James started playing softball with the church. He demanded to keep playing no matter how much needed to be done and how much I needed help with the kids, and how much I needed a break from them. He would use the excuse that he has never played organized sports, because growing up, his parents never encouraged him to do or stick with anything. He said he really needed to do this and that I needed to support him and that it was so important to him; how he worked hard all week and that the least that I could do is go and support him in something that really made him happy. I felt so guilty for even thinking that I should have any time to myself, that I would get the kids ready. But after doing that all week, I was exhausted and so on Saturdays it would take longer to get going, to get motivated. Instead of being supportive and just once telling me to do something for myself, James would get angry with me for taking so long and making him late. Softball became his life. Two to three practices a week and games on Saturdays, and of course I was supposed to support him through it all because the Bible says, I’m his “helpmate.” So out of guilt, I became his “helpmate.” No matter what I wanted or needed, his needs and wants were going to come first. I don’t mind doing things for someone, but all I got from him was grief, attitude and anger and yet I was supposed to be this supportive wife who stood by her man. No thank you!! That’s not what I wanted. I wanted something I could do just for me.
I was twenty-nine years old and a stay at home mom with three children under the age of three, and now I wanted a career. James wouldn’t get a better job, or a second job, and he wouldn’t let me work. Every time I even brought it up, he would say his kids were not going to be raised by a stranger, because he was raised by a nanny and his parents never paid attention to him. He was so neglected as a child, and there was no way that he was going to let his kids go through what he went through. I needed to think about how he felt! I was being really selfish and needed to quit thinking of myself and think only of my kids and their well being. It was a guilt-ridden statement that always would keep me from my dreams. He said, with tears in his eyes, “You need to think of how I feel.” I bought it every time. I owned his fears. I was a stay at home mom struggling financially, miserable emotionally, and all because of his fears and pain of his childhood. I didn’t want to add to his pain so I didn’t work. I hated it, but I didn’t do it. I decided I would just buy my time until the kids got into school; that was my hope. One day they would be in school—and I would finally have a life of my own!
I always had a dream of owning my own business. I had this ambition that just burned inside of me. I would cry and pray, “Lord why did you create me like this? Why did you create me with so much ambition and then make me a stay-at-home mom?” I hated it. I loved my kids so much, but I would have been so much happier if I could just have something, anything that was just for me, but that also helped with our finances.
Then it happened; I was introduced, by a friend at church, to a wonderful nutritional and weight-loss product. When I took it, I got tons of energy, lost weight and felt great. Because of all the surgeries I had, my abdomen became very weak, and I developed a hietal hernia, and because of all the emotional pain I had been through all my life, especially my marriage, I developed an inflamed stomach and irritable bowel syndrome. My stomach had been through a war. After all those painful, disgusting tests, I was put on several medications just so that I could eat three meals a day. It was very depressing knowing that I would be on all that medication indefinitely, and I believe God knows my heart and my frustration. That’s why I believe He dropped this opportunity into my lap, but not only that, He used these products that I marketed and ingested to heal my stomach. I took a lot of pills, all natural, and I replaced two meals a day with protein shakes. My stomach couldn’t handle more than one meal a day. I loved the business; I met a lot of people and helped them. I felt good about myself because I was doing something I really wanted to do. And to top it off, my health had never been better, my energy soared, and I lost twenty-seven pounds and several inches.
Before I knew it, I was selling it. I felt alive. I could meet people and have adult conversations. I went from being a consultant to a supervisor in about two months. I worked hard and did a great job. My up-line encouraged me, my friends encouraged me, but James was completely the opposite. He was angry if I was on the phone talking to customers. He wanted me to make money, but he didn’t want to support the time that it would take to make this extra money. He said that he “felt left out,” but when I asked him to be involved, to go to meetings with me, he said no he didn’t want to help or have any part of it. We would argue over and over. He said that “I was putting business first and him last.” I said “I’m trying to take care of business when you’re not home, but I have to call people at night when they will be home.” I always felt so guilty if I took any time when he was home to take care of business
I should have felt great emotionally. I mean I was a perfect size 6, my hair was the perfect style, and I bought all the cute clothes to fit my little shape. My career was off and running, but you know what, I was miserable. Yes, I had all the outside stuff going for me. And, if you had seen me, you probably would have really thought I was put together pretty well, with no problems, but that’s not true. There is always a price to pay for success and I was surely paying.
James and I had nothing in common. All I thought about was my business (it helped me not think of the reality of my life and marriage). He was against it from the beginning, and the kids were feeling the neglect. I was always with them, taking them fun places, doing fun things, but sadly to admit, I had only one goal in mind and that was who would be a good prospect. I couldn’t even look at someone without viewing them as a potential customer. I was really obsessed with this business. It has really been humbling to admit this, but it’s true. I was obsessed once again. Of course, I was a huge mess inside. My emotions were filled with guilt, anger and fear.
