Monster behind the mask?

This is a big, honest post.

I don't think I'm the only spouse of a man with ASD, or even with the traits of ASD who had not considered that there may be something deeper going on. Narcissism? Sociopathic behaviour? Worse? 

I realised over Christmas that Peter is an actor. My mum has been supporting me with my separation from Peter and has stood up for me a couple of times when she's felt that Peter should be stepping up. I'm not really excusing her- she's quite a brash lady and sometimes she just needs to listen without acting upon it. 

My mum bought Peter a Christmas present when she came to stay for three nights on Boxing Day, which sat under our Christmas tree unopened, until she left a few days later. Peter was perfectly polite to my mum whilst she was staying with me at the house- Peter made his presence very known infact. He outstayed all of his welcomes, let himself in and out of the house as he pleased, ate with us, sat with us, yet refused to open this gift from my mum. The children kept taking the gift to him to open- excited to see what it was, but still he refused to open it but didn't address this reluctance to my mum in any direct way. 

She took the gift home with her in the end and is returning it, however it really opened my eyes to Peter's acting skills. He's clearly angry with my mum but behaved completely normally around her. This seems a little bizarre. Also, I couldn't help feeling that he had asserted his presence to create discomfort.

It gets more creepy, as Peter abandoned me in the street when we went to collect his car following an attempt to reconnect at the pub the evening before. He left me crying, I got back in my car and sat crying for a good 10 minutes afterwards before driving home again. Peter had driven off immediately, but passed me at the end of the street as I left 10 minutes later, clearly he had come back to see if I was still parked there. Then, some time after I returned home, Peter very quietly and sneakily let himself back in to the house, stood outside the lounge door for a few minutes and then came in and sat on the sofa as if nothing had happened between us. It was weird. There was no reason for Peter to come back. We couldn't continue our argument infront of the children. He just gave off a creepy, controlling vibe of "this is my house too." Almost tormenting me it felt. 

He didn't even interact with our kids after the first couple of minutes, but sat glaring at the rug, vacantly for around 20 minutes. I made an excuse for me and the children to leave and so he left too. But as he's still paying the mortgage and he owns half the house, I have no rights to stop him coming in and out of our home. I'm not even legally allowed to change the locks. 

I feel there's something else about Peter. 

More than ASD perhaps. 

More than stubbornness.

It's a huge air of self righteousness, of arrogance, despite the fumbling, cowardly, agreeable little man that he presents to the rest of the world. 

My understanding of aspergers is that although they mask, they're not really actors? Their anger is clear to see. 

Peter is so angry, yet it's simmering away silently beneath a facade and this frightens me a little, I'll be honest. I have no idea what he's thinking or feeling, but I sense anger and sometimes, a bit of danger as a result as I don't know what I'm dealing with.

I've come to realise that privacy, silence, isolation all works in Peter's favour, so I made a bigger social media announcement today about out separation. It was pleasant and in context, but it dawned on me, that people need to know the situation, so that they too have the opportunity to see what I'm seeing. I have deleted Peter from my social media.

Mum has ordered me a camera for our front door and a chain since she returned home from her stay. Something has clearly unnerved her too. Legally, I can't keep Peter out of this house, but after the way our discussions have declined, post- Christmas, I feel the need to protect myself a little. There's something oddly creepy about him at times, I've been reminded of another red flag that I ignored in the beginning. I remember him around a younger member of staff at work- him being too much, too helpful, too awkward, too forward and how uncomfortable it made me at the time. I always put it down to him being "too nice" but I'm realising that Peter is not the innocent, pitiful man that he paints himself to be and infact, I think there's something a bit creepy about Peter. 

"Sounds Like You Have a Communication Issue." And Don't We Know It.

Before I learned the likely cause of the disconnection between Peter and I, I'd tell close friends about our problems, write about them in feminism forums (when I believed that I was dealing with a feminist problem that is.) People were so well meaning but the advice was mostly the same "sounds like a communication issue."

And didn't I know it. 

I am yet to know an NT/ND relationship where there aren't problems with even basic communication. When I first raised the issue of our lacking communication in therapy eight years ago, it was suggested to me that I use "I feel" statements when raising issues, so that my arguments were less accusatory. This would help Peter engage in serious conversations better. It however,  did not work with Peter. He explained/implied to me that my feelings were my problem, I had the power to feel differently, should I choose to. He took no accountability whatsoever and couldn't emapthise because he couldn't see passed the point that I was implying that he was wrong.

