Chapter 6: When That One Moment Opens Our Eyes — Can We Ever Unsee It?

I never thought my 22-year marriage and nine children would come into question.

Series: The makings of a divorce. Exploring the parallels of abuse. Chapter 6

“I’m pregnant.”

My husband raised his eyebrows and looked into my eyes to see if I was serious. He was quiet for a moment.

“So that makes ten then.

“Yes, I guess it does,” I smiled.

How far along?”

“Around eight weeks.”

“Alright,” he answered.

We walked back to the campsite in silence. His lack of a response was confusing. Maybe he just needed time to process.

Jen looked up as we approached. “You guys are just in time, come and make an Italian hoagie. They’re my family’s tradition. I hope you enjoy it,” she smiled.

Camping in the Florida Keys was better than I’d imagined.

We’d all adapted to sleeping in the 14-person tent — it was working well. Our big family was enjoying the easygoing routine.

Jen’s kids and mine never ran out of fun and games. We’d met wonderful people and had new adventures each day.

The days passed faster than we’d wanted. Our month was coming to an end — we decided to extend our stay a few more weeks. We made plans to bring the kids to Universal and spend a week in Orlando. We booked adjoining rooms at a hotel. Jen would follow us to Orlando in her van.

Jen and I had much in common — our friendship was instant and effortless.

We confided in one another as if we’d been sharing secrets across the pillow during sleepovers for years.

Jen was contemplating divorce and came without her husband to consider her options. She told me of the unhappiness within her marriage, her love for her children, and the desire for an honest marriage.

She shared openly about her issues.

I’ve always been a good listener. I held no judgment for her situation, just compassion and understanding.

But I felt nervous sharing. Bringing my own marriage — life, under scrutiny. It made me uncomfortable.

I’d never been able or willing to explore how happy I was in my marriage. I’d never shared anything negative about my husband with anyone. I swore I’d never be a complaining, unhappy wife. I’d seen it too many times.

But mostly, divorce wasn’t a viable consideration. My husband and I made a pact we’d never divorce. And having nine kids only reinforced it. We were in it for the long haul and would work through whatever problems we had.

Though we both drew the line at an affair, that was something neither of us would tolerate.

Also, like me, my husband didn’t believe in divorce — he said it was too hard on the kids. Coming from a small town in Mexico, family and traditional upbringings were important to him. His mother strongly discouraged divorce, and that mattered to him.

And besides, talking about or considering divorce seemed pointless. Somewhat like the reason I never liked window shopping; I only wanted to look if having it was a possibility.

But Jen had this way of seeing through me.

It was as though she felt my unspoken words. I can’t explain how or why; we just connected at that level. And once I began opening up, I was unable to quit. Forgotten words and situations resurfaced, I thought long forgotten.

I confessed to Jen that I couldn’t finish Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Eat Pray Love because it overwhelmed me every time I tried. Sadness overcame me in ways I couldn’t explain.

The book inspired and yet made me envious in equal parts. She was living the life I somehow wanted.

Free.

Free of what though? I didn’t have that answer. And it didn’t make sense because I was happy. Right?

But there was nothing I could do with those feelings other than tuck them away.

Jen placed her chin in her hand, nodding her head up and down.

I took a deep breath, “I don’t think my husband has ever understood me. He believes I should be more like him. That his way of thinking is the correct way.”

The band started practicing for the night’s event. They were singing Desperado from the Eagles. My husband and the kids were at the pool; he’d gone with another camper from the campground.

I looked around, we were alone.

“When we were first married, he’d get upset whenever I read a book. He argued it was a waste of time and money. He didn’t grow up with books and believes they’re unnecessary because he turned out fine without them.”

Jen cleared her throat and wrinkled her forehead. “These benches are so uncomfortable. Should we go sit under the tree?”

We grabbed our camping chairs and settled in.

“But you didn’t listen to him, right?” Jen asked.

“I told him books took me to another world — taught me things I would’ve never known. And helped me overcome many obstacles in my life.”

Jen nodded.

“But he argued I needed to put my childhood behind me — it was over and done. To stop acting weak. That I needed to form my own opinions and not listen to people that are making a living off of me.”

Jen’s face softened as she rested her chin on her hand. She leaned over and rubbed my forearm. The ocean breeze felt refreshing. A small gecko ran for cover near the laundry building.

