If I could go back . . .

Just a little more than three years ago, my life fell apart because I discovered I was married to a sex offender. If I could go back to that day in ghost-like form, like Scrooge with the Ghost of Christmas Past in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, what would I whisper in the ear of my past self?

As a ghost, I would watch myself in the morning, caring for my 3-week-old, Sabrina, and my 2-year-old, Elise. I was happy that morning. It actually hurts to think how happy I was because so much pain was about to follow.

I can see myself making lunch and I know the phone is about to ring. Jake is about to call and tell me that he was sent home from work. He's going to come home. He's going to sit at the table and lie to me. For his sake, I will be calm. For his sake, I will hug and reassure him while he sobs over the injustice of it (as he makes it out to be).

But, no, the phone hasn't rung yet. I still see myself in calm, happy oblivion. I would like to stand close to that past self of mine and say,

 "A storm is coming, but you will be okay. 

Just be the honest and upstanding person you always aim to be. 

You will make it to the other side, I promise."

As the phone rings, as I watch myself reach out to pick up the receiver, I want to give myself permission,

"It is okay to doubt him. It is okay to question him. 

It is okay to be mad at him. 

Trust your gut that he is not innocent. 

You don't have to stand by him."

Mere hours after that phone rings, that past version of me will fear that she will lose her children. I want to reassure her,

"The few who doubt your good motherhood will quickly reverse their opinions. Everyone will agree that your babies belong to you and you to them." 

As she shivers in bed with one arm wrapped around each baby, afraid that if she lets them go or closes her eyes they might disappear, I'd like to say, 

"Sleep, sleep, you are safe, they are safe. Years of happy mothering are still ahead of you." 

As she finally falls into a restless sleep, I would like to send her one last message:

"You fear losing your partner in life, but he never was the man you hoped he was. You will suffer pain and loss, but the hidden blessings will outweigh it all. In return you will gain self-confidence and strength; you will see friends and community more clearly; your connection to your children will be amplified; and you will find second chances for career and for love. 

You will suffer and struggle, but you will also survive and thrive. 

Each year will bring a stronger sense of gratitude for the fruitless life you were rescued from and the amazing life you were gifted with. 

I just wish you could know this now and let it reassure you as the storm passes over."

Please share what you would like to whisper into the ear of your past self.  Comment below or email evie.pruett@gmail.com

Sick Family, Sick Dog

After that phone call with Jake, I didn't talk to him for more than a week and intended that to last longer. Life went on. He called me a few times and I let it go to voicemail. I realized that I could request a "no contact" situation again, but I kinda liked that he knew that I was ignoring him. Immature? Sure, but I think I deserve to be the one in control for a while - visibly in control. Jake's parents came over a few times for supper. They brought the food. I never asked who cooked the food and they never said, but I'm sure we all know. If I didn't really need a break from cooking I would have complained.

Everything was going pretty well until Sabrina got sick. I took a day off work. Then I got sick and spent the whole weekend on the sofa plus took another day off work. Then Elise got sick and I took three days off work. Altogether I worked 25 hours in two weeks. Paying the bills is going to be tight this month

In the midst of all our own sickness, I noticed that our dog, Barkey, was not looking so good. I took him to the vet only to find out that he was suffering from complications due to cancer. The vet said there was really no treatment that would improve his situation and it was already quite advanced, so he recommended euthanasia. It was a tough week, trying to plan our dog's last moments. I had it planned so that I would take Barkey over to my in-law's house while the kids were at daycare so that Jake and I could both be with Barkey as he died. I truly believe that it's a blessing to be with someone as they die, so it was important to me to be there with Barkey. Unfortunately, that was the day Elise vomited at daycare, so I had to stay home with her. I gave Barkey a big hug and watched him ride off, never to come home again.

I let down my guard during the whole Barkey situation and talked to Jake in person a few times. We both cried and sobbed while making arrangements. He made a motion to hug me, but I snapped, "I don't want to hug you!" He really started crying then. I felt like a monster.

