Loving Someone, Part 3

In my mind, I thought one day she and I could become friends.

Coming into the work week after Thanksgiving, I had a ton of professional commitments on my plate. If you’re a content creator or in marketing/sales, you know the insanity that is that week. I could not afford to not be fully functional, and I mean in a literal sense. My budget was so tight as it was, and every hour I logged for a client was already accounted for in the coming weeks with two kids birthdays and Christmas and next month’s rent.

Most of Monday, I was willing myself to believe he just needed some space. He also had a busy work week on deck, so I tried not to overthink it. I mean, I failed, but I did try.

Part 1
Part 2

I think I managed to get a little work done that day, despite having a hangover from the entire bottle of wine I drank the night before. (I’m not proud of or condoning that coping method. It’s simply a detail in the story.)

Having still not heard from him around 4:30, I texted him. I was headed with the kids and my ex to an evening at a Christmas-themed air bnb, as part of a client campaign, and I was desperate for some kind of reassurance that would help me keep my mind from assuming the worst and spiraling on this all night.

Just checking in. Would you rather I just leave you alone until your reach out, or…?

This is driving you crazy, I know, and that is not my intention in the slightest. I’m not having fun. You can reach out, but just know that I’m not myself right now.

It’s hurting me. I drank a bottle of wine and cried myself to sleep on the couch last night. I don’t imagine you’re having fun, and I hate that you’re going through something so clearly awful. But also, I can’t just stop communicating and that not affect me. Deeply. And I’m not apologizing for that anymore. I care about you and that’s just who I am.

I told him that I drank and cried myself to sleep the night before, and he didn’t reply, not right away, not the entire evening I was trying to stay present with my kids. Ultimately, he didn’t acknowledge this at all.

By Tuesday I was undone.

The emotional whiplash from feeling in my bones that I was missing a very large part of the story that I DESERVED TO KNOW IMMEDIATELY while my anxious brain- terrified of abandonment- BEGGED me to not fuck this up, it was paralyzing and deeply painful.

And I could not focus on anything other than this cycle of playing out memories and re-reading old texts, synthesizing and analyzing every piece of data my brain could scrape together, and considering countless stories it spit out.

When I say I could not do anything other than this, that’s not hyperbole. There was no throwing myself into work as a distraction. There were no distractions that my brain would allow. I was spinning and spinning on this, sinking into my couch as the hours bled into each other. Frozen. Trapped. Held hostage.

By Wednesday, I had several emails waiting for me about missed deadlines and zero communication from Jay still. At this point, I was growing increasingly scared- not really for me, I don’t think. Mostly, this felt like it had to be the result of something earth shattering for him to retreat like this. Hell, he pulled back when his dad died, but even then he wasn’t nearly this unavailable.

Some of the scenarios I was pondering at that point were: one of his children was sexually abused, he discovered a family member was in danger/on drugs/needed immediate help, or… this was what I had settled on by then… something happened to his ex and he suddenly had full custody of his kids. Was she on drugs? Did she die in a car wreck??

My heart in pieces for him, tears welling at the corners of my eyes, I texted one more time.

“You are definitely not yourself, and that makes me so sad, Jay. I am really worried about you and I’m so so sorry you’re going through something so hard. I am here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

I sent a few sweet memes. “These are sure to make you smile.”

And then he called.

“Hey. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. I had to take some time to think about things…. and, well, my ex….”

Let me note here that he never, ever called his ex by her name to me. It was always “my ex.”

“She gave me a letter on Thanksgiving and told me she made a mistake… she wants to get back together.”

This was a scenario that my brain did compute and present to me earlier in the week, but it was SO ridiculous that I immediately threw it out. Their divorce finalized 5 months before. It was her choice to leave, years ago. He never had anything glowing to say about her. There were many times I felt compelled to defend her. He wasn’t mean about her. He just wasn’t ever… oh, I don’t know, giving off the impression that he WOULD GET BACK TOGETHER WITH HER. I spent much of the summer listening to him vent about her lawyer and the money he had to pay her.

That’s why when he told me she and the kids and her parents were coming over for Thanksgiving, I was THRILLED for him. I really, really was. Not a single red flag went up. In my mind, this was a huge step in the right direction of positive co-parenting.

In my mind, I thought one day she and I could become friends.

“It came out of nowhere, but I have to try…..”

“Oh. I… um… wondered if that was it…. so, yeah. I mean, you gotta do what you gotta do…..”

“Ok. I’m sorry….”

“Yeah. I guess… um… good luck….”

And then we said a single goodbye and hung up. The call lasted 3 minutes, and that’s the last time I ever heard his voice.

I sat stunned, but also relieved. Not relieved in an emotional way, but relieved in a somatic way. At last, my brain could stop trying to figure this out, and my body could feel validated.

I was so tired.

And then… I was SO sad.

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Part 4 soon… thank you, all of you, for your kind words and for holding space for me while I process this xoxo
Happy Thanksgiving, US friends