A Woman Reading
by Camille Corot
courtesy Met OASC
Fifteen years ago, I kept a journal of sorts for a writing exercise. Each morning, I wrote three pages of stream of consciousness writing. This afternoon, I read it for the first time since then.
Oh, bless my stupid little heart.
I thought he was my best friend. I thought he loved me. I thought I couldn’t live without us.
I was writing those words while Fartbuster was sneaking around and cheating on our marriage. I was so clueless. So much of it was devoted to me trying to convince myself that it was all going to be OK. So much of it was explaining away how he treated me. So much of it was about how my insecurity was the REAL problem. So much of it was me trying to be the reason it was going wrong so that I could be the one to fix it.
One morning, I wrote about how the night before, someone had rung the doorbell at 7:45 p.m. I had found myself hoping that it was Fartbuster, surprising me with a big bouquet and a spontaneous laugh. No, it was a teenage boy selling the newspaper. And in my writing, I chastised myself for being “tough” on Fartbuster when he did finally get home at 8:30. Eight thirty on a Wednesday night and I beat myself up instead of him.
One morning, I wrote about how he was helping out around the house more. How I had returned home from a Saturday outing with a friend to find that he had washed the sheets. Now I wonder what he was washing away. My heart is tightening up in fury now, just thinking about that Saturday, fifteen years ago.
It hurt my heart to read that journal. I skimmed. I fumed. This woman I am now, this wiser woman wanted to judge my younger self for being so dumb. I gave my younger self some grace. Trusting someone you’re supposed to trust isn’t a bad choice. Being a lying asshole is a bad choice.
She wised up, eventually. That mess didn’t ruin her. I’ve come so far, but I’d still like to give her a hug and a good talking to.
I think you just did give her a talking to.
Ha! Good point!
There is a reason that “love is blind” is a cliche. You were young and thought you had found true love and you were married to someone who was willing to let you believe that any failure of that relationship sat squarely on your shoulders. It’s really, really hard to believe that someone you love is an AH. And even after you discover that, it’s really really hard to believe that enough love can’t change them. That young woman doesn’t need a talking to. She’s learned her lesson, but I bet there are thousands more like her out there; maybe, just maybe, one of them is reading this.
Amen to that. Millions more.
This is one of my favorite blog titles ever. Sums it up perfectly.
I guess saying it less as I get older is a good sign!
Pingback: Links of the Week – September 14, 2014 | A Long Run
Pingback: The Gold Bug | Baddest Mother Ever
And how did you get over the insecurity that made you do all those things? Because I’m exactly like that and wish so much that I wasn’t.