Saturday, March 4, 2023

A Thousand Cuts

Leaving a man like Peter is difficult.
On the surface, there's a kind, practically helpful man who can do DIY, who vacuums and scrubs toilets (if you ask him to), who is very practically involved with the children, who is quiet and gentle to the outside world. 

The inner world of living with a man like Peter is a far cry from the man others get to see. I was reading through this blog recently, to remind me of the pain he's caused and it dawned on me how challenging it's been to put into words exactly how Peter has inflicted this pain. 

So, I'm writing this post to express, anecdotally, the things that Peter has done. I mention things briefly throughout the blog, but in vague descriptions- probably to avoid the pain of repeating it. Also, their acts are often challenging to articulate, because they're so minor as a stand alone event- it's only when you add these snippets of misery together, does it begin to build a bigger picture. 

I mentioned, in the beginning of the blog, that Peter never protected me from his mother. Her long, hefty, boasting monologues, her underhanded criticisms, her subtle comparisons between my poor and deprived childhood and Peter's privileged one. He sat back silently. When I complained about her rudeness and my exhaustion at being in her company, I got ALL the blame. He KNEW what she was like, he admitted it quite openly. The problem? Me. My lack of tolerance. I was always lacking. "She can't help it," he would say.

I don't know where this blind obligation to his parents came from- a mix of fear, obligation and guilt, as explained in the book Toxic Parents by Susan Forward, but this blind obedience was forced on to me early on. 

In early pregnancy, I suffered horrific nausea to the point that I could not work or eat anything other than plain biscuits. On our first Christmas Eve together and at 8 weeks pregnant and ill, we had to drive to his parents house so that he could have his usual christmas eve pork and stuffing sandwich fresh from the joint of pork his mother always traditionally cooks. I should have stayed at home in hindsight, but what was he doing? Why on earth wasn't he enjoying our first Christmas Eve together as a couple and allowing me to rest? I remember feeling absolutely dreadful and wanting to leave, his mother droning on and on at me, trying to ignore the overwhelming stench of meat and stuffing. From the very beginning, I was invisible. 

This set the tone for the next 10 years. My parenting was repeatedly criticised by his mother and he said nothing:
"She needs water. Why aren't you giving her water?"
"That woman sees my grandchild more than I do." (Reference to a baby group leader).
"She will only eat what she likes if you give her all those options."
"You're making a rod for your own back."
"Poor baby girl, naughty mummy waking you up again to make you feed."
It was constant.
He excused it all away. They came over one Christmas and began playing a board game without me- I walked in half way through after putting the baby to bed, expected to sit and watch them play this game together. I spoke out tactlessly, through tiredness and it didn't go down well. 

When the baby was born, after a long colicky day with her, he came home from work- I was teary and overwhelmed and rather than cook me a meal, or help with the baby, he gave me two choices:
1) Get in the car with him and take the baby to see his mother.
2) Don't get in the car with him to take the baby to see his mother and stay at home.

She was only around 10 weeks old and I wasn't ready to be away from her yet and I also wasn't in any fit state to tolerate his mother. I got into the car with him initially, got to the end of the street and then walked home in tears, without my baby. His mother hadn't seen our baby for 4 days and it was "too long" according to Peter. Mummy had clearly been on the phone to him that day.

His social group at work did not take well to my pregnancy; they made my life miserable as described earlier in the blog. He excused it away. He even went out for a meal with them all one evening whilst I was stuck at home with another water infection. I remember eating my lunches alone in my little office during work days to avoid them and he'd be chatting away, eating his with other work colleagues, dismissing the bullying and hurt that I was experiencing. He never once came over to check in on me during the work day or to eat lunch together, despite him being a minute's walk away. I look back and think, had he took a stand, just refused to socialise with them anymore, they'd have got the message, the behaviour would have stopped.

It was like he wanted me to feel low somehow.