On Friday, I received a letter from Jake. It mostly reminisced about Barkey. He had added a drawing of a punch-tin design to replace a missing window in our china hutch. The design featured a pair of love birds. My letter back to him started with "I don't want love birds in the hutch. Do you understand how mad I am at you? There may be no coming back from this. "  I didn't rant much more in the letter - not that I didn't want to, but I didn't have the energy.

I decided to throw an odd request into the letter. I asked him to give the names of all his victims to the court. He'll think it's a crazy idea and refuse to do it, I'm sure. I just explained that I couldn't support him or have any kind of relationship with him as long as I know that there are other victims out there who have yet to press charges. If he could sacrifice his future by giving up those names I know I would sleep better at night for the sake of those victims, but also because I would finally know that Jake CAN do the right thing instead of the selfish thing. But since I doubt that he'll ever do that . . .

I'm starting to plan my move. I wanted to move to the city my parents live in, but the housing costs are ridiculous. So now I'm researching the city that my brother lives in, just two hours' drive from my parents. I'm excited to live near my own family and be in a place where no one knows my husband. But I'm already mourning this house and this community and the lifestyle we live here.

A friend returns to her cheating husband

Recently, I made a new friend. We didn't know each other very well, but we had coffee a few times and bonded over the pain of cheating husbands. I thought I would see her last week, but she wasn't returning my calls or emails. Finally, her mother (also a friend of mine) called to let me know that she had returned to her husband. Wow. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

It was amazing to me that she had gone back to him. She had gone to a lot of trouble to move herself and her two kids away from him in the first place. I actually admired her. Unlike myself, she had the guts to leave. I wished sometimes that I would do that. BUT THEN SHE WENT BACK!!! I was kinda mad at her. I still am.

It just happened that I got that info on the day that I was taking our tax papers to the jail for Jake to sign. It also happened to be visitation day at the jail. I haven't seen Jake in person since before his sentencing in November, except when I saw him at the advisement hearing for the new charges. I've been practicing strict boundaries with him since he was re-arrested, only allowing him to communicate with me through letters unless it is urgent (and I get to decide urgency). It gives me a sense of peace for myself and justice towards him to have these boundaries. And I hope it protects me from being manipulated by him.

Anyhow, I was thinking about visiting him that day, although I was really on the fence because I knew there was no good reason for visiting. Then I found out about my friend going back to her cheating husband. That tipped the scales for me and I did not go see him. In fact, I took a little pleasure in the idea that he would know that I came in person during visiting hours but chose not to visit . . . Actions speak louder than words, you know?

I guess the point of this entry is to describe how much easier it is to make a judgement call about someone else's life. I can easily say that my friend should not have returned to her cheating husband because he is so obviously a jerk and will never change and together they will just ruin the lives of their kids. And yet, here I sit. Lame, right?

I have oodles of loved ones and caring friends saying, "Leave, leave!" I hope they all know that their words are not wasted. They make me feel safe and strengthen me. I think I am leaving in my own way. I'm setting up boundaries and testing them. I'm dividing our accounts and possessions. I'm making plans independently that won't change based on his situation. I am setting up a new shop, so to speak, it's just in the same location. Some days I get giddy thinking about myself as the "new sheriff in town" (the town being our household). I may be moving at a snail's pace (and I may make lots of excuses for the silly ways in which I do things), but I am moving forward. And I am building my own life.

The only question is, if there was a nuclear war today that dissolved all societal structure and Jake came walking up to the house as a "free" man, where would my boundaries be then? It is likely they would crumble. That is why I usually count his incarceration as a blessing!

The three types of sex offender wives

PLEASE NOTE: This is a popular post for some reason. I have a theory that it pops up high in the google search for "sex offender wife". Well, if this is your first time on this blog, I want you to know that this is not my best post. Please peruse the blog for some of my more current and thoughtful posts. Also, there are many stories in the comments of this post from others like us, which you are welcome to read and reply to (we all need support). But when you are ready to share your own story, please do it on this post: Wives of Sex Offenders - A Place to Share. 

