Isolation

I spend a lot of time trying to work out why I'm so isolated. A lot of us Cassandras are. 

Right now, Peter is away with friends he's known for over 10 years, I can think of only a couple of people in my life that I've known for that long, who I'm not related to. 

Truth is, before Peter, I was a drifter. I left home young because of my father's alcoholism and moved around from living with friends, to living with grandparents to moving abroad. 

I fell pregnant unexpectedly in my mid-twenties when my circle of friends were still clubbing every weekend and they faded, quite quickly, into the past.

Peter sticks with what he knows and who he knows. He doesn't organise anything but always says yes to invitations, because he hates missing out. He has traits of ADD, which means that, as much as he dislikes change, he also gets restless and impulsive and goes along with any old opportunity. He'll drop us like hot potatoes too before missing out on a social occasion; he gathers big experiences in his bucket like he's ticking off a life checklist or something. I'm not sure he really enjoys himself at times... although, ironically, he can remember places he's visited more clearly than he can remember the births of his two children. 

I'm more cautious, selective and responsible. Becoming a mother forced me out of a job where I had lots of social connections. I wasn't treated well during pregnancy and missed out on career developments and opportunities on my return to work. I lost my connections and have to try really hard to keep some people from that old life around me. Having children is a huge physical and emotional change on so many levels for women. Peter has been consistent, stable and reliable and many colleagues have become part of his social circle over the years and remain so, a circle that he says yes to a lot. I fell into a more isolated kind of work, from home mostly, with flexibility to allow me to be there for our children who have both had extra worries and  needs over the years. Peter's life hasn't really changed. 

His stability attracted me to fit his mould, his life, to immerse myself into his hometown. But he kept his social life for himself; he wasn't in the smaller couple group, but the male-only group and unfortunately, that is how it's stayed. I've never even met one of the men in his long-time social group, who he sees regularly- he's known him for 15 years. Many of these men, he met in primary school; I can't say I know any of them well at all. 

Baby groups created social opportunities for me and I built friendships, but the covid pandemic cut off many ties and then it was time for my youngest child to start school, so naturally, mutuality with these friends disappeared. I find myself peering around the playground these days, in search of new connections and friendships, starting all over again.

Peter never has to start again. 

He's worked the same job for 20 years and his friendships are rooted there, he's lived in the same town for 40 years and his roots are deeply entwined. I imagine, if I moved back to my home town how easy it might be for me to suggest a coffee with an old school friend when our kids play together at the park, or after zumba at the local community centre. I don't have that here- I'm always starting afresh. Peter never is. 

In some ways, I hold Peter responsible.  Feeling that he should have helped me, introduced me, invited me along, organised gatherings, but he never did. He just always said yes to anything he was invited to and I've been kept at home, like a pet. " Go out!" He said "I'll never stop you!" How false that is when opportunities aren't nurtured. 

My mum thinks he's possessive of me and has kept me away from his friends incase I like them more- he does have low self esteem and he himself has played the role of the deceitful friend in the past. Part of me agrees with mum's perception. I've been prone to put-downs by him when other men have been around us... him trying to be funny, him putting me back in my kennel.

Pregnancy, part-time working, the covid pandemic and mothering has made me vulnerable socially and cut me off at times when I've needed people most. Peter's neglect and self-centred preoccupation with his special interests and friendships has contributed massively to my isolation. It suits him. He's not interested in mutual interests either.

I wish I had some girlfriends that I could go away with, play sports with, meet up with, but instead I focus on a scattering of friends that have stayed with me from a few different corners and chapters of my life. Peter's chapter rarely changes; he could have included me, he could have enriched my life with his people, but he hasn't, he's isolated me instead. 

I write about my frustration in parenting forums when he's on yet another golfing holiday or "working" break and I'm told to take the time for myself, go away with my friends! But, the truth is, I don't have many to go away with. I don't have many that I could say yes to. When we raise families with these men, we have to do twice the work, because of their irresponsibility, their carelessness and lack of awarenss and it isolates us. 

I have spent another long day with the children, feeling resentful, tired, touched out, lonely. I crave what Peter has. Easy, stable and consistent friendships that last forever, but like the seasons, my life has to change and adapt as the children grow and move to new settings. My job never stays the same, the people I work with changes, develops, grows, I move from place to place if I'm not working from home. I think it's my super power really... the ability to change and adapt, drifting to where I'm needed. But, without Peter's desire to share his roots with me, I drift away from him too, seeking solace from other places, my scene is ever changing; people come and go. 