I couldn't understand why these conversations weren't working when I was following the structure advised to by my therapist. I did eventually get through to him about my boundaries with his mother during this time, but he spoke to her with reluctance and resentment which only pickled our relationship with further negative feeling. 

I started seeing a life coach shortly after these counselling sessions finished and I explained to her that I wanted a deeper level of connection with Peter. She gave me some relationship questions to follow, questions to ask each other to deepen our connection. Peter became visibly uncomfortable after the first few questions and refused to partake in any more of it. I remember feeling like a failure as none of the strategies given by any professionals were working; I couldn't comprehend it. She suggested a book to read "Seven Levels of Intimacy" which was a fantastic read, but it only concerned me even more that Peter wasn't able to connect intimately, consistently on any level.

A regular complaint I've made to Peter is his method of seeking to prove me wrong as opposed to seeking to understand me. This whole concept seemed foreign to him, by the look on his face, he couldn't understand why on earth he should ever seek to understand such a critical, difficult person like me. Many ASD men perceive any sort of constructive criticism, where there is a view to improve the well-being of the relationship, as a personal insult. Peter can not deal with it. At all. I think that his ASD, alongside his parents' inability to proactively parent him into better basic hygiene, better choices, taking more pride in himself, means that Peter can not deal with having to do things differently than he's doing it already at all.

Peter has no growth mindset, he is content as he is, in himself, he has never tried a new sport independently, tried to lose weight, read a self improvement book or attended therapy at all within the 10 years we've been together. He can not engage in any form of self improvement it seems, because that would mean that living the way he already is could be "wrong." I think, anyway. Who knows. This is only my perception and I'm no expert on Peter. Far from it. 

As time has drawn on, my own resentment, disappointment and dissatisfaction with Peter has plagued our relationship further, causing a deterioration in our communication style. A layer of sarcasm, infuriation, satire and underhanded remarks on my part has made everything harder. As a result, Peter now opts for a game of "tit for tat" whereby he challenges any concern or problem that I have with a deflection. 

"How can you say anything about my mum? Your mum once had an affair." 

"The reason you have a problem with my family is because you hate everyone. You hate, x, y and z."

Most serious conversations result in the same outcome. It's like he keeps a shit bag, full of things I've told him about myself: previous relationships; my family; things I've told him during safe and intimate moments which he keeps as ammunition against me. Sometimes, the outcome is slightly different depending on the magnitude of the issues being discussed. There are times where he won't reply at all- I'm met with a blank expression and total silence. I once timed 10 minutes of complete silence. This works in his favour, because it'sa long enough period of time for him to change the subject. Other times he'll use phrases like:

"I don't know."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't know how to explain it."

For us, the NT women, it's like mind-fuckery. This relationship is starting to feel like a game.

We spent over two hours in relationship therapy partly addressing this communication pattern and we were given scripts to follow. The strategy (loosely) was the following:

Person 1: "When you do X, I feel Y"

Person 2: "Ok, so you say that when I do X, you feel Y... I understand you feel this way, I don't want you to feel this way. This is how I perceive it/how it was for me/I apologise I didn't realise...."

Peter couldn't do it. 

"You shouldn't have to follow a formula to have a conversation, it's not natural."

"I Know Peter, but trying to have a natural conversation isn't working either is it?"

He never once responded in the advised way. Not once. I think that for him, it meant partly accepting what I had to say which just didn't sit right with him. Showing empathy feels like he's losing so empathetic communication was never going to work for him. It better suits Peter's interests to blame any issues we have on my oversensitive, volatile nature and on my skewed perceptions of reality, for which he is unaccountable. 

I have questioned myself often about the role I've played in these battles of communication. Have I ever really thought to myself during a talk about our relationship, "you know, he's right." I honestly can't say I have very often. This bothers me and I question my own ego; but his voice doesn't seem to come from any truth. It comes from some patched up narrative or belief that he's created in his mind to make him feel more comfortable with discomfort. Truth is uncomfortable and he squirms to hear it; I can't make these conversations any more bearable for him. 

Last night, our communication spiralled drastically. After a few beers together in the pub where we went to discuss things on neutral territory, I saw a severely angry, resentful and bitter man who could never, ever love me. Behind the dutiful, quiet, non-communicative man lies a shattered ego and raw fury. I believe that Peter hates me. I wasn't supposed to function this well. I was supposed to suffer silently and passively like he does. I am a traitor for speaking up, for communicating; I am a problem. The empathy ship sailed long, long ago and without empathy, there will never be real communication for anyone. 

