I've developed a bit of a game plan. I don't know how well it will work, but I gotta do something.
First I'm going to contact the EAP office at work. If you aren't familiar with the Employee Assistance Program it is a pretty awesome service that offers basic counseling services for employees on a short term basis. Most major corporations offer this service so look into it if you ever find yourself in need. My hope is that after a couple of individual sessions I will be able to bring the kids in on it so they learn how to relate to a father they have rarely seen before.
My husband is not open to any group therapy and he is unwilling to try a 12 step program. There will be no "making amends". He has said all along that his drinking was a direct reaction to the stress we gave him here at home by not being the perfect little Stepford family. I know that therapy won't make me into what he perceives as the ideal wife and mother, but maybe it will help me better react to the constant criticism without making things worse.
I know that his success or failure at sobriety will mean the end of our marriage. Honestly I can admit that it was probably over long ago and his drinking is what kept him here in the first place. I could go into a million examples of this but I'll save it for therapy.
I don't know what he has told the children about all of this. I haven't mentioned it and I'm not going to until we have had some sort of family discussion. Thankfully they weren't around when he dropped this bombshell on me and they weren't home until late in the evening so they haven't seen me breaking down into tears for no apparent reason.
I'm pinning all my hopes on counseling. Unfortunately that's where all my fears lie as well. What if therapy proves him right? What if everything that has gone wrong in his life the last 20 years is my fault? I accepted him and all his flaws. He accepted me and all my flaws. Now he wants to better himself, but what if I'm as good as I'm going to get?
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
The start of something new or the beginning of the end
My husband of almost 20 years just told me he is giving up alcohol, cold-turkey, and that if he fails he will leave me.
While I am proud of him for making the decision to change his life for the better, he has some how made his 30 year addiction my fault. I've tried before to convince him to quit. I hoped he would see how his drinking affected our children and he would make the decision to stop. But whatever finally pushed him to make the change doesn't matter; it is the right thing to do for him and for the children.
What concerns me is that he is going into this on his own. No support system except for me and the kids. We aren't trained professionals; we are flawed humans just like him. So how can he pin the possibility of failure on me? I put up with the all the crap that comes from living with an alcoholic. I put out all the fires with the children. I was a single parent a lot of the time because he just wasn't there to help with the kids or the bills.
Was I a perfect mother, housewife, financial planner? No, I never claimed to be. I did the best I could on my own. Now he tells me we should have never gotten married because neither one of us is good with money. He tells me how much all of his friends have. He tells me how some of them turned their lives around because of strong supportive wives. I get no credit for sticking through all the shit of the last 20 years without complaining. Anytime I did try to bring something up about money or minor household issues I had to deal with whatever state of inebriation he was in. Then there would be the inevitable argument later on when he didn't remember anything we had previously discussed.
I am not blameless, but I don't know if I can handle being solely responsible for the success or failure of his sobriety.
While I am proud of him for making the decision to change his life for the better, he has some how made his 30 year addiction my fault. I've tried before to convince him to quit. I hoped he would see how his drinking affected our children and he would make the decision to stop. But whatever finally pushed him to make the change doesn't matter; it is the right thing to do for him and for the children.
What concerns me is that he is going into this on his own. No support system except for me and the kids. We aren't trained professionals; we are flawed humans just like him. So how can he pin the possibility of failure on me? I put up with the all the crap that comes from living with an alcoholic. I put out all the fires with the children. I was a single parent a lot of the time because he just wasn't there to help with the kids or the bills.
Was I a perfect mother, housewife, financial planner? No, I never claimed to be. I did the best I could on my own. Now he tells me we should have never gotten married because neither one of us is good with money. He tells me how much all of his friends have. He tells me how some of them turned their lives around because of strong supportive wives. I get no credit for sticking through all the shit of the last 20 years without complaining. Anytime I did try to bring something up about money or minor household issues I had to deal with whatever state of inebriation he was in. Then there would be the inevitable argument later on when he didn't remember anything we had previously discussed.
