Isolation

When I was younger, I was as fiery as J. Certainly, I can see now that my outbursts were sometimes unhealthy and often unwarranted. I met C when I was 21, I was barely into adulthood myself. I recall some feisty tantrums back in the early months of our relationship, but now... I rarely lose my temper. In fact, I can't recall the last time I really let loose. I realise now that my fire has been smothered over the years. If I would become angry, C would simply cut me off. I'd be cut off from affection, conversation, any kind of communication at all. He simply couldn't deal with any kind of disagreements, or perhaps anyone challenging his behaviour. Over time, I learned not to raise any complaints, or to manage them differently. I couldn't be angry; it would result in being isolated from him for days... sometimes even weeks. If I had concerns, I had to manage them in a more light-hearted way, almost joking about his cavalier attitude to the children's safety, or his inability to work the washing machine. It became the norm of our relationship; I laughed about how crap my husband was and he put up with it. This became so normal for me that it spilled into our friendships and family relationships. I was the nagging wife (ha ha) and he was the long-suffering poor soul who had to put up with me. Those around us accepted this dynamic as just who we were and how our marriage worked for us. In many ways, it was who we were, but I can see now that this was conditioned. He changed me. He married a fiery young woman but he's divorcing a middle-aged robot who can tell a joke. Of course, I played my part in this, and I would never claim that I was always the perfect wife and mother. I made many mistakes and I doubt I always communicated in a healthy way, and I won't even make excuses for that. I believe that every spouse makes mistakes and it's part of growing both individually and together.

I moved here for him. I chose to live hundreds of miles away from my family to build a new family with C. This was especially difficult when J was born; I hadn't even lived in this area for a year, and the only people I knew were through him. I couldn't drive then either, and this area is quite remote compared to what I was used to. I needed him for everything; to provide for us, to get anywhere, to provide me with any kind of social life. I think this might have been the big appeal for him; he was my Lord and Master, with control over everything. He's always loved to be seen as a saviour, the knight who rides in on his white horse (van) and makes everything all better. Over the years, I learned to drive, I made my own friends, I did a degree and started a whole new career. Throughout this, I was still expected to undertake most - if not all - domestic duties. This was because I only worked part-time, and my earnings were a mere fraction of his. His work came first. It came over everything; kids medical appointments, my own physical and mental health, his father's illness (more on that later), my career... There were very few things that would give him cause to take a day off, or even half a day.

My separation from C happened at the worst possible time globally.

It was near the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. This just complicated matters so much more for me. I had been conditioned to believe that I couldn't be alone. That there was no way I could cope by myself. Yet... there I was. Alone. Not only that, in the early days, many of my friends were mutual friends with C, who were trying very hard to maintain neutral positions in our split. None of them knew yet what he was capable of... nor did I, for that matter. I felt distanced from them, not feeling able to truly open up or even to trust, lest they report back to Him.

Everyone deals with separation differently, but the usual constant is seeking company. Most people will go out and get drunk with friends, or invite them round for a bottle or 3 of wine. They meet friends for coffee and cry, and importantly - they hug. I craved the contact of those closest to me, but I was trapped. Pubs were closed, meeting friends was restricted to socially distanced walks, home visitors were forbidden. Add the complication of my friends being our friends and my only real solace was work or online contact.

I'm blessed with 4 sisters, and my brother's wife who is basically another sister. I'm cursed because they all live a good 6 hour drive from me. Of course, the travel restrictions meant that visiting was impossible, but my sisters and I messaged - and still message - each other every day. It's mostly funny memes or pictures of our cats and dogs, but we do mix it with venting and advice. This got me through those first weeks and months, and in fact still does. I so wanted to be with them, being able to cry and actually verbalise my feelings. To watch daft movies and laugh at my youngest sister's impressions (her Gingerbread Man from Shrek still makes me howl with laughter). To have a few drinks and order junk food and play Cards Against Humanity. I wanted my Dad to make me feel safe again, just by being there with me. I couldn't eat, I lost my appetite entirely. Now this wasn't necessarily a bad thing - I had become quite large in my marriage and I was definitely well into the 'obese' category. I lost around 2 stones of weight in the first 3 months of our separation, and this wasn't done in a healthy way. 

Work was a welcome escape. I've always been very good at being a whole new person at work, no matter what is going on at home. I put my uniform on, and I'm no longer in personal distress; I'm a professional. I'm even good at portraying a happy, confident person when my internal voice is screaming otherwise. For the sake of anonymity, lets say I'm a nurse. Unfortunately, things had changed at work too, due to the pandemic. We were working on a more solitary basis, and there were less gatherings and meetings in-person. I saw much less of my colleagues, and when I did - there was no hugging or any other kind of physical contact. I knew that if I let my mask slip, even a little, it would fall off and I would melt down. This happened only once. I can't even remember what in particular had upset me that day, but while in our large office space, a colleague mentioned my weight loss. That was all it took for my mask to not only slip, but to spontaneously combust. I sobbed and vented and ranted, and my wonderful colleagues all rallied round to provide tissues, tea, and metaphorical socially distanced shoulders to cry on. Thankfully I was done seeing patients for the day, because when I tried to mentally reach for my mask to force it back on, I couldn't find it. The next day, business was back to usual. This was my escape and my therapy. I could pour my emotional energy into my patients, and meeting their needs. 

I'm currently not working, due to circumstances I'll explain later. Not only do I now have the time to give my daughters - J in particular - the intense care she really needs, I actually have time to care for me. I'm able to reflect on what happened, and process it properly, now that emotions have settled a bit. I'm so grateful to my employers, who have been so supportive and understanding. In taking this time off, I didn't realise that this is exactly what I needed. I'm still isolated, but I'm feeling much stronger and much more able to do this alone. After all, I've been doing it for a year now. I have a better bond with both of my daughters than I've ever had before. I've redecorated my house, and I've learned to say 'no' to people. I've managed my own finances and I've learned who my real friends are (particular shoutout to my nurse neighbour and her husband, and also to my student nurse friend - you guys have kept me functioning!). I'm learning to appreciate myself and pick apart what's actually true about who I am, and what was an illusion built on gaslighting and control. To my colleagues and patients - I do miss you, but I'm glad I'm not seeing you right now. I am self-isolating and I'm self-caring.