Peter the Pack Animal

It's Boxing Day, so I'm sat up late, eating chocolates and finally enjoying some time to myself. It's been a quiet Christmas, just the four of us mainly- Peter, the girls and me. We decided to keep Christmas as close to normal as possible, for everyone involved. 

For us, this was the right decision and Peter returned to his parents' house earlier today after two overnights here at the house.

Having Peter around when the children are with us is fine- it's not confusing; all feels quite normal, business-like even. Probably a little dysfunctionally normal, but we can't escape that when we're living with and navigating parenting with these men.

I went to therapy a few days ago. 

It was so needed and so beneficial. 

She told me to let go of the fixation I've developed around Peter's undiagnosed aspergers and asked me instead to accept that Peter is highly complex. So complex that even he can't work out his own feelings and she even admitted to me that she "can not fathom him" from things I've told her he says and does. I revealed to her a recent outburst he had when I spoke of his cheating friend. He became so evidently triggered and she couldn't comprehend it; she was visibly stumped. I've shopped around over the years for the best psychotherapist money can buy; I'd advise all Cassandras do the same. I think she's my eighth therapist, because you have to find the right one. I've stuck with her for the last 4 years for good reason. She even went against her ethics and invited Peter in for relationship counselling, but that's why she's my therapist, because she explores everything and beyond for solutions, outcomes, answers. She'll unfollow the rules in search of the truth and if our sessions run over and she has no other commitments, she allows for it. 

So with her advice, I've given up trying to fathom Peter too. 

I'm still observing him though and realising that perhaps the most hurtful part of this separation for Peter is not being part of the pack anymore, our pack, until a more established pack comes along anyway. When I'm here with the children and he's on his own sat in his old room at his parents' house. He told me this was the hardest part for him... being sat in his old room again.

We bumped into our old work colleague "friends" whilst walking with the children on Christmas eve, the group that Peter used to be part of. It was awkward to say the least, I didn't speak to them after my ordeal with the toxic bunch during my first pregnancy, but Peter of course was his usual polite self.  As we walked away, I looked at him and found myself asking him if he missed being "part of the pack." He seemed surprised, but I could tell I wasn't far off the mark. 

I've never really strived for mass acceptance and I've always been aware of the toxic pack mentality which plagues many inseparable, inclusive social groups. This stems both from personal experience and from my own research in psychology. If anything, I've always wanted to be a bit different, always noticed inconsistencies and injustices when supported by the majority. Peter is different to me. If everyone is doing it, then it must be right. I think this perception comes with ASD much of the time- they spend their whole lives trying to fit in and then here's me, trying not to. 

It's clear why Peter struggles with me. 

I think if I'd been more clearly "anti-pack" from the very beginning, he probably wouldn't have bothered dating me.

In the run up to the Christmas festivities, he told me during a brief emotional encounter that he "just wanted to chill on the sofa on an evening with a glass of mulled wine and a good film" with me. I spoke about this with my therapist and she asked me how I felt about this prospect. I explained how part of me felt the need to sustain boundaries with Peter and yet the other part of me was dreading a lonely Christmas with barely any family around me. She said that she felt it would be fine for me to consider allowing this. It's Christmas afterall.

So, on reflection, I decided that this mulled wine experience would actually benefit me too. So, I asked Peter that evening, after he had put the children to bed, if he could fancy a mulled wine with me- he could even stay in the spare room if he liked. The children had asked him to stay already he told me, so he was hoping to be able stay- he said he was also tired. He accepted my offer. Half an hour later, he got a text from a friend, asking him if he was joining some other friends at the pub that evening. He wasn't going to go at first, said that he was far too tired,  but I replied that he should choose the option he wanted to do, intrigued by what he would do next.

Guess what he chose to do?

So with that, Peter left rather quickly and joined the pack in the pub, ignoring his need for sleep too, staying until the very end- 2.30am. I watched TV, enjoyed a glass of wine and went to bed a little earlier than I would have done if Peter had stayed. This sums him up. His priorities. His need to be included and accepted at all costs. I wasn't hurt, a little disappointed perhaps, but it was good for me to observe this. Peter finally got the option to sit with me on a Christmassy evening, with a mulled wine as he'd longed for, but went to the pub instead to be with the group whilst I stayed home, content with our children asleep in their beds upstairs.