Does Peter not realise that eventually, without any roots to keep me here,  I'll have to go too? Or atleast, I hope I will...

We had sex

 This is the roller coaster that our situation (not quite relationship), has become. I pull away and he suddenly pulls out all of the stops in a panic that his life is about to be turned upside down. 

I am so desperate for comfort and connection that I reach out for it the moment it's given. 

We've had sex twice in two days and lots of physical contact inbetween. Peter gives the most wonderful back massages, which he withholds most of the time, seeing it as a chore if I ask for one, but he's massaged all my pain away over the last couple of days, more than once. I've slept in his arms, felt safe and warm, content and loved, even if he does never say the "L" word. 

Peter can't keep this up for any period of time and I'm so glad that he's gone away for a few days with friends because he can't disappoint or hurt me by pulling away again. I have asked for no contact during this next few days so that I can gather my thoughts. 

I know Peter will never change; do I just appreciate the moments of love and connection that I've felt in the last couple of days but plough forward with the original plan? Ask him not to come home again? This feels like the empowering outcome, the strong, brave outcome. 

But the thought of losing what can be, albeit, the starvation doses of connection and ultimately, hurting Peter is what holds me back. Hurting the children and wrenching their worlds apart holds me back- they adore Peter. He's a nice Dad and also, a very loving Dad- he feels comfortable with his love for them, it's romantic love which causes him unease. 

I've been here a thousand times, or so it feels. I was embarrassed to tell my holistic therapist that I'd made myself vulnerable and reached out for closeness and connection at the cusp of separation from Peter. She was lovely and kind and said that I'd reached out for myself and taken something that I desperately needed at that time. She said I'd been kind and loving to myself to take that closeness and warmth to give me some much needed comfort, but I can't help feeling that I could have been stronger. Or could I?

I'm embarrassed to post this to the Cassandra group, but I will do because this is the truth of our relationships with them. They love bomb us in a panic to keep us when they need to, but deep down, we all know that this level of connection just can't be maintained. 

He's Leaving

Following on from my last post about feeling trapped, my mental health has been in tatters. 

Lots of questions going around and around in my head:

-How can he have pulled out of our relationship yet still be in my life, in our house, sitting on the same sofa as me? I feel like a mere possession. How could he treat me like this?

-Why hasn't he tried harder? Why won't he seek a diagnosis? Why won't he go back to relationship counselling?

-Why does he not seem to desire a sexual, intimate relationship?

-How can he just carry on as if all is normal? Seemingly content with the situation, offering me cups of tea?

A Cassandras list of questions always goes on and I guess most of us will never really know or understand the answers to anything. 

Last night, he acknowledged that he'd noticed a depletion in my mental health and wellbeing and said it had concerned him. I used this as my springboard and asked him that when he comes home after going away in a couple of days time, to not come back to the house. To move his things to his parents' house before he leaves and return there. 

I can't quite believe it, but he agreed. It took things to get to this point though for me to be debilitated and stuggling in a hopeless depression. But that's Peter, he'll wait until the last minute, before he has to do anything. 

I feel sick to my stomach. 

But I know this has to happen. 

Frustratingly, I know that even after all his heel dragging throughout these tumultuous years together, he will fall back into his parents' controlling care with contentment and ease. I saw this in our trial separation 18 months ago. My daughters and I will be suffering emotionally; we'll be upset, it will affect our sense of wellbeing, our grounding and stability, but he will just merge back into family life as he once knew it, before me and the kids. His parents will help smooth this transition for him and other than to make arrangements around the children, I'll never hear from his parents again. 

I'm glad we had the trial separation during covid times to put this to the test. I learned a lot last time and I know what to expect, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. 

I know that his parents won't bother with me again; I know that he'll be just as content there as he is with us; I know that my Dad will question my decision to separate from him and tell me what a "good bloke" he is; I know that his friends won't miss me because I never got to know them; I know that people will talk about what a pain in the ass I must be to let go of such a good, decent, family man. 

Part of me just wants to hibernate in my car, where I am now, in my usual spot at the back of a pub carpark underneath a tree, surrounded by fields. Another big part of me wants to announce this separation on social media and tell everyone what I've been living with all these years; maybe I could share my blog. 

