a massive change of heart. They have to want back in. They have to also choose to repair the marriage.


2. The importance of emotional "pallbearers." You never see a casket being dragged to the final resting place by one person. I don't think the task can even realistically be accomplished by less than four people for a deceased adult. All I did was talk with a friend for roughly 10 minutes and the figurative coffin of my dying marriage felt more bearable. There was nothing she could do for me besides listen, maybe pray, but just by her knowing what I was going through, I felt lighter. We really aren't meant to carry heavy emotional loads alone, just like a casket cannot be transported by a single person. At this point going forward, I began to slowly invite loving friends and family members to be pallbearers to the heartbreaking burden I was carrying. I'm so, so grateful to the people in my circle who stood beside me, took a handle, and made my burden lighter.