“He believes psychology ruined everything. That people need to act as they did in the old days. To learn from the animals, do what needs to be done, and not base life on feelings. That emotions make us weak.”

I paused and took a deep breath, realizing how it sounded. But my words kept coming.

“His family never accepted me. There were so many instances when he didn’t stand up for me. Essentially, I wasn’t enough. There was an unspoken line drawn from the beginning — there was no chance offered for connection.”

“And the kids?”

“There’s no relationship.”

Jen wrinkled her forehead and let out a sigh.

“He doesn’t wear his wedding ring and never tells me he loves me. If I ask him how I look, he’ll say fine — he wouldn’t have married me if he thought I was ugly. He believes compliments are for the beginning. After that, they’re pointless.”

“It’s not like he’s abusive, though,” I offered with an attempted smile. I worried I’d gone too far.

She drew her mouth into a straight line and bit her lip.

“It’s true that work is his everything — money and power the priority. And no, he doesn’t acknowledge Mother’s Day, my birthday, our anniversary, or the kids’ birthday.”

Jen raised her eyebrows.

“But he also doesn’t enjoy that stuff. Maybe my expectations are just too high?”

“Jen shook her head, left and right.”

“He believes I’m too sensitive, that I shouldn’t be so delicate. Every holiday I try pretending it doesn’t matter, but the tears come, regardless.”

Jen nodded, rubbing her bottom lip.

“But which is it? Are you unhappy with your husband or your circumstances? Would you leave if you didn’t have so many kids?” she asked.

I was silent. I swallowed hard. A week ago, I couldn’t voice this, yet here it was.

“There have been many sacrifices throughout the years. Sometimes the burden feels unbearable — the price far too high,” I answered. I took a deep cleansing breath, trying to loosen my tensed shoulders.

My emotions — the same ones I’d kept pushing down, were now front and center. I’d been playing this hide-and-seek game for some time now. A deep nagging feeling, brewing over the years, that something wasn’t quite right.

I’d never allowed these emotions to surface. It wasn’t something I was willing to fathom.

Jen gave me a gentle smile. “Even though he has good qualities and comes across as a nice guy, he’s chosen to put his needs before yours. You know this doesn’t honor you, right?”

Awareness came quick. I felt validated — but I let the thought go as quick as it had come. I could not afford to think this; too many lives were dependent on our marriage.

“All these hormones are making me so emotional,” I said, attempting to lighten the situation.

Jen didn’t say anything, she leaned over and hugged me. I felt a mixture of emotions. Confused. Tears filled my eyes — they wouldn’t stop.

I’d said too much. I felt as though I’d just betrayed my husband.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my husband approaching and pulled back slightly. He was coming back from the pool, the kids not far behind.

He approached us with a confused look. “What’s going on? Are you crying?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together.

Not missing a beat, Jen smiled, “No, she’s fine. She told me you guys are expecting. Congratulations, Papa.”

He said thanks, but his eyes were intent on mine. He could always tell when I’d been crying; my face became splotchy, my eyes red and puffy.

He sighed, loud and heavy. “I always tell her, this is why I’m always working so much. Someone needs to make the money, but she never understands.”

There was an awkward silence.

He said, “We thought we were done. Our last, he was up all night crying. He always wanted to be held. He had something — I don’t remember the name. What‘s it called, Jul?”

“Colic.”

My older son came running up, “We’re hungry. Jen, can you make those hoagies again? Please? They were so good.”

I went to bed that evening feeling the familiar migraine coming on. There were too many thoughts competing in my mind. I felt like I was going to miscarry — I was cramping in rounds. I laid still and listened to the calm of our sleeping children, exhausted from playing at the pool all day.

I rolled over and whispered to my husband, “I think I’m having a miscarriage,” I attempted to hold back the tears.

“Okay, well, there’s nothing you can do, right? No reason to cry; you’ll be fine,” he answered. He patted my hand and turned on his back to go to sleep.

I rolled on my side, the silence stinging. Restrained tears continued falling into my pillow as I wondered if I simply was too sensitive and needy.

Eventually, I fell asleep, not yet understanding that something bigger than I realized had shifted, though it wouldn’t be acknowledged for quite some time.

To be continued…