But it won't bring any good. As someone on the Cassandra group quite rightly pointed out, part of our cassandra complex is that we're just not believed, because what others see and what we endure in these relationships are poles apart. 

I worry that the pain I'm feeling will kill me; I worry that I'll never meet a nice man again and that I'll be alone forever. Will I ever love again? Do I know how to? The Annie Lennox cover "no more I love yous" resonates with me so much; losing the ability to love through experience and trauma. "The language is leaving me" as she so beautifully puts it. 

One day at a time.

The next few are about my girls as he is away and I intend on enjoying as much of their play, love and sillies as I can. I know what is to come for them in a week's time when we finally sit down to tell them that Daddy is leaving. How can he do this to THEM? I keep thinking. They love him. He's a good Dad, although not always a responsible Dad, but their innocence doesn't see that. We're about to break their hearts, which breaks mine.

As for Peter's heart, who knows? 

Trapped.

I guess this one will read more like a diary entry. 

I feel very depressed. And I know that this is a situational depression. I know that drugs can't help me out of this one; not even my regular counselling sessions can wrench me out of it. 

My relationship is over and I know it always was, I know that it was never a real, proper relationship, not really. 

During the summer, I knew that it would be the last family summer and so I made the most of it; we enjoyed our final, special family holiday, I was less irritated by him because I knew it wouldn't be long before I'd be breaking free of him. I dropped any loving expectations of him but made the most of the time we spent together as a family.

Since September came and the sun set on our final summer, I've been struggling. I know that there is very little keeping me here now. Since April, I've been pulling away more and more from him, lowering my expectations, grieving for the relationship we never had and will never have. He has become my housemate; all hopes of love have vanished in the saddening wisdom and knowledge that's matured inside of me in recent months. 

Even if he wanted to have sex with me, I don't think I could and yet I miss sex and connection. Life feels cold; there are high walls around me right now. 

My plans have been put forward before him; he knows I don't want this anymore, he knows it's over and yet he holds me hostage with excuses; places hurdles in my way; ignores what is glaringly obvious. He won't leave and yet he has somewhere to go; I don't. He is content provided I am here. He is ok, provided I am physically still in this house with him. It's all he needs. His castle.

Keeping things as stable as possible for the children and yet destabilising him enough to make him leave or atleast agree to selling the house is a fine balancing act. It's taking all my energy just to get through each day. I'm in bed for 8.30pm for the third consecutive evening. My dreams will be weird again no doubt, I'll wake myself up shouting in my sleep or thrashing around because there's no escaping these feelings of fear and frustration even in sleep. 

I feel sick to my stomach because I spent my lunch break over-indulging on sugar to fill the emotional black hole in my life. Cake isn't going to fill this void. 

And neither is he. My kitchen suddenly feels claustrophobic, I'm stuck in it.

He knows I'm depressed and he tells me I just need to get out more in the day time when I'm working; find a coffee shop. He continues ignoring the real reason for this miserable, bleak cloud in my life- him. 

There are no more toddler groups, swimming classes and forest schools with little ones to keep me focused, to give me purpose. I just see a vast miserable space when my children are at school; then they come home but he's here again at the end of the day, in my space and I wish he wasn't. 

He tells me that money is too tight for two houses, that we have to make the best of it and I can't. I know that it will be a struggle, but so is this. I need a change of struggle. I tell him that I feel trapped. He knows I don't want this, but for him, I think trapped is ok, because atleast, for him, I'm still here, functioning-ish. 

Sticking Plasters

Today, I went to the spa. 

And for the first time in a long time, I was able to enjoy pleasurable, gentle touch to my skin during an aromatherapy massage. 

Lots of well meaning advice within the support forums I use, will tell us Cassandras to carve out a life independent of him, to get our emotional fulfilment elsewhere, because if we don't, we will suffer. Following this advice is near impossible with a child under 1 at home, where us Cassandras literally become tied to the home and house without anyone ever attending to our needs. We become an invisible resource and the functioning of our homes and of those who reside within them is dependent on solely us. We become a supportive platform for everyone and everything, when our legs are already buckling from the weight of our unfulfilling relationships. 

So we live in fight or flight mode for a couple of years.

