Changed, part two

Part two of how I've changed through the course of my divorce is similar to part one, only I want to flesh it out. This is another long post and is a raw, real look at who I am now in outlook and prospects. The seeds of divorce were planted long ago — in my childhood, even — and grew to encompass not only the pain endured in my marriage but my entire life as well. 

When I sat down with my lawyer and initially talked about why I was leaving my wife, he asked what led me to darken his door. Well, I said I had about 100 reasons for divorcing her. Indeed, and more. I could have talked about the infidelity. That seems to be a quick enough summation for most people. However, the infidelity was a minor infraction and just part of a larger complex of behavior on my ex-wife's part. This is the part where some of you may get mad at me. You see, Kate is just a typical American woman. She wanted it all. I wanted her to have it all. I wanted her to be happy. I looked the other way when it was clear I wasn't enough for her. 

The key here is this: she was a typical American woman. She was raised to behave how she did because that's how our culture raises girls. She is selfish and she would not listen to me. If she wanted someone else in her life, then she got it. But that wasn't enough either. I remember sitting with her and a man she had an emotional affair with (which I was made aware of later), and for some reason she brought up something I said, only the man sitting with us repeated it at the same time. I had told her, "Save a little bit for me," meaning she was free to chase after endless lovers. What should have given her pause for what she was doing instead gave her free reign to do as she pleased. 

Instead of being a partner, she wanted to be in charge. In the end, her selfishness destroyed our marriage. If she had learned anything in the last few years of our marriage, I have no doubt we would still be together, but she is fundamentally selfish in nature. If she had listened to my warnings, I wouldn't be writing these words. Some things, unfortunately, are as safe as houses, and in this case, it is safe to say she'll never change. I tried to get through to her in the remaining months of our marriage. It would sometimes take me 45 minutes to get through her hard exterior, but it was clear she had no courage to change, and rather than take responsibility for her actions, she insisted she would have her way. Well, that didn't happen. 

I didn't want to divorce her. I don't think anyone actually wants to follow through with such a desperate, horrible act. But I had to, and that was clear. She wasn't going to change, and I believed I deserved better. But, chances are, I will only find another Kate if I search among women in the United States. Our culture is permeated with the notion that women can have it all. We are a nation of selfish people. Unfortunately, selfishness does not lead to happy relationships, though. An incident at my son's daycare recently reinforced that fact. This little girl did something to my son she never should have done, but that's what girls in our society do. They are impudent and grab what they want, regardless of what is proper or right. But I suppose they learned that from men in our culture. Will there be a proper, godly lady for my son someday? Will he make the same mistake as me?

There are cultures where women are seen as partners rather than masters. The appeal of Eastern European women is obvious for a man like me. The younger women from the bigger cities have more American values, so those I would have to stay away from if I was looking for a woman to share my life with. They're more likely to play games, games which I have no time or patience for. I want a woman who will protect my heart. She doesn't have to be subservient, but she should defer to my judgment on important matters. In all else, we should be partners. The reason why the CIS nation girls like foreign men is because we treat them better than their native men. And I would most certainly treat a woman better than most American men. I would treasure her. 

But, let's be realistic. I'm 41 years old. I'm probably not going to get a visa and travel to Russia or one of the CIS countries to meet a girl. I have moments of daring and often surprise myself, but that's not a realistic thought. What's more likely is I'll continue to stay mired in this quicksand-like place. At least I won't have to think about moving to a bigger place or how to pay for more things that another person would clearly need. Or about the addition of children. It's a fantasy. 

This is not a diatribe against feminism. Don't get me wrong. My belief about relationships is that they should be partnerships. Men and women have unique points of view, and God put those uniquenesses in us for a reason. But, when all has been considered, the man should make the decision. And he bears responsibility for the outcome. He's built for that. That's his job. If it looks like a man is about to make a blunder, I believe the woman should speak her mind and offer her viewpoint. She's trying to help. There's a way to do that without offending, of course. But a lot of American women will call their man stupid or tell him he can't make a good decision, all of which undermine his authority and weaken their relationship.

Because of my childhood, I had a number of issues when I entered into the relationship with the woman who would become my wife and then ex-wife. These were things she never could have guessed. I was intelligent, strong, confident, and had a good sense of humor. Over the years, though, she must have guessed something was wrong. I have shared some of my blog posts with her, just a handful, but I thought perhaps she could lay to rest some of the questions that came up in our relationship. After all, she spent half her life with me. She probably deserves to know some of the reasons why I was such an awful partner for her. 

Growing up, there was physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. I was told hundreds of times to shut up, a fact that apparently was forgotten long ago. My mother often wonders aloud why I don't talk more. Gee, mother, I wonder. Could it be all the times I was told to shut up when I was a child? Or could it be the fact that you consistently talk over everyone else? Or maybe the fact that you don't remember a thing I've said when I do speak? My mother is a brutish bully of a woman, and it's safe to say I married a woman just like her. It's clear to me my childhood traumas led to relationship problems later in life. I'm not a victim. I'm not placing the blame on others. I take responsibility. I could have entered into therapy. I could have gotten help. But I didn't see what was happening in time, and, perhaps, I didn't care enough to change. 