I eventually got a new job but had to take a pay cut working less hours. I was pleased because I was finding working and caring for a toddler who kept getting poorly too hard. Peter wasn't happy. I told him that I would make up the hours doing freelance work at the weekends- I'd take the toddler out of nursery one day a week, he could look after her whilst I worked a day at weekends. That would save us money. It would also save me a lot of stress as a mother.  Peter was very money orientated. His hobby took up some weekends, so he wasn't really on board, he punished me with silence. On one occasion, he expected me to cancel three clients at short notice, losing £85 pay that day so that he could go and do his hobby. He wanted me to work in the week, like he did. Working weekends was breaking the mould. He didn't speak to me for almost two weeks because of this supposed missed event. Yet he did go in the end, but just had to leave later in the day than he'd desired. 

His hobby has been a sore point a few times. It takes him away for often 12 hours at at the weekends. What Peter could not understand was that by going regularly when the kids were young, he was taking away my weekends too- lone parenting two young children is harder than going to work. Where was my break? Then one year, an event fell on my birthday, I had a 4 year old and a newborn at home who did not stop crying. I was exhausted and breastfeeding and at breaking point. I asked him, begged him not to go on my birthday. The only thing I wanted for my birthday was a lighter, easier day. He called me a "birthday brat" for not rearranging my birthday for the following weekend- which happened to be my mum's birthday. Unsurprisingly, this hobby is one he does with his Dad. My mum couldn't travel the long journey to spend the day with me as she was bed bound with flu,  "that's not my problem" he said. 

He spent a bit more money on my presents that year, bought me jewellery for the first time ever and went to do his hobby. At no point did his Dad suggest that they didn't go. He sent his sister over to spend my birthday with me- she brought her dog with her, who escaped out of the front door and so I spent a chunk of my birthday wandering the streets with a newborn in my arms, a 4 year old at my side, looking for her dog. To this day, he still says it was unreasonable of me to expect him to spend my birthday with me. 

On my 30th birthday, we had friends over for a little party, which he never liked doing. He was miserable all week beforehand. He pulled out all the stops with my presents and a beautiful cake, but all done resentfully. The night after the party we went for a meal just the two of us and he barely spoke to me all night. He was completely miserable and kept checking his phone. Turns out, he was missing his hobby and was checking the results on his phone. We went home early because he couldn't have been more resentful if he'd tried. 

He struggled with two kids. He moved to the spare room to get more sleep as I was breastfeeding the second. He was struggling himself with a medical condition at the time, which he had left for months and not had treated- a very large anal fissure. It got to the point that he actually, physically smelt and required an operation to fix it. All because he wouldn't go to the doctor in the first place. He became depressed. The baby had reflux and still didn't stop crying, the older one had allergies and I was juggling everything on little sleep because Peter was in pain and not sleeping at night. When we saw his mother, she'd pull me to one side and ask "how's Peter's bum?"
Unbelievable. 

He wanted out of family life or so it seemed. One night, we went out with friends and I requested that he didn't have much to drink incase I needed help with the baby during the night. She had barely slept all week and I was on my knees with exhaustion. We came home and accidentally woke her up- he was drunk and I'd had to stay sober because of his drinking. I asked him to just sit and hold her whilst she fell asleep again- my nipples were red raw from breastfeeding around the clock that week and the only way to stop it was for someone else to rock her to sleep. I stayed awake because he'd had too much to drink and listened from the bedroom next door. He was angry and resentful saying he needed his sleep and began banging the back of the nursing chair loudly into the wall in protest, like a rebellious teenager. Crying, frustrated, hopeless, helpless, I went into her room, laid her back in her cot, turned around and punched Peter in the face. I knew then, that there was no hope for us.

When we socialised with friends, Peter didn't say a lot as I'm the more outgoing one. However, he would persistently correct me in a mocking tone:
"Haha, no it wasn't like that..."
"You're exaggerating now..."
"I don't think that's appropriate to say..."
It was embarrassing and mundane. The person I'd be talking to would look bored by the persistent, pedantic interruptions. He was always pushing his low self esteem on to me. It's like I became an extension of him.

Peter isn't funny, he doesn't tell good stories, his friends don't really listen to him when he does speak because he seems to just tag along, laughing at the right times, agreeing when he should do much of the time. He drinks in excess for confidence when he's around them. I always felt a bit sorry for him when I saw him with his social group but Peter would always drop me in a flash to be a part of the group, similarly to how he'd been at work.