I am not blameless, but I don't know if I can handle being solely responsible for the success or failure of his sobriety.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Bruised
Not battered, not broken, just bruised
A deep bruise that doesn't show
Touch and the pain awakens deep down
You keep poking and poking
So that I'll never heal
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
When is enough enough?
Twenty years of being blamed for everything that has gone wrong. Twenty years of having to judge how much he's had to drink, what mood is he in, how much will he remember, catching hell when you guess wrong. I'm not perfect. I'm a lousy housewife. I can't cook. I can't handle money well. I thought I was paying my dues by being denied real affection, never a unsolicited hug or kiss.
He claims we are supposed to be a team when all he wants is for me to agree with whatever crazy drunken lecture he decides to deliver after hours in his workshop. I do my best to agree when I see that his intentions are good but his method is ineffective. I tell the kids the abbreviated version later and assure them that their father is not a raving lunatic.
Sometimes I guess wrong. Sometimes he is more aware and that's when he gets angry. His idle threats are almost laughable now and rarely upset me. Sometimes, when he is more coherent, his screaming and name calling can really hurt. What hurts the most is that the kids are more aware now. This hurts because I wonder how my son will learn to treat women; how will my daughter allow the men in her life to treat her? I kid myself into thinking that they are learning conflict resolution. Tomorrow he won't remember half of what he said, and I am really good at letting things slide. By the weekend we will be civil and the argument will be all but forgotten. Sure Mommy and Daddy yell and scream, but when the dust settles they are still there for each other. I learned at an early age about "keeping up appearances" and it has served me well.
Why do I put up with it? There are a couple of reasons. Most importantly is that he loves his children. He would do anything for them. Apparently this means sticking with me through this miserable existence. I guess that's also the biggest thing we have in common. The second reason is mainly financial. I think we would both agree that if we could afford to live in separate households we would. Since there is no infidelity and no abuse there is really no reason pushing us to live apart.
We get along sometimes. Mainly when we are enjoying the accomplishments of the children. With the exception of our son's involvement in the Young Marines they are usually achievements he hears about second hand. I don't fault him for that. He makes it to the important ones if work responsibilities don't interfere. This is the curse of being a daddy.
I gladly sacrifice my happiness to give my children everything I never had, a two parent household with parents that hold their children's interests above their own. I've made it this far and through far worse than this. They are the greater good and I will honor my vow of "through good times and in bad". I've been through worse.
He claims we are supposed to be a team when all he wants is for me to agree with whatever crazy drunken lecture he decides to deliver after hours in his workshop. I do my best to agree when I see that his intentions are good but his method is ineffective. I tell the kids the abbreviated version later and assure them that their father is not a raving lunatic.
Sometimes I guess wrong. Sometimes he is more aware and that's when he gets angry. His idle threats are almost laughable now and rarely upset me. Sometimes, when he is more coherent, his screaming and name calling can really hurt. What hurts the most is that the kids are more aware now. This hurts because I wonder how my son will learn to treat women; how will my daughter allow the men in her life to treat her? I kid myself into thinking that they are learning conflict resolution. Tomorrow he won't remember half of what he said, and I am really good at letting things slide. By the weekend we will be civil and the argument will be all but forgotten. Sure Mommy and Daddy yell and scream, but when the dust settles they are still there for each other. I learned at an early age about "keeping up appearances" and it has served me well.
Why do I put up with it? There are a couple of reasons. Most importantly is that he loves his children. He would do anything for them. Apparently this means sticking with me through this miserable existence. I guess that's also the biggest thing we have in common. The second reason is mainly financial. I think we would both agree that if we could afford to live in separate households we would. Since there is no infidelity and no abuse there is really no reason pushing us to live apart.
We get along sometimes. Mainly when we are enjoying the accomplishments of the children. With the exception of our son's involvement in the Young Marines they are usually achievements he hears about second hand. I don't fault him for that. He makes it to the important ones if work responsibilities don't interfere. This is the curse of being a daddy.