Okay, confession time. I was a terrible husband. I want to be honest. I was gone all the time. I was always at work or had other things I wanted to do (or had to do) like my garden, like washing my car, mowing the lawn, whatever. I was simply not around. My ex-wife must have gone crazy with never knowing when she was going to see me again. For a good six months, I remember not having a single whole day with her. We weren't whole enough people to handle separation like that. And then there's the fact that I used her for sex, basically. I was around enough for that. Even if I had to wake her up in the middle of the night, she was going to satisfy me. I think I could have left the entire relationship behind if I could have kept the sex. I am an independent man. I don't need a woman for anything. But, dammit, sex is good. I think I could have a physical relationship with a woman and nothing else. At least I would know she wouldn't hurt me. 

In all of this, there is the realization of why I lived the life I lived. Why did I pass up on the American Dream — two kids, the house in the suburbs, soccer practice, barbecues in the backyard, reunions with the family, growing old with the woman of my dreams? It wasn't because I felt I was too good for that kind of life. Quite the opposite. 

When I looked up an old girlfriend many years ago just to see what kind of life she'd found, I was really happy for her. I was happy because she got the life she wanted when we talked as teenagers. Actually, I don't think she was even a girlfriend. More like a penpal. But, anyway, she got married to a pilot (something she mentioned), got the kids, lived in Guam; it all sounded so nice. I was glowing for days after looking her up. Mostly, I was glad she passed on me. I couldn't have given her that life. And so it goes as I look down the string of girls I could have been with. The feeling I have about all of them is I'm grateful they found those things with someone else because I never could have given them what they wanted. There was just too much of me that was unavailable. There was too much of me that was locked away and wounded, too much I had to hide. I wanted those things. I just wasn't able to have them. For all of them, I was happy they didn't settle for me.

What I feel now, and what I see looking forward, is much the same as where I've been. Only my anger has increased 100 fold. I'm angry at everyone. I'm angry at myself. I'm not angry at God because God had nothing to do with any of this. But that doesn't mean I don't have questions. I just want to know why all of these things happened. What's the point? Am I just another hard luck story, another life spat out on this planet with no reason to exist? The anger is palpable, and it has been fueled by words my son has spoken to me, things fed to him by his mother. She is a reckless and stupid woman who is playing with her son's life and spiritual development to further her agenda. I am livid. But that is who she is. I just pray for my son every day that God uses these things for his eventual good. 

The anger I had instilled in me growing up and the anger I had for myself took root in the fertile soil of inadequacy which was drilled into me by my older brothers and my mother and father. I was the youngest and was never good enough. I have hated myself as long as I can remember. So, of course, I married a woman who reinforced that notion. The self-hatred led to self-destructive behaviors, most notably alcoholism and working too much and too hard. I punished myself daily for not being good enough, grinding myself down into a powder that blew away in the strong winds of my youth. I didn't buy into the American Dream because I knew I didn't belong there. I wasn't good enough. I didn't deserve the girl I wanted. I didn't deserve the career I dreamed of. In fact, my father told me to do something that wasn't "artsy-fartsy," even though my obvious God-given talent was art-related. My life has been a big "eff you" to everyone, especially to me. If I couldn't do what I loved, then I would fail and fail miserably. And I would eventually kill myself, which is ultimately a crime against God's creation, so really an "eff you" to God Himself. 

My mother told me at a young age I would have revenge on my brothers, maybe write a tell-all book about them or beat up on them someday. But the real revenge I sought was against myself for being such a failure. But what kind of person tells her kid someday he'll have revenge on his siblings? Instead of giving him the tools to deal with his asshole brothers or *gasp* dealing with his asshole brothers herself, she put anger and revenge in me as the solution. I have this vision in my head of a scene I saw once portrayed on the African plains. A warthog has its back to a little river, and it's facing a pack of hyenas. You root for the warthog, but it isn't looking good. Just when it looks like he'll have a moment to run free, as the dogs have turned their attention away momentarily, he's taken by the leg from behind by a large crocodile and down he goes into the water. That seems like a fitting analogy for my life. I had no effing chance. It was always me against the devil and the deep blue sea. 

What I've seen through my divorce and the retrospective I've decided to indulge in has been shocking and eye-opening. I've seen myself laid bare and opened up, touched by the hands of the Physician, who is tenderly putting me back together. The childhood wounds are so deep. A little more than two years ago, I remember walking the hills by myself, crying out to God in what I'm sure sounded pitiful to the grass and the sky, with all my heart. I wanted to know why He brought me here. Boy, did I find out. 

Without coming here, I never would have experienced the triggers that allowed all the childhood trauma to come to the surface. I would have continued on the destructive path I was on. I would have eventually killed myself, I'm sure, without dealing with these things. So, the pain had a purpose, and I'm thankful for that. But, I never would have gotten that healing if I hadn't turned to God during that very dark time. I trusted He wouldn't put me through it if it didn't have a purpose. That trust is what carried me through the last few years. If I didn't have faith in God, I wouldn't be sitting here in a better place today.

Yes, I've changed. Yes, I will continue to change. I've tried to keep the right attitude through the whole process of putting my life back together, but mostly I am tired. So I will rest. And I will keep writing. Thank you for reading.