Processing

"Would you take me out for drinks?" she asked.

"Sure, Lady," I replied. "I'd like that."

"If you get me drunk," she continued, "I might be able to talk to you about where I'm at."

"Deal!"

I took her to a little pub close to our home. The music wasn't too loud, but it was definitely present. She asked the waitress to make her something with amaretto in it, and I had a rum & coke. We sipped our drinks and I stared into her eyes.

She'd been giving me strange looks all evening. Sometimes I suspect she's "smouldering", which is sometimes an invitation to kiss her or some other romantic gesture. But I wasn't sure what she was thinking. So, of course, I asked.

"What're you thinking?"

She smiled quietly to herself, finished her drink, and asked for another. I went up and ordered it for her.

We sat mostly silently for awhile. I tried to ask questions, to draw her out, but she flatly refused. After awhile she said, "I'm just processing. I'm not going to tell you anything about it. I need a few more drinks, and I need to be quiet and think."

"Okay," I said, disappointed on the inside but maintaining a cheery attitude on the outside.

On the way home, I stopped at a convenience store for some Kahlua mudslides and extra bottle of Vodka. She didn't want me to make her drinks --- she didn't want any association with me. So she took the mudslides and went off to be alone, and I retired to the basement.

I'm sure she's thinking this (because she said it, offhand, earlier in the day):

"Should I go out and try to find something better, or should I 'settle' for you?"

It sparks a million thoughts; of my search for unconditional love, of my quest to feel like I was a success and not a total loser, my flirtations with other women while married, of my eventual "emotional affair" that I thought met all of those deep, untouched needs. Of the devastation of the loss of the other woman. Of the slow realisation (taking two years of anguish) that the other woman was not in fact better for me, or even good for me in any way. That all I needed was actually found in my wife, and what wasn't in her was only found in God, not in any human being. That we were intended for each other, that we were the best possible partners because we clash so tremendously.

We needed each other to highlight the areas of our lives that were deeply broken and needed healing. We just didn't understand why we kept hurting each other so terribly. She brutalised me by reinforcing my belief that I wasn't able to succeed as a husband or as a man. I brutalised her by reinforcing her belief that she wasn't precious, desireable, beautiful, or captivating. So I spent my time trying to find someone that would make me feel like a success. After enough neglect, she left me and went off to find someone to make her feel worthy of romance and love and pursuit.

I thought I found what I needed in the other woman. I felt like I was always getting an "F" from my wife, no matter what I tried, and the other woman said, "No, baby, you score an 'A' every time, no matter what effort you put in." I felt like a hero. I felt like a god, instead of a complete failure.

That is what I mourned for two years. The loss of feeling immortal, invincible, all-powerful. The idea that I was binding myself to someone who I felt made me feel like a loser.

I had to grow up and realise that I'm responsible for my own feelings, and living for my wife's approval is a perfect recipe for total failure. Living for anyone's approval is a recipe for failure. I'd still love to please her, but I can't rely on that for my own well-being. Because I won't always please her.

I thought of all these things, and how she still wonders if she should go out there, explore, date, have sex, do all the things her former moral code said she shouldn't, and find out by experience what she wants out of life. And I think, you know, I thought the grass was greener. But it was lethal poison, not life. The other woman never actually loved me. She just loved being loved, and really dug that she could entice a man away from his wife.

The other men my wife has been with have enjoyed her on a superficial level for a time and then disappeared. No-one is there when she's PMSing and savage. No-one is there for her children. No-one is prepared to deal with the boring everyday life stuff. Sure, they liked the fun and physical delights. Who wouldn't? Only I was prepared to embrace the whole.

She could go out and find all kinds of attractive men, particularly when she's in New York for a month. She could experience all kinds of pleasures with them. But nothing she can experience there has any bearing on her real life --- her kids, her friends, et cetera. She is not, in fact, unattached, no matter if she pretends to be for a time. And so whatever she develops with whoever she meets will be based on fantasy, not reality.

Will reality win?

Will I win, meekly caring for our children, in the home we bought from my parents, the home I grew up in, in the bed my father made by hand for us as a wedding gift, a wedding she now despises?

Will being with me, and her kids, living in a small town, outweigh the glory and glamour of living in New York doing theatre for a month? Meeting glamourous big-city people and doing glamourous big-city things?

Will her heart be broken by yet another man who uses her for his gratification and then never calls again? Or worse: will she meet someone that she wants to be with more, and decide to stay forever?

She leaves in a month. She'll be gone for a month. She won't allow herself to fall in love with me before she leaves. And so what will the next month be like?

She processes these selfsame thoughts, alone. I keep the kids away from her, giving her space, hoping and praying that in the end, she chooses me.

But I have no assurance that it will happen.