I’ve asked my husband to leave.

I told my husband I needed him to move out of our house. We have been married over ten years and have built a very full life together. When we decided to “seperate” two years ago and continue to live together in the same house essentially “as we were”; my plan was to find all the best things in life and in people, in him and create a sort of full, happy carefree household.

{Maybe someday in the future we will get there}

Not today though. The problem with it today is – I have not dealt with the fact that my “normal marriage” is gone. It has been gone for quite some time.

I am currently holed up in a cavern. The cavern includes memories of my years in and out of this attic, as I am also resting with Demons. It’s preferably worded that way because I am not by any means copping out, scapegoating or hiding in a wallow of sedatives. Although, I am taking quite a few more pills this week – but not as a means to the end. Quite frankly I am self-preserving in that sense.


Christmas carols have been dancing in my head over the past few weeks. Songs with repetitive nature of joy and uncomplaining contentment. Ironically, it just began to snow. We really haven’t had any snow to speak of this winter.

{Fine with me, I wasn’t in the mood to tell the kids I don’t want to sled}

I always loved Christmas, the last few years I have been preoccupied keeping my shit together to actually take the time to give a shit. The beauty of the holiday for me always has been the nature of the illusion. The stories it is based upon and the many stories that have been born of it.

The ceiling in this room is not smudged with plaster chevrons or covered with the popcorn stuff either. The off white, smoke stained ceiling in this brown panalled room with out dormers or ceiling lights is covered with jagged ridges of plaster. Mountains and valleys of places that have yet to be travelled. Canyons that are filled with darkness waiting to be inhabited with light. Waiting for nourishment, maybe a campfire and somebody to tell a story. Possibly just a footprint. Only a footprint is needed to make a change in the circle of life, the environment, your heart, your existence from then on.

{Draw me a picture, tell me a story}

I love a great story. I adore being wrapped in words that carry me some where. Anywhere. Not all that unlike Harold and his purple crayon. I fell in love as a child with Civil War stories of romance and family values. I also got a lot of that from, Davey and Goliath, the Christian television show. I am enamored by the characters in a story, how they grow and face life and the ever present challenges that makes them a character.


For years, I have been unselfishly supporting and encouraging my husband to be his best self. A wonderful, compassionate, intelligent and handsome man. He is successful in business and a loving and attentive father. My idolization and love for him have prevented me from putting any sort of closure to our marriage. It just sort of sits there and mocks me from the kitchen table daily. Some who have known of our arrangement thought it to be quite dreamy.

{As did I, until recently}

While I do fully believe that couples can raise their kids together and I also know that open marriages work for some. That isn’t what is happening here; it is much more and there are too many facets of loss to continue like this anylonger.

I can and will continue to honor many shared values and family responsibilties with him of course. We aren’t even fighting. He is home with the kids and I am here;hiding in my first husband’s house. It’s okay – I was home every day for ten years imagining my life was something it wasn’t. Living a lie.

{I have a very good way of doing things for myself}

I read as much as I can, I do the math, I get two unscathed opinions, I research and I go with my instinct and knowledge. What the fuck else am I supposed to do? That is how you do something correctly. When the facts are untrue the end result is fucked up.

{Now, I am fucked up. I would not have done things like this at all. I am dying to go into a guilt trip on myself here but I won’t}

Reading books has kept me real and allowed me to make confident choices. They have enabled me to feel things and form educated opinions on subjects that I am otherwise inclined not to think about.

For instance, I am Pro-Choice. However, I chose to have my children based in part on the lies that were told to me. Yes, lies. Lies, fed to me by the father of my children, before we were married. This causes me visceral pain. The sort of wrenching pain that is equivalent to being “held down against your will”, kind of pain.

{I wrythe with this discomfort daily, because I feel so terribly violated}

In my teens and twenties, I read long novels and followed authors that wrote series of grand travels and escapades. I would be lost in somebody else’s story. Always finding some sense of identity, feeling hope, learning ideas for survival. Time is never wasted. The time spent reading a book is expanding the mind. It opens my soul for ideas that the universe would have no other way of getting to me. I told you – I am in an attic hiding. It’s 3:40 in the afternoon and I am not planning on leaving any time soon.

My love and fascination with people and places took me into a process of me becoming an Athropologist. Cultural and Forensic. Don’t get excited, I went back to school for four years and became a muscular therapist and structural integration bodyworker. I secretly dream of floating through worlds of difference, living amongst and letting people live. I read books of immigrants, slaves, tribes, war, genocide, more genocide and more genocide.

Life. The stories of men, women and children living in fear with living being the key word because everybody else is dead around them. Next to them. On top of them. No place is safe. So they hide in plain site and live waiting to be killed.

My middle ground fell back to non fiction with a travel flair. Memoirs and comedic essays of people around the world mostly infamous with a great sense of family, affection and dark humor. I have a dozen but my favorites and stand bys have been David Sedaris, Laurie Notaro, Bill Bryson and Paul Theroux.