So here, I can see another reason why this relationship has failed. He needed a woman to be part of the group, the pack, the team. Like the way mammals gravitate towards the larger pack for survival- Peter is doing the same. But the sad thing is, rather than helping me survive too- by maybe creating a pack of our own, he leaves me to fend for myself. It's a little like abandonment I guess. 

It's hardly surprising we never married isn't it. He couldn't have married the outed one, the odd one out, the loner- it would never help his credibility, his reputation or his survival. 

I've found my pack in my children, in some of the mothers around me that have become close friends and allies and in the supportive online Cassandra group. He's made me quite vulnerable really, moving to his hometown, him keeping his social circles to himself. If he is operating animalistically, primitively, following the pack for survival, then what must he really think of me? To leave me fending for myself in so many ways? 

I'm coming to terms with his complexity and accepting that I will never comprehend him, but there are questions left unanswered and I can't shake the feeling that perhaps, this emotional abandonment is more logical and yet more sinister that I'd ever realised.

 If some of these types of men are not on our side, helping us survive and are concerned only for their own survival, then what are we exactly to them, I wonder?

Preparing for Separation

I think it's 7 weeks since he left, sometimes I think it's 6, sometimes 8, I just know that the weeks are racking up. 

The last few days have been the hardest: the run up to Christmas; some of the things that he's said about me; the loneliness now that I've finished work for the holidays and the never ending to-do list with preparations for Christmas. 

I know that things could feel much, much worse, but I prepared for this separation around two years before it actually happened. I was able to begin mapping out an independent life for myself shortly after the main wave of the Covid pandemic. We also had a trial separation during this time after I received a shielding letter through the post from my doctor due to my medical history and my risk of being seriously ill with Covid. I saw it as an opportunity- Peter was having to remain in work where Covid cases were rife, whereas I was able to work from home, so Peter moved out for three months. 

During this trial, I learned that our youngest child was too young for him to leave just yet- she was a demanding, tiring, non-sleeping 2 year old having major meltdowns regularly and I was struggling on my own. I also learned that when the children were staying with him, my life felt pretty empty. I needed to work on that. 

Peter came back home to help me with the children, but I knew that I would prepare for him to leave during this period of time. I was attending therapy once a month, which I've continued. I've been seeing the same therapist for four years and this ongoing therapy makes me feel validated and heard. It's so important to find someone to talk to. That really is the first step and it's one to hold on to whilst you're figuring things out. 

Next, I joined a gym. 

But not your average kind of gym. One with a spa pool, sauna, steam room, massage jets and jacuzzi. I have only ever used the gym once during my 2 year membership! I use the pool and when I don't have my children with me, I can go there to relax, recharge, spend time on myself. For a while, I wasn't sure I could afford the membership, but for the price of a meal out, I decided that the monthly payment was worth it and it has been. Every penny. Sometimes I don't make it for a week, but it's fine because I know it's always there for me when I need it. I really shopped around for the right gym membership- I wanted something special.

Then, I looked into holistic therapies to help ground me and heal my soul. I met a lady offering healing sessions: reiki, indian head massage and reflexology amongst other things. This opened doors to a "healing circle" which meets up once a month. These circles of women meet to share experiences, we do yoga, journalling, meditation and reiki. Some of the messages and activities are a little "out there" for me, but the sense of comfort and healing energy that comes from these meetings is immense. I have met other women in the circle and I can start to call some of them "friends." 

I've joined a social support network for women in my area and attended events- books clubs, crafting, dance lessons which has helped me meet like-minded women. I'm starting to find new friendships and I can attend these events on my own, I don't need a friend to go with and I can still enjoy myself. 

A big part of my journey has been filtering people out. This may seem counter-productive, as it creates more loneliness in an already lonely world as a Cassandra, but it's been necessary. Letting go of toxic people is important; I realised that not only had I chosen a partner with ASD, but a couple of my friends had it too and these friendships were very one-sided. Initially, life felt awful, but replacing these superficial friendships with opportunities for warmer, closer friendships to evolve has given me hope. 

Becoming financially independent is a necessity when planning your escape. I'm still working on this, but I have managed to increase my part-time hours by a day, which is positive. There is scope for me to manage as a single parent on my current income, but I know that I will need to find other ways of increasing my earnings over the next few months.

