Funniest thing I cleaned out of the old car- tassels from my graduation for my bachelor degree
Strangest thing I cleaned out of the old car- found a love note from the ex (blech)
Best thing about the new car- that new car smell
Funniest thing about the new car- my femurs are too short for the seat so I used my purse as a makeshift lumbar pillow
Second funniest thing about the new car- my husband said this is the only time it will ever be illegally parked. I am a rule follower:)
You know those times when you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you finally get a deep lungful of air?
Well, apparently I haven’t been breathing for the past 6 years. Or actually for the past 6 years and 5 days, to be exact.
And I didn’t even realize it until today. Or more specifically, when I received the word that not only did I qualify for the car loan, I qualified for the lowest interest rate.
I can’t even begin to explain the relief that gives me.
Not only does a new (and hopefully more trustworthy car) give me freedom, the loan is a sign that I can finally put the financial betrayal behind me.
I’ve always said that the financial betrayal was the worst. It’s the one that refuses to disappear. That tails behind me as stubborn and persistent as a hungry toddler. Only much, much more nefarious.
I have been reminded of it every time I’ve had to make payments on debts he incurred (for things like HIS honeymoon). It’s been thrown in my face with letters and phone calls from collections, threatening me because of his lies. And it’s held me back as I’ve worked to improve my credit score.
It’s been a load of shame on my back for the past 6 years.
I’ve felt embarrassed every time my financial situation has to be exposed. I instinctively pull out my divorce decree, ready to defend myself against the stains still on my record. I’m not sure what’s worse – the feeling that others might think I was responsible for the debt or the knowledge that I was a chump, blindly ignorant to my ex’s machinations.
I’ve been uncomfortable with my car – easily the oldest in the parking lot at work and probably also the senior in my neighborhood – for a few years. I don’t like to let people into the vehicle, where the orange foam spilling out of the cracked seats will tickle their sides. I like to arrive to the location where I will meet a new person before them, so that I am not associated with the rapidly aging vehicle. Because even though I’m not one to give much credence to appearances, I know that others are judging me by my ride.
It’s been a flame of anger for the past 6 years.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he stole my money and my credit and escaped unharmed as far as I know. It’s not fair that all of the careful planning and saving that I did was wiped out for his impulsive and deceptive actions. It’s not fair that he was granted the newer and more valuable car (that was almost paid off) by the courts and I received the ten year old model.
I’m angry at myself. For believing what my ex told me and not looking for myself. For trusting that he cared as much about my financial well-being as he did his own. For being stupid and gullible and naive.
And I’m reminded of this anger every time I grow frustrated with my car or see his impact still imprinted on my credit. I’ve had to very intentional and generous with gratitude to counteract the scalding impact of his actions. And that’s not fair either.
It’s been a cloak of fear around my heart for the past 6 years.
In the beginning, I couldn’t even bear to see the extent of the damage. I narrowed my eyes when I looked at account balances, blurring the total as though that would somehow soften its effect. I had my dad examine my credit report after promising that he would not reveal the actual score to me. I was afraid to face the evidence that he had been whittling away at my well-being for years.
Every trip to the mailbox and every unknown number on my phone caused my pulse to rise as I braced for news of another account or threats on a known one. Even as parceled out paychecks to pay down the debt, I was petrified that another would surface and my careful accounting wouldn’t be enough to save me.
I finally faced my credit score for the first time since the life implosion two years ago. Ever since, I obsessively check Credit Karma every day. And I’ve watched the number rise as my identity is slowly replacing that of my ex on the accounts.
But I haven’t really trusted the number. It felt fake, somehow.
And so, when I nervously entered my information on the credit application for the car, I was sure that I would be declined. Or at least offered some sub par rate. And when the phone rang mere moments after I hit “submit,” I saw it as verification that my fears were founded.
“Everything looks good,” I heard faintly, as though it was coming through a tunnel.
It was only after I hung up that I realized I had collapsed onto the floor, relief buckling my knees beneath me.
Because it’s about way more than the money. Or the car.
I can finally feel like this is all behind me. Like I am no longer held back or limited by any of what happened.
And for the first time in 6 years and 5 days, I can finally breath freely.
Always good to remember…
We push people away because we are afraid of letting them in and being hurt when they leave.
We grasp on to people that are not good for us because we are afraid of being alone and someone is better than no one.
Pushing and pulling are fear, not love.
Love is holding.
Loosely enough so that each person has the freedom to grow and change.
And firmly enough so that each person knows they are supported.
It is trusting the other person enough that they want to stay even if they have the ability to leave.
And trusting yourself that you will be okay if they do.