I met David Sedaris quickly eight years ago. I wasn’t who I am today. Today I would have gushed out loud. For a million reasons.

{Maybe he would have had me removed quickly or would he love me and keep me for a pet}

Family. I love my children, deeply. Before we had children, homes, other dependents, inlaws, brothers, sisters; I asked all the right questions and did all the right things. My husband and I went over all this before we got married!

I knew from a young age that I never ever wanted to be a single parent. Ever! I had watched my mother struggle and we all struggled with her. While I have always known I could survive on my own somehow and I never wanted the responsibilty of others; I chose otherwise based on lies told to me.

I wasn’t a kid person. Not really that girl.  I would not even be upright to type this if I wasn’t medicated. I do believe that much to be true.

As I write I am glancing at a National Geographic program on The Omo Valley, Ethiopia. The different expressions of beauty and status; not unlike here on the East Coast. Unlike here–they are underprivlidged by our standards, and smile profusely. I love them, they don’t give a shit. Plus, they are dancing and fighting naked while only adorned with furs and stones of various color and shape. It is appearing to get violent now and somewhat out of control. A win, a defeat and they all went home with respect, authenticity and some healthy fear in their souls.

The repetitive nature of doing something on a daily basis, especially when deeply based in denial, fear and the imagination of a Smurfette on mesciline – creates an environment that has had me singing Christmas carols in my head. It wasn’t done fast but step by step over many years of shuffling along with the program.

Doing the right thing. Like I said before the holiday spirit is all fine and good. In December. If I am to continue to grow and begin to recover from another swipe to my torn soul, I need to live my life based in truths. Honesty that is raw and painful, will be empowering and strength building. I am flexing my muscles for the powerlifting challenge that is being a mother. It needs to start by me being physically present. I need to be in my home to do that now. It is my time to take this by the ears and lead it to water. Before it dries out and we are left with nothing but regret.

My contentment needs to be based in plain truths. Not chestnuts roasting, sleigh bells ringing and I certainly do not need any more misfits.

{“Baby its cold outside”, is foreplay any time of year}

Somehow I need to find a guide inside me, with some professional and loving help to go home and be a mother to my children. I need to accept that my marriage is over and make the house mine. And theirs. Lay my head on a pillow and sleep with a clear conscience. We will recover as a “family”. I wouldn’t accept otherwise. I need now, to recover as a woman that is angry and broken hearted.

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3 thoughts on “I’ve asked my husband to leave.

  1. I like it. The post, that is.

    Remember the Blind Melons song, “No Rain”? I used to read a lot, read hard, square in the book. A lot of times for me it wasn’t to learn or grow or expose myself to new concepts, but to get lost in the story. The line in the song goes, “And all I can do is read a book to stay awake, And it rips my life away, but it’s a great escape”. I always wondered if that’s all I was doing. . . escaping from what was important. Unlike you, I was reading complete crap. . . fantasy, scifi. . . ever so often it was “literature”, but I started feeling guilty about escaping from my life in order to focus on what was easier: books.

    And I wonder (and please understand I know SOOOO little about your relationship with your husbands) if ignoring the separation and just taking the best parts of the relationship and forgetting the lies. . . or holing up in your ex husbands house, or reading, was your escape.

    Whenever I’m at my worst (and I’m not depressed and don’t really know what “depression” as a diagnosis is like, so I’m not trying to equate my gloom with someone who really suffers) I find I feel best when I focus on more selfless stuff. When I bury my ego and my hurt feelings and I make my children happy or am friendly to someone or reach out to support somebody it really brings MY spirits up.

    “It needs to start by me being physically present. I need to be in my home to do that now. It is my time to take this by the ears and lead it to water.” Yeah. So with you on this. Physically, emotionally, spiritually present.

    “Somehow I need to find a guide inside me, with some professional and loving help to go home and be a mother to my children. I need to accept that my marriage is over and make the house mine. And theirs.”

    Closure. For sure. Cling to the past or reach for the future. “Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin'”

    Anyway, that’s how I read what you’ve written. I’m basing it on an extrapolated understanding of you based on three or four blog posts. . . so POSSIBLY I have no fucking idea what I’m talking about.

    OH. . . just so you know. . . sometimes I leave incredibly long comments.

  2. I have recently (within the last 1+ Years) moved in with my ex-wife and the kids after 5 years of separation, so I have some familiarity with this kind of co-habitation. We are platonic and are not remotely intimate.

    Not exactly the same as what you’re doing, but I know co-habitation can work if you have the right reasons. It’s definitely not a permanent solution as I’m sure you’re already aware.

    For now, I watch my children grow into adults, and figure out how to be a better example for them. Doing the best I can while also dueling with my own demons (albeit in completely different forms). etc etc….

    Thank you for sharing, It’s wonderful to see people make selfless sacrifices to better their future generation.


    Tobiassen Twain

  3. I love you. You are strength courage and wisdom with a dash of sass am class. Be strong and don’t forget it’s ok to not be ok sometimes. ❤ Big Love sister x

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