 We once went for a meal with his sister and her partner and he scolded me for talking about childbirth at the table. When I mentioned it to my therapist shortly afterwards, she was surprised that I didn't  retort back quickly and continue my story. I thought about why I didnt and it's because his sister and partner would have jumped in to agree with him. Family loyalty is strong here remember. I don't know how I would have sat and finished my meal if that had happened and I was just glad to be dressed up and eating a meal I hadn't had to cook. I did confront him later on when he corrected me again and I said "well I just can't say anything right tonight can I" and him and his sister gave each other an all-knowing look, like I was the problem. A couple of days later, his parents said what a wonderful night they'd heard we'd all had together. 
But, my night had just been censored. I didn't feel the same. I broached this with Peter after his parents' comment and he told me that as I was the only one who didn't enjoy myself. So, I was the problem. 

Peter would never make decisions... "it's up to you" then criticise if it didn't work out. I'd always find myself over explaining to him. He'd always say "why do you over explain things to me?!" He'd place mental boulders and hurdles in the way so that life couldn't move forward, reasons why ideas couldn't work, but never any suggestions. Negative by nature.

The "unintentional" gaslighting was a huge problem. He had to be right. He would tell me he'd told me about his pre-planned hobby days that I couldn't remember him telling me about. Said I'd agreed to things that I just couldn't remember. I devised a family calender system and he refused to use it. My therapist was appalled that he rebelled against any sort of system that I put into place. Any communication was met with "don't know." You can't communicate with that can you? 

When I suggested regular weekly date nights, he would fall asleep somewhere whilst I was cooking, despite going to bed late on other evenings and being able to stay awake. If I said black, he always said white. 

If I ever felt any form of inequality at work, or fell out with a friend, I'd look to him for reassurance and support, like most people in relationships do. But, he'd only condescend my views or feelings and make me feel like it was all my fault. "I can't help but see things from the other side" he'd say to me. Why would you do that before giving validation first? 

If I told him things about my past or family, he'd save it up to use against me should I ever need to confront him about his behaviour or his family. And of course, my outwardly critical and argumentative family were always worse, I had no right to say anything about his. 

Writing all of this down, I can see it's like he's been in competition with me from very early on. Why? Why has he felt the need to behave this way? 

The load of parenting for me has been immense, but he never appreciated that. I was always imagining any emotional strain, because he couldn't feel it. His parenting has been troubling at times- like when the baby was crying and I was upstairs with a migraine, I went down and asked "what's wrong with her?"
His response "she's crying." 
It never occured to him to explore the reason why. She had a raging temperature at the time and required antibiotics. 

Another time, our daughter collapsed unconscious and was at the cusp of a diabetic coma.
I shouted "call an ambulance!"  
But he wouldn't because he doesn't like speaking on the phone, so I had to do it whilst he "cuddled her better" in his words. When the ambulance men came, he offered them a cup of tea (well that's what you do when you have visitors isn't it?!) They snapped at him that they weren't there to drink tea. I'm thankful for that.

He's left our youngest daughter unattended at the front of our ungated driveway at 3 years old whilst he was taking shopping in to the back of the house. She could have just ran off. 

I've been blamed for "indulging" our eldest daughter's anxiety because she's apparently doing it for attention and I should be dismissing it- like him. He also accused me of creating more of a problem. 

Everything is my fault. 
Each time I've acknowledged a fault or a problem, I've been the problem for bringing it to the surface.
I've flagged up too much dysfunction and he just wants everything to stay the same.
There's so much more that I could write. He never said "I love you" after our second born and used to say "just because you can't go out without the baby doesn't mean I can't."
There was no team spirit at all. 
I am not innocent in all of this. My rage has got the better of me at times, I've shouted and name called him, screamed at him. Hated him.
The thing that really sticks in my mind though was at my most vulnerable, when I'd just been diagnosed with my autoimmune condition and had a young baby and a young child to care for. I was also working and exhausted and still breastfeeding. I felt very low, very vulnerable. He said to me "I pity you." 

Out of all the things he's ever said to me, I'll never ever forget that. He didn't need to pity me; he could have just helped me. 

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