De-coupling has been another way that I've prepared myself and disengaged from this relationship. Applying for new rewards cards as a single person and getting rid of joint ones, building up a small pot of savings where finances will allow and ensuring that I have atleast one separate bank account for all my earnings and outgoings. I also stopped spending time with him as a couple where it didn't nourish me and my life- Peter would suggest we go for meals out sometimes. This is primarily because he likes food. Nothing about it is to do with me and him, not really, additionally, that's what couples do don't they? Go to restaurants. So to Peter that's us having a relationship. I stopped all of that. Particularly as Peter would just witter on about work during these non-romantic dinners and I'd always get a bad case of IBS through my subconscious anxiety. I started saying no. No to meals out. No to accompanying him to his friends weddings, where he would ignore me all night and stand at the bar swigging down as much self-confidence as fast as he could. No to playing the role that he'd cast me in against my will. 

My therapist told me yesterday that I'm doing really well. She says she's proud of me. I am managing, coping, surviving; I haven't broken or become dysfuctional and I think a big part of this has been in the preparations I made beforehand. 

Even if you don't know for sure if you will leave, I'd suggest all of us Cassandras make preparations. Create an independent life that we can fall into should we need to at some point.  Much of the advice I read is that spouses of ASD men ought to find ways to get their emotional needs met elsewhere. I agree. But I don't think that this is achievable in the long term for many of us. It is right to expect a level of intimacy in our closest, longest relationship and I personally don't believe that we should de-prioritise this need and replace it with zumba or having our nails painted in the long-term.

 These things- like zumba, for example, will enrich our lives and give us an anchor for when we do need to leave. My short visits to the spa pool certainly give me that- a predictable, safe space that I can return to when I need to. I don't have much family around me and these small token gifts to myself have given me the strength I've needed to walk away. I don't feel prepared for the future- I don't know what life looks like for me as a single mum, but I know there is much upheaval to come. Sometimes, plans don't come together and sometimes, life has other ideas, but making small changes, attending that club or group, paying for that membership can go a long way in finding a way out. 

We don't have to be Cassandra forever.

I am The Scapegoat

Yesterday was unsettling to say the least. 

Peter began to communicate but much of what he had to say was hurtful and worse than I really imagined. 

The reason he never responds to anything emotional from me? Through fear. Of what I might say, or if I should shout at him. Everything I've talked to him about- his suspected autism and the toxic behaviour of his family has also led to one verdict in his mind: I'm a narcissist.

This knocked me sideways, there's no denying that. Am I a narcissist? I've finally stood up to his mother and sister's dysfunctional behaviour to be met by no response; I've asserted my boundaries. Women shouldn't speak out, defend themselves, challenge and dare to practise self care, well you MUST be a narcissist. They have ignored me, collectively, to avoid me and my narcissistic behaviour. 

I am so sad today. So, so sad. 

Because it's one thing that he couldn't love me, understand, be a team player or support our relationship better, but it's another to be blamed for it and given a disordered label, one I believe his mother to have. 

When you create a family with someone, you begin a new family and loyalty to the FOO (family of origin) becomes a second priority. Despite their creepy obsessiveness and interferences over the years, them blanking me for having boundaries and no longer fuelling their need for attention, for standing up to it, he has turned on me. I am the bad guy. He is supposed to be the opposite- my biggest support, a team player. My intentions throughout this whole 10 years have been good. That is certain. Without doubt at all. I have only ever wanted to have a loving marriage and to be a good mum with his love and support in return. I wanted so badly to get along with his family, but I never belonged, I wasn't part of the FOO, so I was treated as a mere vessel for carrying more FOO members. They don't know me. I can not quite believe that this has been manipulated into me having some sort of personality disorder. It just gets worse. 

I've become the scapegoat for the toxic people he has around him- who need his Yes Man persona to make them feel good. His friends don't like me because I'm a feminist and for them, that translates as "man hater." An ex wife of his friendship group warned me that they were toxic and sexist; she told me about the adultery one of his friends enjoys participating in. 

Whilst Peter was telling me (or rather implying passively aggressively) what his friends think of me, I asked him if his friend still cheats on his wife. He was taken aback and began shouting about my disrespect for asking this question whilst the children were in the house. The children are young and have no idea what this even means, or even who I was talking about because he's kept all his friendships to himself anyway! He was the one unsettling them with his shouting. He couldn't bare to hear the truth- it triggered him. Why does me speaking about his friend, the adulterer trigger HIM? It's like he's creates a whole system of beliefs in his mind to comfort himself and these beliefs aren't reflective of the real world.

He has decided that I'm the bad egg. 