When I read about other women in my situation I tend to categorize them. There are the women who practically wear a shirt that says "He's not the man you think he is." I would call them the "denial" group, except that I hate that word myself. Also, I feel that you shouldn't label someone as being in denial simply because they love and support a person, no matter how much wrong that person has done. They are the love group.

And there are those who lean heavily on Jesus. I wouldn't have guessed that this would be such a theme among betrayed wives. But then, it makes sense because we have had our lives turned upside-down and inside out. Who do you turn to when that happens? This is the faith group.

The women of love and faith are the ones that populate the internet. But I would like to conjecture that there is a third group: the angry group. You will hardly ever find this type in any chat room or forum or blog because they feel the betrayal so acutely that they would rather walk away and not look back. They will divorce quickly and move far away from the scene of the crime and tell their children that daddy is dead.

These are just my ideas based on very little evidence, so don't take them too seriously.

So which am I? I'm all of them, of course. I still love Jake, which is why I'm still here. I found God in the horror of last year and He kept me afloat. And I'm so burning mad that I can't stand it some days. All wives of sex offenders are really a mix of these women, even the wives who walk away and never look back. I guess we just pick a direction to lean and some lean more strongly in one direction than others. I started with the love group, joined the faith group, and made a big jump into the angry group right before I started this blog. I think I sit squarely in the middle now . . . but there's always a chance it could change.

In case you missed it, I finally posted the second half of the story I was dragging my feet on. It is just the beginning of my story from last year, which I plan to relate in time. In this moment, though, I just want to get back to blogging regularly now that I'm not shamefully avoiding unfulfilled promises!

Is that you, God?

If you've been wondering where I've been, I've been avoiding all of you because I can't seem to write the second part of my story and I'm ashamed.

But I came running back to tell you about my weird day yesterday.

Despite all my recent dreams about moving on in the world of relationships, I spent the last week anxiously awaiting a letter from Jake. In my last letter, I told him how scared I was about the mortgage. I told him I wouldn't stay here and let the mortgage suck me dry, no matter how much I love the house. I told him he should think about selling it and that I was packing.

Around the time I sent the letter, I told his parents something similar. Kay seems to get it and supported the idea of selling the house, but Big Rev is classically in denial. He said, "Well, I think your moving too fast on this," and "We should wait to see what happens," and even "Are you going to leave the house to go into foreclosure?" And I, in my own classic form, get riled up, snap at him that this is not my fault, and then feel guilty about it for days.

Big Rev really did work on me and made me feel guilty. I was anxious about the letter  because I thought I had started a fight with Jake, like I always do with Big Rev. After all, Jake is the one that I really want to yell at.

But when I got the letter yesterday, it was so nice! It was full of suggestions for items among his belongings that I could sell. He even managed to get through the whole letter without any self-pity or excuses - unheard of! It was actually a pleasure to read and I my daydreams of a new man were quickly replaced with daydreams of a pleasant pen-pal marriage. (Yes, I'm so weird, I know.) I was almost giddy!

But there was one thing wrong with the letter. He said he didn't want to sell the house. I was totally expecting that, but it ate at me. It didn't make me feel guilty for thinking about moving. Somehow, it actually firmed my resolve not to go down with the ship. I was just thinking that I would put that in my next letter when my phone rang. A friend of mine invited me out to coffee.

This friend recently moved back to this area, where she grew up, because her husband was having an affair. We have a lot in common because we both were betrayed and suffered from our husbands' bad choices. We both showed up happy to the coffee shop, though. She told me she had just received a phone call from her husband the night before. He was crying (Crying! she emphasized) and asking her to come back. She said "maybe". I told her about my almost perfect letter. Then we started sounding off each other. I asked her if she could really trust him. I shared my doubts that a cheating man will ever change. She listened to all my options about leaving or staying and she said, "Evie, you could really be happy somewhere else. You could find love again." I wish I had said it back to her because it is true for both of us. Instead we started joking about how to properly screen a potential mate (more on that later). In the end, I think we left the coffee shop a little sobered by each other. I wonder if that's why she called me. Did she think I would understand her excitement over the phone call from her cheating husband more than her mother or sisters who are in good relationships? Did she know I would reflect my own pain back on her, reminding her why she really shouldn't go back? I wonder.