We don't cope. The body can't cope. We pick up every cold and cough going, we suffer chronic fatigue, digestive disorders, mouth ulcers, depression, anxiety, brain fog, chronic health conditions, diabetes, underactive thyroid, obesity, vitamin deficiencies, rashes, allergies, hair thinning and loss and more. All when we are strapped to this situation with young children at home depending on us and we can't carve out this imperative, yet elusive independent life. 

For me, returning to work from maternity leave helped me regain some sense of sanity and independence, although the crushing weight of responsibility for poorly children still fell to me. When children go to nursery, they get ill a lot!

I began carving out my independence when my youngest child was 3. I would have done so a year earlier if it hadn't have been for the covid-19 pandemic. My priority was getting some of my emotional needs met and this meant thinking outside the box. 

Having moved to his home town and after leaving home at a relatively young age, I'd lost many school friends. I didn't feel like I had any "roots" as such. Two of my closest friends had moved away, one had relocated a 9 hour drive away and the other, 4 hours. Both of them seeking solace in areas of outstanding natural beauty. I know that I should do the same, but for now, I'm stuck here. So, I knew that I needed to seek out connections, I wanted to heal my body, both physically and mentally from the trauma of having young children at home whilst being Cassandra. 

So, the first thing I did was join a gym, one with a luxurious warm pool, jacuzzi, massage jets sauna and steam room. In 16 months of having this membership, I can honestly say that I have never once used the gym, but I use the pool area twice a week. The lighting is low; it's a soothing, mostly peaceful area where I can move my body at whatever pace I like, comfort and soothe myself with warm water and heat. It has been a tonic over the last year. 

The next thing I did was seek out connections and this is an ongoing process. I discovered a holistic practitioner who offered all sorts of weird and wonderful soothing treatments such as reflexology, indian head massage and reiki so I booked myself in for three treatments. This led to me attending her yoga classes and women's circles where I was able to meet other women, all seeking deeper connection with themselves and the world around them. I have made some friends, but I feel all of us are healing from some sort of trauma and most of us remain within that loop.

I have attended yoga retreats, a solo weekend in a log cabin nestled in woodland, nights in hotels just reading my book and ordering room service, I seek out touch through massage and reiki, I attend a 2 hour monthly counselling session with a renowned psychotherapist, I look forward to going to work. 

Most of these things have the same thing in common: they cost money. All of my disposable income is being spent on my wellbeing, antidotes to my Cassandra complex whilst still being embroiled in the same trauma. I often feel like I'm just brushing my teeth whilst still eating a packet of wotsits. I am paying for connection; a human necessity which should never come at a price. 

These healing, soothing routines and rituals that I've embraced are helping me, healing me, but I know I can never truly heal whilst still being in this house, with him. I can't say, whilst still in this relationship with him, because I don't really feel we have one. How do I heal whilst he's still here? 

The problem with this new independence and fulfilment which I've gifted myself with, is that it keeps me locked in this situation. It helps it feel more bearable, tolerable even. These antidotes are mere sticking plasters and if I strip them all back, if I were to be thrown into another lockdown with him, I'd be back where I was three years ago: no love, no connection, no me. 

Sticking plasters cost money, sticking plasters fall off and lose their sticky and I know at some point, these wounds need to truly heal.

Undiagnosed.

It may come as a surprise to some readers to learn that Peter still has no ASD diagnosis. I first suspected ASD after reading The Rosie Project back in 2014 and seeing him in the main character.

I doubted myself enormously though; he laughed when I told him I thought he had ASD as if I was a lunatic. 

I spoke to his sister about my suspicions and she did exactly the same- laughed. "Ok he's a bit different, but..." 

Exactly. Why is everybody ignoring the "but?" When I met Peter, he'd been in his early thirties and had never had a serious girlfriend, he hadn't taken much interest in sex throughout his teenage years, his twenties or his thirties and his mum was still buying his shirts. I overlooked everything in the beginning, because Peter was a good person, a gentleman. Kinder to me than any other boyfriend I'd had up to that point in our relationship. 

For a while, I didn't speak of my suspicions around his ASD to anyone but did begin leaning on friends about my unhappiness. I think I'd been trained into loyalty towards him and his laughter at my suggestion of ASD had turned to anger on his part. Then one day, a friend came over for lunch, someone who had known him before she had known me and that's when she said it- "You do realise that he probably has ASD don't you?" 

I'd lived with these secret thoughts all this time and ASD had become a bad word in our house the more I'd mentioned it, yet here she was just saying it quite casually in my dining room. I almost cried at the acknowledgement and validation I felt. This opened the doors to more conversations with others around my suspicions and subsequently, more relief. 

