A Letter to Myself After I Left My Husband
The letter I wrote to myself after I escaped my abusive marriage
Dear Martha,
I left Todd. Thus concluding 12 years — a third of my life.
My heart is exhausted.
I kept thinking that if I could go on a little longer, if I spoke softer, smarter that I could magic harmony and purpose back into our marriage.
Things with him deteriorated by slow degree. At first, he couldn’t find or keep a job. He always seemed to hit some unbearable obstacle at work. They couldn’t understand his accent, they didn’t appreciate his intelligence, his boss was a bully. And each failed job resulted in another blow to our marriage, and heaped resentment on both sides.
His kind words disappeared, his willingness to help out around the house waned, and holidays were sucked into the gravity of his depression.
I tried to make myself smaller, quieter in the hopes of avoiding his many triggers. His anger became impossible to bear.
No matter how progressive Todd considered himself, I don’t think he could handle a wife that surpassed him as a breadwinner.
The more he failed, the more I diminished myself to be his equal.
I hadn’t realized how much I had done so until recently when my friend asked me what my perfect day was, and I couldn’t answer her question. What kind of person doesn’t know their perfect day? All the answers I could conjure were Todd’s preferences: going to a train museum, a football game, etc. I eclipsed myself and my voice within the shadows of his insecurities.
This was, at times, a conscious decision:
- Every spaghetti sauce jar I pretended not to be able to open so he could feel manly.
- All the questions I asked despite knowing the answer so he could feel smart.
- Each lame idea of his that I supported (and financed) despite the miles and miles of broken-down ideas he had left behind us already.
I must own my part in my willingness to silence my voice and accept the lie that my feelings didn’t matter.
Never again will I surrender my soul.
In losing my marriage, I’m finding myself. I will try to sweeten the bitterness with that knowledge.
It’s time to build my life on my own terms. I pray I have the good sense to do it the right way this time.
Yours,
Martha