My mom recently attended a conference on emotional manipulators that addressed how to recognize them and how to help their victims recover. Knowing that the topic hit close to home for me, she shared some of the conference literature. As with everything I read about pathological characteristics, some of the points fit my ex like a glove whereas other descriptions fit him as well as two-year-old’s shoe.
But there was one section in particular that resonated, igniting understanding in the dark recesses of my mind – the role of magical thinking in emotional manipulators and in their partners.
I immediately identified several shamanistic thoughts that we both possessed in the latter years of the marriage. I only learned of his magical thoughts in the texts and email he exchanged with my mother after he left. I only became aware of my own thoughts after I obtained some distance and perspective from the end of the marriage.
Because that’s the thing about magical thinking – you don’t realize it’s an illusion until you’ve left the theater.
Although he never shed light on what caused the financial problems, he did reveal what his thoughts were about it over the years. Even as the debts continued to grow, he remained convinced that a bonus or a raise or some other financial windfall was just around the corner. And that if he only waited patiently enough, he would be able to pay it all off without my ever learning of the debt. Perhaps this was a rational thought in the beginning. But by the end? It would have required a winning lottery ticket.
Accompanying the thought that a single check would put us back in the black was his belief that he had control of his behavior and that each time would be the last. He only admitted to this thought in regards to spending, but I would wager that it extended to his drinking, his affairs and possibly even the numerous lies and deceptions. This conviction that he could stop at any time (along with the evidence to the contrary) put him on a runaway train towards self-destruction.
His magical thoughts completely insulated him from the impact of his actions. He typed that I would “bounce back” in the letter he used to exit stage left. He announced in an email to my mom that he hoped she could meet his new wife and that she would just love his new bride. He seemed unaware of the fact that leaving me with no funds left me with no ability to care for our dogs. In his thoughts, he was throwing feathers rather than stones, leaving no ripples.
He came into my life at a time when I felt alone. My relationship with my father, who lived across the country, was strained. I had lost a few friends to death and others to teenage transitions. He stepped in and propped me up in those moments when I wasn’t able to do it alone. At least I thought I couldn’t do it alone. And as the years went by and our connection grew, I could not imagine life without him.
I believed that because I knew his high school friends, stood by as he put on his last few inches of height and layered pounds on his scrawny boy-body and explored his childhood mementos with his mother, that I knew him. That there was no part of his personality or character that I was unaware of. I saw the years as a type of insurance. As though years in the past guaranteed years in the future.
This is another one anchored in childhood. I developed a fear of abandonment and somehow nurtured the thinking that if I gave everything, was the “perfect” wife, that I was safe from being discarded. As a result, I avoided conflict and refrained from pushing too hard or questioning too much. I gave, often not out of love, but out of fear. And martyrdom isn’t good for anybody involved.
Magical thinking is a form of self deception, stories we tell ourselves to avoid truths we would rather avoid and to create a sense of control in a life rife with insecurity. And once you understand that it is illusion, you can start see the mirrors unclouded by the smoke.
I’m not sure the exact moment I reached the “F it” point with my car, but I can easily identify the factors that contributed to the mindset.
I think it started with the broken trunk that refused to open without a complicated and tedious routine that involved simultaneously twisting a key, wiggling a latch and saying a prayer. I would only engage in the routine on those rare occasions when I needed to carry some large object that couldn’t be fed through the doors (okay, or when I “needed” to carry an insanely large amount of plants). It simply became too difficult to open the trunk to clean out errant receipts and other detritus that seems to accumulate in a car.
And then the leather seats (that elicited a disappointed “Oh, Lisa” from my mother upon hearing about my new purchase) started to crack at the point where the seat belt cuts into their previously-oiled hides. And once the orange foam guts started to spill, it seemed superfluous to condition the remaining leather.
The “F it” attitude intensified as my life disintegrated. The car and I were both jettisoned from our safe and secure life, leaving its metal frame exposed to the elements instead of protected in a garage. As the silver skin gained dimples from the repeated assaults launched by storms and the paint faded under the glaring intensity of the sun, I grew to care less about cleaning the exterior.
I realized recently how complete this attitude has become when my neighbor backed into my car, displacing and cracking the bumper, and I honestly replied “Don’t worry about it” when he came to my door to confess.
I knew it was time to break down and buy a new car once the “F it” attitude extended to the mechanical systems. When the needle indicated an overheating engine a few weeks ago, I found it difficult to summon even the small amount of energy and money needed to replace the malfunctioning thermostat.
Today, I’m working on cleaning out and cleaning up my car in preparation to sell it. It’s strange. The motions bring back memories of carefully maintaining the car for the first ten years of its life. Even though I no longer care, I remember when I cared very much. I just can’t summon that feeling any more.
Because that’s the thing with “F it” points. Once they’ve been reached, there is no turning back.
And the only thing you can do is walk away.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 