I gladly sacrifice my happiness to give my children everything I never had, a two parent household with parents that hold their children's interests above their own. I've made it this far and through far worse than this. They are the greater good and I will honor my vow of "through good times and in bad". I've been through worse.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Bottomless Pit
Things are bad. Things are really bad. I keep waiting for things to turn around and start improving, but I don't think there is a bottom. What's the problem? Money.
We are broke. We are broker than broke. I'm not really sure how it got this bad. I know it has to do with the mismanagement of my severance package and the 6 months it took me to find a job with a comparable salary.
All of our credit cards are out of commission so it's paycheck to paycheck. Well, we are actually a few paychecks behind. I live in fear of the repo man because I'm scared to find out how far we are behind on the car notes. The transmission might be going out on one and the other needs new tires.
Twenty years ago, at pre-martial counseling, the minister shook his head upon discovering that neither of us was good with money. Strangely enough that's not what we really fight about. Come to think of it we never really talk about money. I guess that's because it doesn't ever a discussion about what to do, but of whose to blame. He still has the his and hers mentality. After almost 20 years you would think somethings would be ours.
We are both really bad about not denying the kids a lot of things. Not necessarily material things, but also opportunities. That's mostly my fault. I was never given any opportunities to do things and experience things. If they have an interest in a sport or activity I can't say no.
I don't pay bills....I pay cut-off notices and reconnect fees. The really sad thing is we only owe about $25,ooo and that includes a few credit cards and the balances on both car notes. It's like drowning within site of the shore.
We are broke. We are broker than broke. I'm not really sure how it got this bad. I know it has to do with the mismanagement of my severance package and the 6 months it took me to find a job with a comparable salary.
All of our credit cards are out of commission so it's paycheck to paycheck. Well, we are actually a few paychecks behind. I live in fear of the repo man because I'm scared to find out how far we are behind on the car notes. The transmission might be going out on one and the other needs new tires.
Twenty years ago, at pre-martial counseling, the minister shook his head upon discovering that neither of us was good with money. Strangely enough that's not what we really fight about. Come to think of it we never really talk about money. I guess that's because it doesn't ever a discussion about what to do, but of whose to blame. He still has the his and hers mentality. After almost 20 years you would think somethings would be ours.
We are both really bad about not denying the kids a lot of things. Not necessarily material things, but also opportunities. That's mostly my fault. I was never given any opportunities to do things and experience things. If they have an interest in a sport or activity I can't say no.
I don't pay bills....I pay cut-off notices and reconnect fees. The really sad thing is we only owe about $25,ooo and that includes a few credit cards and the balances on both car notes. It's like drowning within site of the shore.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A warning to all parents
Once you make the decision to be open and honest with your kids about sex you need to understand it encompasses more than just the basic birds and bees talk. I thought the hard part was over once we covered the penis and vagina part. We even got through menstruation fairly unscathed. Little did we know the flood gates were yet to open.
OK, so we freaked a tiny bit when our 5th grade daughter asked us what a hand job was, but true to our promise we explained as honestly as we could. We even survived almost daily "pube"checks with our son as neared puberty. I was naive enough to think the boy would be the easy one. I guess that's because I'm not one and I didn't understand all they go through in becoming men.
Like most little boys he has been fascinated by his penis since he was little. Running around naked has been his favorite pastime since he could walk. When he was about 5 we were on vacation, and he was drying himself after his bath. He had dried that area so thoroughly that he was amazed when he got it to stand at attention. He yelled for everyone to look. "Look what I made it do."
More recently it has taken to achieving full mast status because the wind blew a certain way. This was something I expected with a little boy. This I wasn't surprised about. But when your son comes to you and says "Mom, can you look at my junk. It's all red and swollen." you need to steel yourself for the task. I went into full-on nurse mode expecting poison ivy from peeing in the woods. I quickly realized this was not something that mommy needed to address. I referred him to his father, who, after the prerequisite jokes about where he may or may not have been putting it, quickly determined the cause.
