It didn't happen the way I'd planned; it wasn't well thought out; it wasn't a calm experience for the children. It was done on the back of frustration, hurt and anger, which makes me feel sad and disappointed in myself.
We were making dinner and I asked him why he hadn't tried to fight for me. Why he hadn't returned to relationship counselling? Why was he so reluctant to go for neurodivergence testing after the psychotherapist suggested it?
He told me he would tell me why tomorrow. I became suspicious and asked him to tell me why, right there and then, not tomorrow. He then enlightened me that his sister had screenshot posts I'd written in a feminist group from months ago that I left straight after she joined. The posts were about domestic inequality, the impact of old-fashioned values and how men with ASD often make the domestic labour gap even wider in modern homes. In one post, I'd respectfully touched on his parents' old fashioned values.
His sister, rather vindictively, would have needed to search my name to dish up the dirt as I'd left the group when she joined. Peter however, was adamant that she must have fallen upon these historical posts rather accidentally. Usually, a stickler for the truth, yet delusional where his Family Of Origin are concerned. She had then shared her nasty little findings with the family, as a result, further perpetuating the enmeshment that they all share as THE "main" family group. As is often found in ASD males, their loyalty to the family of origin is unwavering no matter how dysfunctional; Peter's is no different.
Rather than ask me about the posts, find out why I'd written them, if I had, what I'd said, (as apparently he still hadn't seen the screenshots), he had decided that this was good reason to give up and believed her "accidental findings" story. What hurts is that Peter has never been so quick to believe me about anything.
It was 2014 all over again.
Standing in the kitchen arguing after another underhanded criticism from his mother about my parenting, him siding with her before he truly knew the facts. She "didn't mean any harm."
I immediately asked him to leave.
To pack his things right away and leave.
His sister had not only broken my privacy but had used the information to drive a further wedge between us and he just accepted it. Because the real villain in his eyes is me, for reaching out and speaking out in the first place. For not doing better at being silently miserable.
These people are not healthy. She is another masker, another agreeable, insincere, nicety-nice, undiagnosed Aspie. Everything must centre around the Family Of Origin and traitors will be punished. They are infact so enmeshed that any criticism of any family member is a personal blow to them. I've seen it countless times. There are no boundaries. They are all the same person.
So Peter left in full support of himself and his sister's actions and reasons. He put our children to bed as they cried themselves to sleep, kissed them good night, packed a very small case and left to return back home. To his parents. To his real family.
He is coming over to see the children this evening and I will make myself scarce. I had planned to go out and enjoy myself this evening- "I'll show him!" But after a sleepless night and high emotion, I just want an early night and home comforts and my kids. I don't want him here in this house and we need to find a way forward, a new normal.
Friends tell me to take it an hour at a time, a day at a time and I got through the first day. I sat next to a lake eating crumpets and sipping hot chocolate this afternoon in the beating sun on a freezing cold November day. I felt a sense of relief. Me, returning I think. Oddly, I thought of my old dog who died a few years ago, not used to being in the outdoors, feeling my old self without him there.
Cups of tea feel comforting; I've counted four so far today. I tidied up, wiped the stove, washed some clothes. Life really does go on. Little tokens of comfort and warmth have got me through today- that warm sun in the cold air, messages to friends, a last minute video call with my therapist. My children who have been so brave.
Peter used to make cups of tea for me as a way of connecting- it rarely went deeper than a cup of tea for him; I need more. So, from today, I make my own tea, not to connect, but to stop and pause, to take a breath and remember, that life goes on.
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