After softball season was over, James decided he wanted to go back to school. With three kids under three years old, he decided that he needed something for himself. Two nights a week, he took English 101. Now I knew him and how he obsessed over things, and I was really afraid that this would take over his life like softball did. When I shared my concerns with him, he told me his parents, who were educators, never encouraged him to go to college, so I at least could do that for him. I could at least give him that. After all he worked hard all week and all he wanted to do was do something for himself so that he could feel like he could finish something in life. Now, I of all people understood how much someone needed something for themselves, so of course I agreed, not out of love and support, but guilt and shame.
We tried to work on our relationship by having our pastor and his wife counsel us. But neither of us could give up our pride and sacrificially love each other. That would mean I would have to give up on my business, which I thought was my life.
Our finances were really bad, as usual, which meant my dad was buying us diapers and formula and James, instead of getting a second job to provide for his family (who totally depended on him) spent his money on school, on classes and on his books. One class two nights a week, six hours a week, no big deal, right? I mean that shouldn’t really disrupt our lives very much. Well with his obsessive behavior, he would study three times the amount of school hours. He studied at the library for eighteen hours a week. So there I was with the kids all day, and because he had to study all night, I would be taking care of the kids all night as well. It was way too much for me.
Every time I brought up that he was spending too much time studying, he just made me feel even guiltier. Instead of hating him for his behavior, I hated school. And then not only was he obsessed with the studying, guess who he asked (I mean guilted) into typing his papers during the day? I was supposed to juggle three kids, a house, and make sure his papers were typed for school. I hated that. I didn’t want to type his papers. I mean, I was so angry with his school for causing me so much pain. I blamed it all on his teacher. I didn’t even blame James. Well, I did on the outside, but on the inside, I was angry at his schoolwork. Isn’t that nuts, being angry at his schoolwork?
Usually when he asked me to type his papers, he did about fifteen drafts before I got it, and then I would have to type at night when I was tired, actually exhausted from the day. He would criticize everything I did. I hated sitting next to him at the computer knowing that after all the criticism, he was going to want to make love. I hated the thought of such an insensitive selfish touch coming from him.
When the class ended I thought I could finally get some time for me, but he demanded to take another class. He said he worked so hard in English 101 that he just couldn’t stop now. After all he never finished any thing in his life and he needed to do that for himself. After all, he worked hard all week and the least I could do was to support him on something he wanted for himself. So out of guilt and being tired of arguing, I just gave in. But I told him it had to be different this time, no more eighteen hours of studying. He agreed and said he knew he was being obsessive and perfectionist about it and that it would be different this time. I halfway trusted him and agreed, but things didn’t change. However, this time I didn’t just hate his schoolwork, I hated him. I didn’t want anything more to do with him. He was so selfish, spending the money on school that we needed to buy groceries, diapers and pay bills; and also taking every spare moment studying.
I still, somehow, wanted him to do well because I didn’t want to be the one in his life that didn’t support him, but it was getting out of hand. I kept telling him that we needed to schedule his study times on a calendar, and that I was sure we could work it out and that he could do well. He wouldn’t, he would just make me feel guilty. I gave in, but I hated every moment of it. Then because I was so angry and worried about our finances, I got sick. Eventually he begrudgingly quit school. I thought our life would get a little normal, but then softball would start again and all that guilt, frustration and anger started all over again.
During these times of frustration and anger, I went over my dad’s house. He didn’t live there. I went over there in the summer time and just prayed and cried and layed on a raft in his pool. That was my time. And usually about every four to six months, I would get so tired of his guilt and shame that I would go away for three to four days by myself. I knew when I couldn’t take it anymore, and I would split. I’d go to my dad’s beach house or time-share somewhere. It was either get away, or go crazy. I felt so many times that I was going to have a nervous break down. I was so overwhelmed by our financial situation, not knowing how we were going to pay our bills, not knowing if I would even have gas to go anywhere, and knowing that if I couldn’t go out with the kids that I could really go crazy. I would just be so overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted from the weekend hell at our house.
This is how it went weekend after weekend. He would come home on Friday evening angry and hurting and would thrust all his pain onto myself and the kids. He picked on all of us by ridiculing everything we did. He put me down for not cooking which I didn’t do because he ridiculed what I cooked or he would take over if I asked him how to do something. He complained about how he had to handle all the responsibility like laundry, (which totally overwhelmed me) and shopping, (because he questioned everything I bought at the store). He didn’t talk to me and got on the kids about their eating or how they were sitting. He argued a lot with Kaylie and myself. He felt like we were always taking advantage of him. He yelled a lot at the kids for petty things and he got on my case about disrupting his plans or claimed that I slept too late. Whatever he could complain about, he did. Then he would go to work on Monday morning and, after putting me through hell all weekend he would then come home Monday night like nothing ever happened. I felt like I was going through post war depression. The kids repeated the behavior that they learned over the weekend. They picked on each other and disrespected me. This went on until Thursday when we would all finally pull it together. After I worked all week so hard with the kid’s behavior, they would start to behave, and then, bam, Friday would come and it would start all over again.
