Sadness Trumps Anger

This process -- some call it grief -- is funny in the way it rears up at times. Last night's healing prayer service for our minister's wife opened some floodgates. Usually I am in good spirits, moving forward, and basically dismissing my husband from thought. But during times of intense prayer, when more barriers are lowered, the sadness seeps in, and so the tears begin. For the past several months, I have recognized that anger allows you to function, by keeping the grief at bay, but the sadness is necessary for dipping into the grief and then moving on from it. If that makes any sense.

The New Normal?

Most of the time, these days, I trip quite happily along, but there are times when I get caught up short, usually by something my ex does. Yesterday was just such a time. He comes in to pick up our daughter for school, and natters on about this that and the other thing. All I can think about is "you are not my friend, and don't try to normalize this." It infuriates me.

Later I went to meet someone who was friends to both, but whom we hadn't seen much for at least five years. I gnashed my teeth worrying about either saying too much or too little, so we ended up talking about what we were both doing these days, and only later did she ask about "IT."

Though I didn't tell her everything I knew, she wasn't all that surprised. Then my Writers Digest came in the mail, and while reading an article on how to write memoirs, it hit me why the narrative I've been telling leaves a bad taste in the mouth -- I've been stuck on defending myself, and it sometimes comes out sounding like I'm a victim. Especially if I'm angry. Having entered this marriage with my eyes open, I'm not a victim. And now setting boundaries, I'm still not.

So back to what's "normal" -- his behaviour the last several years isn't. My turning a blind eye, and accepting less than respect isn't. What is normal is being myself, standing up with grace, and in joyfulness, staying focused on the King. And like the wedding guests who finally did show up (Matt 22: 1-14) make sure I arrive with proper wedding attire.

A Fire Hydrant by any other Name

In the past week or so, my husband has been in the habit of coming into the house, walking back to the kitchen, washing his hands and blowing his nose (not necessarily in that order). Remember that he has just left his own place not five minutes before, so why wait til he comes to my place to wash his hands. I asked a friend what she thought that might be about, and she said it sounds like a dog pissing on the corners of his territory. I asked another friend, and she agreed -- her ex-h does the same thing -- when he picks up the kids, walks all the way through the apartment, goes to the bathroom to pee, looking in all the rooms as he goes.