The more things change

I always was an optimist. I say that knowing it isn't true. I spent many years of my life as a wife and mother of three beautiful children. I knew next to nothing about being a wife or mother. I fully expected that I would be given the respect of being a partner in the marriage and of being right in my ideas of raising the children. Alas, that didn't happen.

The person I married wed me with the idea of being the knight in shining armor and rescuing me from my terrible home life and training me to be a good person according to his standards. His mother, whom I came to love dearly, was his idea of the perfect woman. I didn't know this when we wed. I learned eventually. She actually was an unusual mix of the Victorian wife and woman, and of the modern woman. R, (not her name) fully believed that the man is the head of the house. But R didn't realize that the man she had married was a wonderful but shy man who wouldn't fight her to run things. He was an absolute delight and I loved him so much. But back to R. The Victorian view of things had the woman raising the children and preparing them for the next phase of their lives. Females were to be wives and men were to bring home the bacon. Then things changed. By the time I was married the wives and husbands were breadwinners. But some things didn't change. I was supposed to become his mother. Couldn't do it. And you know how when you run toward someone they back up? That's normal. I didn't know. The more I wanted to share in his life the less I was welcome. And at some point you just give up. After all, I was the one in the wrong, and he was doing his job, bringing home the bacon.

I am amazed at how insidiously the message sneaks into the interaction. The pursed lips, the boys only outings, the why don't you questions. Loud and clear to anyone who listens. I didn't. I thought that once I was married I was safe. That my husband and I would work out problems without anyone's feelings being hurt. Again, wrong. I lived in a constant state of anxiety and fear.

So I acted out. Badly. I hurt the kids. Terribly. I suppose I may have hurt him but by that time I didn't care. Paybacks are hell.

Now I'm getting my payback. My hope that we could be friendly coparents- a total no go. My hope to develop better relationships with the kids- somewhat successful. But this year, I'm a basket case and I can't seem to stop crying. I would love it if someone would say a prayer for me.