No mother should be included in the conversation with her 13 year old son about acceptable lubricants for "rubbing one out". It's times like these that I wish my husband and son enjoyed fishing or hunting or any activity that would offer them the opportunity to discuss these sorts of things.
I will say this for my husband, he held true to our pact of discussing anything and everything openly and honestly. I held up my end by sitting catatonic on the couch and trying to pretend I wasn't hearing everything I was hearing.
OK, so we freaked a tiny bit when our 5th grade daughter asked us what a hand job was, but true to our promise we explained as honestly as we could. We even survived almost daily "pube"checks with our son as neared puberty. I was naive enough to think the boy would be the easy one. I guess that's because I'm not one and I didn't understand all they go through in becoming men.
Like most little boys he has been fascinated by his penis since he was little. Running around naked has been his favorite pastime since he could walk. When he was about 5 we were on vacation, and he was drying himself after his bath. He had dried that area so thoroughly that he was amazed when he got it to stand at attention. He yelled for everyone to look. "Look what I made it do."
More recently it has taken to achieving full mast status because the wind blew a certain way. This was something I expected with a little boy. This I wasn't surprised about. But when your son comes to you and says "Mom, can you look at my junk. It's all red and swollen." you need to steel yourself for the task. I went into full-on nurse mode expecting poison ivy from peeing in the woods. I quickly realized this was not something that mommy needed to address. I referred him to his father, who, after the prerequisite jokes about where he may or may not have been putting it, quickly determined the cause.
No mother should be included in the conversation with her 13 year old son about acceptable lubricants for "rubbing one out". It's times like these that I wish my husband and son enjoyed fishing or hunting or any activity that would offer them the opportunity to discuss these sorts of things.
I will say this for my husband, he held true to our pact of discussing anything and everything openly and honestly. I held up my end by sitting catatonic on the couch and trying to pretend I wasn't hearing everything I was hearing.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
What's that at the end of the tunnel, a light? Nope, just a train.
I've got this jumped up feeling like I'm about to explode out of my skin. I imagine it's what people who spontaneously combust feel like right before they burst into flames. I have a nervous stomach which feels like it's full of butterflies only, in keeping with my mood, I'm sure it's more like flying cockroaches. I'm swinging from feeling generally pretty good about things to feeling much more than my usual doom and gloom.
I had issues when I was younger of wishing something bad would happen to me, a terrible illness or a horrible accident. For the most part, and mostly for my kids sake, I've put these sort of feelings behind me. But lately I've been feeling something similar to those old feelings. I would never, I repeat, NEVER do anything to take myself away from my kids.
I have sacrificed my own happiness to make sure they have a relatively normal childhood. Sure their father is an alcoholic, but he isn't a violent drunk. The worst they've had to endure is unending lectures that either ramble aimlessly or go around in circles. Plus the sight of him shaking with the d.t.'s on weekend mornings is enough to scare them straight.
The last thing they need is a mother who's gone off the deep end. I'm sure I'll be able to pull it together. It just feels a little like riding your bike too fast down a steep hill. You know you've got everything under control, but you still can't help feel like you are going to lose your balance. Let's hope I get to the bottom of this hill unscathed and soon!
I had issues when I was younger of wishing something bad would happen to me, a terrible illness or a horrible accident. For the most part, and mostly for my kids sake, I've put these sort of feelings behind me. But lately I've been feeling something similar to those old feelings. I would never, I repeat, NEVER do anything to take myself away from my kids.
I have sacrificed my own happiness to make sure they have a relatively normal childhood. Sure their father is an alcoholic, but he isn't a violent drunk. The worst they've had to endure is unending lectures that either ramble aimlessly or go around in circles. Plus the sight of him shaking with the d.t.'s on weekend mornings is enough to scare them straight.
The last thing they need is a mother who's gone off the deep end. I'm sure I'll be able to pull it together. It just feels a little like riding your bike too fast down a steep hill. You know you've got everything under control, but you still can't help feel like you are going to lose your balance. Let's hope I get to the bottom of this hill unscathed and soon!
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