Part 3: The Drowning

Nobody knew who he was

But I began to notice something. And it became harder and harder to ignore. No matter how much I tried.

As the tension at home began to grow, as the breaches of trust became more frequent, and as the nights I cried myself to sleep as he lay fast asleep next to me increased, the sharp contrast of how he was presenting around friends and family when we were not within the walls of our home was unsettling.

Because at home, he was becoming more and more robotic. Emotionally numb. Going through the motions. Checking the boxes, showing up when he needed to, and then checking out completely. But around friends and family, he was interested and personable, engaging in conversations intelligently, always saying just the right thing. Even the way he parented our boys when there were other people around—especially the way he parented. He was the perfect blend of assertive and gentle, authoritative and understanding. But at home, he was mentally checked out, impatient and sharp, going from level 1 to 100 in a matter of seconds. Completely removed until just the right button was pressed, and then a huge explosion of anger.

The months slipped away, one after the next. Physically, I was there, but mentally, I was slowly unraveling. Put another load in the washing machine. Forcing my limbs to keep moving, but they were so heavy. Pack the boys into the car to run to Target for more diaper wipes and coffee. Snap a selfie with them in the fitting room, post it on my Instagram with the caption “my besties.” I was smiling, but when I look back at photos from that year, my eyes were hollow.

Because little by little, I was sinking.

Deeper and deeper.

I was drowning.

Suffocating.

Because it wasn’t all bad.

I was a slave to his cyclical nature. A slave to his addictions that I didn’t even fully comprehend yet. A slave to which version of himself he decided to put on for that day.

Sometimes weeks would go by and I would think I was catching a glimpse of the man I thought I married. I thought he was coming back. I thought things would get better. He would wake up when the alarm went off instead of hitting snooze. Get his workout in, eat a healthy breakfast, sit on the couch with his Bible open on his lap, sipping his coffee, clean-shaven and ready to conquer the day.

But then another low would hit, and I would sink a little deeper beneath the waves. Another late night where I would suddenly wake up and realize he wasn’t in bed next to me. Too afraid to go downstairs, into his office, too afraid to confront him. Afraid of what I would find.

An ocean of heartbreak, of mistrust, and a nervous system screaming, “you will never trust him again.” Day in and day out, making the boys breakfast, getting them dressed for the day, doing school at the kitchen table, trips to the playground, trying to convince myself it wouldn’t always feel like this.

I was swimming, flailing my arms, trying to break through to the surface, but I never could.

I wish I could go back and tell myself, you’re drowning in your marriage because it’s not supposed to feel this way.

And there is NOTHING you can do to change him.

It’s not your job to change him.

Leave. Before he sucks every bit of life out of you.

Before he robs your children of their innocence, of the childhood they deserve.

I remember sitting at my mom’s house, the whole family all together. Loud and chaotic, kids running in every direction. The kitchen table littered with paper plates, half-eaten dinners left behind by toddlers escaping when their parents’ backs were turned.

He’s sitting next to my brother and brother-in-law. They’re discussing the sermon from that morning. He’s actively engaged in the conversation. Nodding in agreement, sharing his own thoughts every few minutes. He has the Bible Gateway app open on his phone.

I’m staring at him from across the room, a pit in my stomach, because I know what just happened three days ago. I’m staring at him, because just minutes ago I saw his eyes wander in a way that made my skin crawl. I’m staring at him, because my heart is breaking open a little more every single day, and no matter how many tears I cry, it’s never enough.

I’m staring at him, because nobody knows except for me.

I made myself dig out my old journal from the months before everything crumbled around me. I found this entry that I wrote on 10/27/20—just four months before. It was the night of another discovery. I ran out the front door, fighting back tears. Red-hot anger was filling every part of my body. How could such intense anger live right next to both heartbreak and love? I drove the car to an empty parking lot just a few minutes up the street, and I sobbed. I sobbed hard. I had never felt such despair. With mascara running down my face, something in me changed that night.

I think I knew, deep down, that it was ending. I think that night, I began grieving something I didn’t even fully understand yet.

That night, I wrote this entry:

“My life is spiraling out of control.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I have lost all my motivation to live in this world… the joy has gone out of everything - except for my kids.

All I want to do is be alone, by myself, removed from everyone and everything. I just want to stress eat.

I have lost the desire to workout. To eat healthy. I can’t sleep anymore. I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning. I don’t want to get dressed. I don’t want to do school with the boys.

I feel numb to everything around me. Regardless of where I am or what I am doing, I feel a constant, dull ache inside, reminding me of the reality of my life.

I am living a lie. Nobody knows what is really going on in my life… nobody knows who he really is.

Our marriage is broken. It has been crumbling slowly for a long time… barely staying intact…

With each new lie, each new deception, each new heartbreak, each new wound… a piece of who we used to be crumbled away to vanish into the dust, where all of my hopes and dreams have gone to die.”

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To be Continued in Part 4, The Collapse:

“This is the hardest part for me to write. I’ve been avoiding writing it for days. I still have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, knowing what comes next…”

If you’re new here, you can read Part 1 here.

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