Then in 2017, we attended relationship counselling for the first time and we were talking about Peter's mum. Then, quite out of context, the counsellor pointed out that some of her behaviours sounded similar to the traits of ASD. Peter was obviously taken aback by this, here was someone else saying this naughty word that he didn't like. But, it occurred to me that she'd suggested this after only a small amount of information about his mum, which led me to think that she was making a suggestion about him in a non-direct way. I emailed her a few days later and asked her outright if she thought Peter had ASD. She didn't say yes, but she did respond that if Peter did have ASD, then we would need to find news ways of making our relationship work for the both of us. We only saw her once more after this, as it became clear to me in the next session, that what she meant by "find new ways" was me bending over backwards to accommodate him. That was never going to work for me. 

In April 2022, after telling Peter that I was leaving him, he wanted us to attend relationship counselling once again. I suggested my own counsellor, a renowned psychotherapist with lots of experience who had previously come highly recommended. I asked her, she wasn't sure as she already knew me, but she got advice herself and agreed. Peter had sessions on his own before coming together for a 2.5 hour session. Having such a huge amount of time to talk in one go with the guidance of a psychotherapist was extremely useful. At the end of the session, when still, issues were unclear and unresolved, she asked me (infront of Peter) to take a couple of weeks break from the relationship as she noticed that I was emotionally drained. 

Unexpectedy, the day after, we both received an email, outlining the conversation we'd had and any issues that had surfaced. I was surprised to read the final paragraph, advising Peter to consider that he may have ASD and she explained exactly why she had thought so. To read her words was pure validation, after years of gaslighting, anger and me feeling disloyal for suggesting it. Of course, Peter never wanted to see her again after this "insult", but I see her regularly now on my own. 

I've learned to trust my intuition a bit more, because for years, I was gaslighting myself all because Peter didn't want to acknowledge his ASD and the limitations this gave him. For Peter, admitting ASD or seeking out a diagnosis means being "wrong," it would mean for him that maybe he isn't compatible with being in a romantic relationship afterall. For him, he couldn't be "right" enough and  needing to work on his behaviour is something he's never had to do before, particularly after always being labelled the "good child" by his mother. She valued his quiet existence in their home and now I'd come along, I was demanding love, understanding, sex and connection. ASD is too difficult for him to come to terms with when his cosumption of information has allowed him to be right about most things all his life. Peter is highly intelligent, so in his mind, he can't have special needs. 

The lack of diagnosis means a lack of support for our relationship and so I extended that suggested two week break from our relationship and I'm still taking it. I seek support for myself instead. That one joint counselling session has saved my sanity and given me my life back, but there is no relationship with Peter. He is content with this, provided we're all still together under one roof. I am unhappy here on the whole and he knows it, but he's fine with this, provided I don't leave. I am a loving, sexual, sensual, joyful person with unmet needs and so I do plan to leave him, as I did back in April. Other variables in life are making that difficult to action at this present time, but I am determined to be happy again. 

As for a diagnosis, would it make a difference? Many would argue not. But I do think that because fundamentally, Peter is a good person (as I repeat throughout these posts), with some support and consistency,  behaviours could be worked on for the sake of our relationship. The problem of course is that for Peter, having ASD makes him feel wrong and so he has again, rejected the idea that he has it. I don't think that will ever change and a superficial relationship works for Peter, he doesn't have the same needs as I do, so why would he seek out a diagnosis?

Sometimes, I worry about him meeting the emotional needs of our children, although he is definitely better at parenting than he is at relationshipping. For me, a diagnosis doesn't matter if he's not willing to put in the hard work of challenging his own behaviours, so it makes no difference. Diagnosis or no diagnosis, the impact he has on me remains the same and that is what is important here. Minimising the impact means carving out a life independent of him, which is uplifting and sad all at the same time. 

I think if there's one thing many of us Cassandras have in common, its the desire to love and relate and the drive to make our marriages and relationships happy and healthy. It goes against our instincts to rebel against this, to become selfish, independent, to carve out our boundaries and to time block (we must block out our time otherwise we become a never ending resource for them to utilise). 

Ultimately, I believe that the best thing we can do is leave, because nothing will change without acknowledgement of the real issue and believe it or not, we are important too.