He will regularly refer to my own dysfunctional upbringing and quite rightly point out how imperfect they are. He sees all my past as the reasons for why I don't tolerate crappy behaviour- that I am the defective one. It makes perfect logical sense in his mind, everything was fine until I came along. Yet, I'm the one who has spent 8 years in therapy, acknowledging my own dysfunction and re-parenting myself.

So, I'm the scapegoat. Not only for his family, and even for his cheating friend for daring to bring it up, but also I am the scapegoat for his undiagnosed ASD. He actually accused me of putting thoughts into the head of the psychotherapist who suggested he had ASD. Yes, this is the level of scapegoating that he will go to. I made her think he has autism. Nothing to do with her 30+ years experience in psychotherapy, or the fact she even lectured psychotherapy at a renowned university; absolutely nothing to do with her qualifications. I am that narcissistic, that I can even get professionals to agree with me. 

I was hoping that Peter would commit to therapy and eventually come home, but that is so out of grasp now. I can see that. I'm glad yesterday happened because I now know where I stand, but my heart hurts. In my last post I wrote about my disappointment in him, but now, he's gone further than that, I never really knew him at all.

The Disappointment

Disappointed is the clinching word for me when it comes to describing my feelings about him and our situation as it stands. I'm guessing that many women suffering from Cassandra Syndrome feel the same. What even is Cassandra syndrome? I meant to do a whole post on this when I started the blog and never got around to it. So, here's a crash course as it seems a little late in the day now: 

https://www.couplestherapyinc.com/cassandra-syndrome/

A much loved and missed relative used to remind me regularly as a child to "expect nothing, so not to be disappointed," but I've learned over time, that I was never supposed to take the lesson so literally. Some things in life demand expectation: a level of respect from family and friends; understanding and empathy from loved ones during tough times; gender equality; domestic equality, financial equality and in the case of an intimate relationship, it is reasonable and right to expect love and intimacy. 

Peter told me today that he "wants to hold" me "all the time." But he wasn't trying to instigate any form of reconciliation. He was chatting to me in the kitchen about the children and this huge sense of him wanting to hold me washed over me and it felt so strong that I asked him, straight out. I said "am I right in sensing that you are wanting to touch me at this moment?" I've nothing to lose, have I?

He then responded with the above... he apparently wants to hold me all the time. He then continued our previous topic of conversation after an awkward pause and a look of desperate sadness.

So the feelings I'm getting from him- that he's missing me, he wants to hold me, he's sad and struggling, appear to be close to what is going on for him. What is sad and disappointing is that he is willing to suffer and lose his home, me and the children before making any changes or exploring therapy to improve things. He would rather suffer than grow or change. He chooses his ego and pride over us. He would rather suppress all of his feelings, his desires and even his own happiness to be "right." 

Knowing that Peter does care, that he does feel love; he just can't express it or even deal with it, makes this whole thing harder. Sometimes, it's like Peter doesn't feel at all, like he doesn't care, but I suspect he is quite often overwhelmed by the intensity of his own feelings. I asked Peter if he thought it normal to suppress his feelings like he does?

"I don't know."

"I don't know what you want me to say..." 

The usual responses we hear from our ASD men. 

I said that there must be a reason why he does it, because it isn't a neurotypical response and that there ought to be a reason: autism or trauma. He shrugged his shoulders. He will admit that he struggles with all the struggles that ASD men struggle with, but the minute I explore a potential cause, he shuts down and tells me that he had a wonderful childhood and that he isn't autistic. Slams the stone wall in my face.

I can't help Peter. 

I've tried, made myself ill trying and it seems that he won't help himself either. Peter is not the man I thought he was and it's a heavy disappointment to carry. He could be so much more, if he chose therapy, chose to grow, reflect on his behaviour and commit. But he won't. His thinking is narrow and linear and he can't see the bigger picture and he doesn't want to try. He fears being wrong or defective. 

As for me, I feel like I'm blossoming in a small way since he left. I boxed and muted myself for a long time to fit into Peter's close and rather enmeshed FOO (family of origin) and the freedom of no longer having to dim my light for fear of upsetting his passive aggressively green-eyed mother and sister is liberating. But at the same time, it's disappointing. So disappointing, because Peter chose them- by not fighting my corner, by every request he made to me to "just ignore it," by worrying more that I might upset them more than worrying that they were upsetting me. 

He has let me down. 

