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.