More marriages might survive if the partners realized that sometimes the better comes after the worse.
Doug Larson
I've been missing for a while because I've been going through a major crisis. My husband told me in August, and has since stuck to his position, that he wants to leave me mostly because of my PTSD and partly for other reasons that he, so far, hasn't been able to articulate in a way I can (or want to hear). I didn't see this coming - but who does. I had been doing progressively better during the past year. It's not just me who says that, my therapist and doctor had both been telling me the same thing. Then, what I thought was a successful trip to visit my parents turned into a nightmare (at least for me). My husband seemed to be taking things in stride at my parents, even when there was tension or grumpy/confused parents. He and our son spent time with his relatives for a few days and that seemed to go well too. We'd been home for about two weeks when my husband dropped the D-bomb.
It all started innocently enough - as many things do - with a piece of peach pie. I had planned a mini "staycation" for us in Vancouver at a fancy downtown hotel. I thought we should get away together, since we hadn't done that during the summer. We stopped at our favorite bookstore on the way and then I suggested that we have some pie at Aphrodite's (ah, the irony) the organic restaurant across the street from the bookstore. The plan was to share a piece of pumpkin pie; however when we got there, I discovered that they had fresh peach pie. It was peach season and I love peach pie, but only when it's made from fresh, local peaches. So, I decided to order an entire piece of pie for myself and my husband wouldn't order anything. He had been cutting back on his eating - a clue that I missed, I realize now. (A clue of his plans to be single again.) I got annoyed, then angry because we were spending one night on our "mini-vacation" and that didn't seem to be the time to be so inflexible about eating. Besides, he seemed like he was annoyed himself, even pouting, that I'd dared to change my plan over the pumpkin pie.
Things were no better at the fancy hotel. I'd booked us into a boutique hotel in downtown Vancouver, on a quiet sidestreet. Since we live here, I knew the neighborhood and was looking forward to a luxurious night alone. I'd even bought a new nightgown for the occasion and wore my favorite purple top with some linen pants. (My version of dressing up.) At the hotel, I was still mad about the pie, not so much that the pie itself was such a huge thing, but because my husband was hardly behaving as if he was looking forward to spending time alone. Which, under the circumstances, he undoubtedly wasn't. Sadly, I had no idea what was on his mind, so as he continued to be withdrawn and disagreeable, I said, "I really don't know why we stay together." I didn't mean it literally and it was probably a foolish thing to say. He rose to the bait, however, and told me that he agreed and he'd been thinking about that lately. I was shocked. My husband is one of those people keeps things to himself and rarely tells people what he's thinking, until his mind is made up. I was shocked. For the third time in our marriage, my husband had unilaterally decided he wanted to leave without talking to me about it. PTSD, and other factors, were involved in each decision.
We spent a dreadful and expensive night at that lovely boutique hotel. I didn't want to eat for a long time, then we ordered room service and watched the rest of a pretty good movie and my husband seemed to back away some from the divorce scenario. Or at least, I convinced myself of that. A sort of tentative peace was made - for another week or two. Then we went into counseling and all hell broke loose. (more on that later.)
For now, I'll leave you with a few thoughts on PTSD and relationships and a small glimmer of hope for myself and my husband.
Below, are links to several articles I found on that ring true for me and my husband.
Effect of PTSD on a person's life
Somedays I have no hope; somedays I cling to the smallest sliver of hope, just like a butterfly or bee clings to a flower. In about 9 days, my husband has agreed to see my therapist who is willing to answer any questions he has about PTSD and her professional opinion about my prognosis. It may help - or it may not. But it's a start.
Meanwhile, I'll try to keep writing here. It's very painful and personal and I'm not sure how often I can do it, but I can't let my husband silence me through his threats to leave and his disapproval of a condition that I neither chose nor caused.