A big part of me hoped and naively thought that he would eventually pull himself together, kick himself up the backside, see things clearly, get the help he needs, because I was working so hard to keep our family together despite everything. But, hard work doesn't always pay off. Sometimes, hard work is for nothing, exhausting yourself is all for nothing and for me, that is the most disappointing part of it all. The energy, time and love that has been wasted on him.

Do you want to talk?

This question causes Peter distress and he rarely says yes to it, but I am having to use it quite often. He clearly, desperately wants to come home after our split; he is lost, confused, sad, unhappy- it is evident to see that he is struggling.

I'm not sure that he realises he is struggling? This makes me feel sorry for him- empathy. Something he appears not to have for me. But, it isn't my responsibility to help Peter with his feelings anymore and so I watch and observe his discomfort and sadness at a difficult distance.

I am still having to see a lot of him to support his relationship with the children as they are not able to go and see him at his parents' house due to building work. This puts me in an awkward situation as I can't quite move on, but I accept it. 

I watch Peter loitering post-bedtime as I'm sat on the sofa with my cup of tea, him not really wanting to leave. But he doesn't loiter very long anymore because he knows what I'll ask him:

"Oh, do you want to talk?"

By asking this question, he knows I'm giving him the opportunity to talk things through, but I'm also telling him that he either needs to talk or leave. 

The first time I asked him this, he'd settled down on the sofa to watch the World Cup after putting the children to bed- he said no and soon charged out of the door, protecting himself, as usual, from uncomfortable feelings.

I think Peter does want to talk, but he doesn't know how to and I am not doing to instigate these one-sided conversations anymore. He has told me that he doesn't want to change, he likes himself the way he is, so for once, I'm stepping him back and letting him reap the consequences of that choice.

Leave or talk, Peter. 

And if he can't talk? 

Accept that this is life now, forever.

Or seek the support- get some help. 

The Road to Becoming Cassandra

How did I get here? 

It's a question we Cassandras ask our selves all the time... until the realisations hit anyway. 

After branching this question out to the women in my Cassandra support group, I found clear correlations:

"My mum is a narcissist."

"My parents died early on in my relationship/ it wouldn't have lasted if they'd lived."

"Narcissistic Dad."

"My mum had ASD and alexythmia."

"I was sexually, physically and emotionally abused."

"My childhood was filled with death, rape, insecurity and poverty."

"I had a mother that made me feel utterly worthless."

"My mum built my codependence/she had a temper."

"My father had ASD."

"My mother was depressed and focused on herself."

"I spent most of my childhood feeling worthless and unloved."

"I am quite sure my Dad had ASD."

"My Dad abused us."

"My Dad was simply emotionally unfulfilling."

"My mum is a narcissistic alcoholic."

"My Dad has ASD."

Each of these are separate responses from separate people.... I see a pattern of parental absence and abuse. 

How did I end up in a supposedly, committed relationship and having children with, an emotionally unavailable man? One whom I had even consciously selected for his stability, gentleness and respectability? 

The original key, for me, lies in my childhood. Like many Cassandras, I grew up with an emotionally unavailable father, who also happened to be alcohol dependent. He required alcohol to stabilise his anxiety; a happy drunk- miserable sober. His anxiety and need for control, I now believe, is symptomatic of an undiagnosed autistic spectrum disorder. 

Being a girl, he didn't understand me, didn't want to, saw me as a problem when I showed emotion or had my own mind. His temper was terrifying and I tip-toed around his moods and rages, much like my mother did. She grew up, one of four siblings, with unsurprisingly, an emotionally unavailable parent- this time her mother. Mum also had a disfigurement which was very clear for all to see and she was bullied as a result, by not just her school friends, but her siblings too.

Even as a young child, I knew Mum had low self-esteem- she tried too hard with everyone and would flop onto the sofa in an exhausted heap post-school-pickup. I co-slept with my mum until I was 4 years old, followed her everywhere and she rarely left me with anyone. I remember my overwhelming love for her. She was incredibly present, but very obviously, depressed as she too, was suffering from emotional neglect. At weekends, we'd join Dad in the pub, Mum would get all dressed up, happy to be included in his addiction and she'd sip identical pints, trying to connect with him on some odd, superficial level.  

Now and then, she'd gravitate to the women and order a wine. 

By the time hormones surfaced, our home was intensely dysfuctional. Both parents were drinking alcohol irresponsibly, to the point that my brother and I learned to cook, wash and iron our clothes before age 13. Sunday roasts would burn in the oven because they never made it back from the pub in time and Christmas drinking often led to bouts of domestic violence which I often found myself caught in the middle of, whilst my brother hid in his room. Our neighbours must have heard the abuse, but nobody ever spoke out or asked if my brother and I were ok- I never looked a neighbour in the eye; my teen years were shrouded in shame. 