Oh yeah, when I told her about my current job search and how I was hoping I would hear from the job I'm really interested in before the job I just applied to as a back-up, she said, "I think the job you get first is the job God wants you to have." I don't usually think that way, but it sure would be nice if God would put up some big road signs.

That night, another one of my friends called totally out of the blue to tell me her man troubles. I explained my day to her and that all I would give her is negative opinions about the opposite sex. Then we moved on to financial stuff. She happens to be in the foreclosure business, so she has some ideas about houses and bankruptcy. I told her that my dad keeps suggesting bankruptcy for me and I keep ignoring him. She gave me the 411 on bankruptcy and told me that I'm a "good candidate" for it. As she talked, I thought, Is this a road sign, God? Is bankruptcy really my future? And then she also reiterated the idea that I deserve better, that I should move on, like everyone who cares about me says - except my husband.

So that brings me to the final thing. At 2:30am I wrote several pages to Jake about my anger over the massive credit card debt that I took onto my credit cards to save him from default on his own two years ago. I pointed out that he hasn't once thanked me or apologized for that gesture, as if that was just a normal task of a wife. I told him that I was considering bankruptcy and how unfair that it is me and not him since it is his debt. I told him that my credit score went from the mid-700s to the low-500s because of that, but he never asked or cared, although he was plenty concerned about his own credit score. It is all just so unfair and I feel so foolish for ever falling into it. And then I asked God to relieve me of my anger so I could sleep.

It was a weird day with so many abnormal occurrences that I feel there must have been meaning to it all. The letter, coffee, the phone call. What is the theme? What are the road signs? Leave now? File for bankruptcy? Or was it just another day in a meaningless, chaotic world?

Dreams

I am putting off writing the next part in the February 16, 2011 story. It is more painful to recall than I thought it would be. I'll get to it this weekend, maybe.

In the meantime, I thought I'd share some of the crazy dreams I've had lately. It seems that the recent drama mixed with Valentine's Day and too much T.V. really stirred up my imagination.

First, I had a dream that I went on a date with President Obama. That's weird, right? Even in my dream I was wondering how I ended up on a date with the President. I think I said something to him once, like, "Gosh, you're kinda old for me . . . and aren't you married?" It didn't phase me at all that he was the leader of our nation, but then I've always aimed high (which is how I ended up with an unfaithful, sex addicted teacher in rural farm country).

A few days later, I had a very convoluted dream that I was both Anna and Ethel from PBS's Downton Abbey. If you haven't watched this show, go check it out. A quick explanation: Anna marries a man who is accused of murdering his ex-wife and she stands by him through the trial. Ethel gets knocked-up by a soldier and abandoned with the baby (this is the early 1900s when no one would give a job to an unmarried mother). I don't think it takes much imagination to see why I identify with these characters. I take more to Ethel (in all her self-righteous stupidity) than I do to the purely devoted Anna, mostly because I've been in Anna's shoes and got burned. I want to scream at her, "HE DID IT! HE KILLED HER! RUN AWAY!"

Lastly - the craziest one of all - I dreamed that I was spending time with a man who was devoted and loving. He put his arm around me so naturally and adoringly. He was relaxed and simple in his manners. He was just content to be with me, without the need for a sexual goal. Just a good man, imagine that.

The dreams themselves can be shrugged off and forgotten, but the greater meaning comes from the theme: relationships and dating. For the first time since all this started, I'm thinking about my relationship with my husband in the past tense. I'm identifying with women who have been separated or abandoned by their mates. My imagination is playing with scenarios of how to start a new romance. Up until now, I haven't thought about leaving or divorce or anything along those lines. It's strange to have my self-conscious working ahead of me. Is there really a part of me that is ready to move on already? If there is, then it is the minority because most of me feels a little nauseous at the thought of any kind of romance (and downright opposed to anything sexual). But then, I also feel like these dreams are a signal of where I might be heading . . . Strange.

Or maybe it was just the Valentine's Day subliminal messages that infected my colorful dreamscape.