Where Things Get Hazy

As you can tell, a lot happened this week one year ago. And quite frankly, I'm not having a lot of fun writing it all out. But it has been good for me. Writing is so cathartic. I'll admit that I had been craving the release of writing about all this for quite sometime, probably since last summer. But I couldn't bring myself to put things into words because I knew how poorly Jon would be portrayed. Despite everything, I felt like I needed to protect him. I needed to make his life easier. I needed to keep him happy. For so long his negative behaviors dictated my actions. So even while he was actively hurting me and destroying our marriage, even after we had separated, I couldn't detach myself from that way of thinking and acting. Today, if you tried to talk crap about Jon with me, I probably wouldn't engage. I would smile and let you say what you want. Probably nod and half-heartedly agree. But still, deep down there is this urge to placate him, even when I really owe him nothing. 

I have tried really hard to write factually and not emotionally. It is not my goal to make you hate my soon-to-be ex-husband. If anything, please realize I am entrusting you with something almost sacred. My darkest moments and the burning, white hot coals of my refining fire. If even I can say I have forgiven him, I expect only "he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone." Jon will be a part of my life in its entirety. For my kids' sake, I demand that he is treated with the same dignity you grant a stranger. No child deserves to see their parent spat upon and scorned. My children have been robbed of some of their innocence throughout this ordeal, I ask that they be the ones who come to terms with the details of their parents marriage ending when they are adult enough to read this blog and ask their dad some hard questions. 

With all that being said, this is the part where things get hazy. At the beginning of 2023 I was determined to start journaling regularly again. Ironically, for the first time in years, I was writing daily in a journal at the same time that my world came crashing down. If you've found yourself wondering how I could remember things so well, that's why. At this point my entries became understandably sporadic. So, to ease the burden of blogging with so much detail and summarize what happened next, I'm going to bullet point things. I need a break.

> The day after Valentine's, I found the gumption to ask Jon to let me look through his phone. I found deleted texts, which included I love you's, and a deleted screenshot of an Instagram post. The picture was of her with her boyfriend, one of those obligatory Valentine's Day posts. I asked Jon what that was about, did it upset him that she posted that? He told me that he had called things off, that it was over, he broke up with her on Valentine's Day in the afternoon. Honestly, to this day, I don't know what to believe and Jon didn't offer up much else. This is incredibly confusing, because it was that night, Valentine's Day evening, that Jon told me the thought of a future with this girl excited him. Truthfully, if Jon had told me more in explanation of how things "ended", I probably wouldn't have believed him. This is the point where I began to not believe a single thing he said.

> Since Jon had "broken up" with the other woman, I found myself suddenly at a loss. On Valentine's Day it was easy to start telling myself that we were getting a divorce. He dreamed of a future with someone else! But hearing that he was no longer "with" her made me assume he probably didn't want to leave anymore. And if he didn't want to leave, then what? Correct - it was my job to make him happy and take care of him. 

> My oldest daughter Sheriff's baptism was scheduled for that Saturday. At that point in time, only my parents and sisters knew about the dumpster fire happening in the Ruiz home. There was a part of me that genuinely thought we could all put on happy faces for her as we gathered Jon's family and mine. My mom pointed out how unfair it was to my family that we had to pretend to be happy just for the sake of Jon's family. That they deserved to know too. I told Jon he needed to tell his parents and sisters. Following that it was easy to realize that postponing Sheriff's baptism was in the best interest of everyone.

> I FaceTimed my parents one last time before they came home. I said I needed to tell them something and then started bawling. My mom guessed it - "You're pregnant." And my answer was, "I'm so screwed." Mom, Dad, I know you're reading this. I'm sorry for ruining your Arizona trip last February. I'm pretty sure my mom cried in Arizona just as much as I did back home. She at least had a pool to cry beside. I'm lucky I have the parents that I do because that call ended with them reassuring me that I have nothing to worry about. That they would look after me and my kids. And they have ever since.

> My sister texted asking if her name was Marissa. I replied with, "Yes, it is, but please don't message her. Leave her alone." And in my heart of hearts I truly believed that simple request would be respected. I must have forgot that saying about how Hell hath no fury like a woman... whose sister has been cheated on. An hour or so later, Jon marched into the room I was sitting in and chewed me out for telling our sisters Marissa's name. It took me a second to even remember that I had confirmed it, and before I could even really compute what was happening, I was apologizing. "I'm sorry! I told them not to message her! I didn't think they would." Followed up with, "Tell Marissa I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen." The irony of this situation is suddenly hitting me as I type this. I apologized to the other woman.