I got out early, left home at 19, whilst studying at university and never went back home for longer than a few months at a time afterwards. I had to return a few times when I was desperate after that, but I never stayed long. One evening, I was driven away in a police car at 19, having experienced domestic violence- not my Dad's either, but my brother's. I had called the police myself, finally calling out their behaviour as wrong. Dad got aggressive with the police officers in defence of his protégé. My brother ran off for a few hours and then returned once he knew the police had gone.

Mum sat crying in a helpless heap. 

 I looked for love everywhere after that. In charismatic and narcissistic, abusive, drug-taking, emotionally unavailable boyfriends who gave me STDs. I lost myself. I was always the drunk friend on nights out. An abortion later and I started losing my grip on reality, whilst also being bullied at work by an awful female boss. Throughout all of the trauma however, I managed to keep going academically, as if I knew it was my only way out of my messed up life. 

Looking back, I'd always felt neglected by my Dad, but this new abandonment by my Mum, cut deep. She was still there, we still had a relationship; she paid half my rent for a while out of guilt, but she became extremely emotionally distant in my early adulthood as she pursued a professional career. "Something for me" she would say. I realise that early adulthood was the time I needed her most of all and it's a lesson I've learned from myself as a Mum. 

After a mental breakdown, I went to live abroad for a short time, which was exactly what I needed. I left the shame and trauma behind me, but I still wasn't making healthy choices, I was still looking for love in all the wrong places. 

So, I returned to England and bagged a very demanding and professional job, a bit like Mum had. It stabilised me. I was too exhausted to get drunk at weekends, too focused on achieving in my work- it felt academic and that was one area of my life I could excel in. I buckled down for 18 months and lived a very solitary, predictable, boring life and it was just what I needed. There were no men, hardly any irresponsible friends, no fun, just hard work. Mum did the same ironically, she left my Dad, got stuck into work and we became a little closer, until she found a new boyfriend. 

And then came stable, predictable Peter. 

He slotted into this mundane chapter of my life easily... someone to look forward to. But, I realise now that although I was living a stable lifestyle, practically speaking, emotionally, I was still extremely unstable. I was grateful for his attention- I was his special interest at first don't forget, imagine how that may have felt for someone like me, with the background I have. Like my mum, I had developed incredibly low self esteem and although I wasn't looking for love in the wrong places anymore, the wrong "love" still found me. 

On reflection, being with Peter has given me the opportunity of therapy. An entire 8 years of it! Therapy has saved me, I've re-parented myself, found love in my beautiful children and I rarely drink alcohol anymore. Peter was a choice I made when I was low in confidence, low in self esteem, low in wisdom and knowledge and low in love. Choosing Peter was a product of years of emotional neglect, or maybe I never really chose Peter at all, maybe I sat back and let him choose me. 

I missed all of Peter's red flags, because my own red flags were bigger and I was too busy trying to hide them. I realise now that he of course, was doing the same (on a subconscious level anyway). 

Peter is also the product of emotional neglect due to (I believe) a narcissistic mother and an autistic father, but they had a nicer house, they rarely argued with their children and they were a million times more helpful than my own parents. But strip, it all back and the issues are the same, minus alcohol. Peter and I had an awful lot in common, we just didn't know it at the time. Our energies connected on some subconscious level.

The cycle of trauma will continue unless it's broken, I believe that I will need therapy for years yet, to un-do the trauma and destruction that my FOO (family of origin) left me with. I am extremely lucky to have had a very loving, calming and wonderful influence in one of my grandparents who I was incredibly close to growing up, so there is some good there to hold on to. 

I'm not perfect, I am by nature, very, very irritable and noise intolerant after a childhood full of shouting. I'm working on that. But as for Peter, I worry about the impact that his low self esteem, low emotional intelligence and lack of self awareness will have on our own children. I can't shield them from everything, it's hard enough trying to shield them from all my shadows, let alone his.

I hope that one day, I'll meet an emotionally healthy man to be a positive influence in their lives and to share my own life with. But really, what I've always wanted is for Peter to go to therapy, like I have and grow, blossom in his own way. That won't help our relationship now that he's left us, but it may help our children and break this generational cycle- that would be the gold at the end of the rainbow. 🌈