Birthdays, celebrations and especially holidays were absolutely miserable. James struggled with depression Thanksgiving Day through the day after New Years Day. I’ll never forget one holiday season, as he was sitting in the dark, he got up, took a sledgehammer and mutilated our wing back chair. He thrashed it into thousands of tiny pieces. I know, because I cleaned it up. Now that scared me, that really scared me to truly see the kind of anger and rage that was inside of my husband. I think at that point, I never wanted to make him that angry again. I just never wanted to push him to or over his limits. After that, I always kept my boundaries. When he would get angry and slam kitchen cabinets, I would feel fear and stop arguing. I was afraid to push him any further. I really wasn’t sure what he was capable of doing.
Dinnertime was miserable every single night. He would get so angry if dinner wasn’t perfect, especially his cooking. If he burnt something or it didn’t turn out exactly the way he wanted it to, he would have a fit and slam cabinets or throw something. If his food wasn’t hot enough sometimes he threw his food in the trash. He was always in a bad mood and would not talk to any of us, but he would constantly correct the kids at the table. He didn’t ask them how their day was; he just got on their cases. As I would ask them how their day was, all he would do was get on the kids about how they were sitting, or what they were and were not eating. Dinnertime was the worst time of the day.
You may be wondering why I didn’t cook. It was because I didn’t know how to cook very well, and I was afraid to try because of my husband’s comments. I couldn’t do anything right, at least that’s how I felt. Since everything had to be perfect for him, I never felt like I could ever please him, so why try. I mean I couldn’t even make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich right. It had to be perfect, the bread had to be laid a certain way, the peanut butter had to be thick enough and the jelly had to be just enough. If not, he would want me to fix it better. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with trying to do it his way, but then his guilt trip would start. He would say that I should make it exactly the way he wants it. I should want to do that for him if that’s the way he wants it. The problem was that I really did want to do it the way he wanted it, but I never could get it right.
Everything was like that. I’d try to go shopping, and he would put me down and question how much I spent or what I bought. I always felt so insecure. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right. When I cooked, I would be so overwhelmed and so worried about being put down, that I would end up crying by the time I was finished. I couldn’t eat my food and definitely couldn’t enjoy my meal. So even though he would make me feel guilty for not cooking, that was way better then the grief and anxiety that I experienced when I did cook.
I wasn’t afraid of doing laundry wrong, I just was so overwhelmed by every chore, especially laundry. I couldn’t keep up with it. I could put it all away, but keeping up with it daily was not possible. I would put it in and totally forget about it for days. So he washed and dried all clothes and I put them all away.
The sad thing was that he told everybody that he did all the cooking, grocery shopping and laundry. Everyone thought my husband was too good to be true. He cooked, he shopped, and of course, he always ran into one of the women from church, who saw him week after week grocery shopping. Of course, he would boast about all that he did, not ever telling anyone that he wiped my self-esteem out when it came to those kinds of chores. No, they just thought that I was married to this wonderful guy, and wondered what I did if he did all the cooking, shopping and laundry. He ate it up. And then they came to me to tell me how lucky I was and how wonderful he was. It made me sick to my stomach. This went on for years. Practical strangers would come up to me and tell me how wonderful he was. And they would also tell me all the wonderful things he said about me to them. How much he admired me, and the way I handle myself. I would get the honor that I so desperately needed from my husband through others repeating what he said to them about me. The thing was, he never said those things to me. As I would tell him that I was proud of him for something, he would tell others how proud he was of me.
I’m sure you’re wondering, why didn’t I leave. It was because I was terrified to take care of my three kids myself. With the low self-esteem caused by my husband controlling everything I did, and feeling totally overwhelmed about every chore, and the lack of training to even know how to accomplish the things that needed to be done on a daily basis, I was just really scared. I didn’t think I could make it on my own and I had so many people telling me it wasn’t an option. They said that I took those vows before God, and what God puts together, let no man put asunder. They said marriage is for better or for worse. That’s what kept me in this prison called marriage. The way that I dealt with the hell year after year was that I went away by myself; me and God and my journal. I cried and prayed and wrote all my pain on paper. I would come back refreshed and ready to deal with it for another four to six months.
My business really helped me to deal with the way my life was. I wanted so badly to do well. I knew I had the potential. I had the gift of selling, and I did great. I felt like, finally, I could contribute to the finances, and our marriage would get better – but it didn’t. Just the mention of my business would start an argument with James. He would tell me how unimportant he felt and how I wasn’t making enough money anyway, and how I decided to become a distributor without discussing it with him, and how it was taking up too much of my time. The arguing got so bad that I just couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to support me emotionally, then I was going to have to quit. I was devastated, but I packed everything up one day and went out of business. It was a very sad day for me, but a very happy day for him. I would be there for him whenever he needed me, no more interruptions. But the problem was when he didn’t need me for anything; he emotionally shut me out and didn’t talk to me. So there I was, without the job that had brought so much meaning to my life. I had all this ambition and nowhere to use it. Life was even more dismal and dreadful than ever.