I thought martyrdom went out of style after the biblical era, but it appears I was wrong. We have received sobering news that we have only a few months to find a new place to live. We dreamed that we would be in our house by this time, but it seems that is not to be.

I handled this news with what I would describe as "leveled grace". I used it as an opportunity to be honest not only with my husband, but also with me. I told him straight out that our day-to-day stress is getting difficult for me to deal with. If we are able to purchase our house, I will find the strength to continue in our marriage (can we say mommy-only space???). In the event we are forced to rent some place, I will be doing that with just myself and the children. I cannot add my husband's neurosis to the list of stresses that occur when renting. He had no response to this news.

Later this evening, I walked into the living room to discover my husband tearing apart our closet under the eves. When I inquired as to what he was doing (though my mind was mostly focused on the undoing of all my work I had done cleaning up after the kids), he replied with "I'm looking for my sleeping bag so I can see what I'll be sleeping on for the rest of my life."

Now, this must be a joke, right? Wrong. Apparently in my husband's silence to my news, the cogs were turning. He refuses to get a place just for himself. Parish the thought he has to maintain a place on his own. He makes a feeble attempt to attribute this decision to the welfare of the children and myself. I am not convinced. He wants to live in people's backyards so the children and I are better off? I do not see a connection here. I view this as yet another case where he wants me to agree with his stupidity. He wants me to change my mind. To weaken in my stance for freedom from stress.

My response to this took much inner strength. So badly I wanted to say "Are you kidding? Quit being such an adult baby." Instead, I found it in myself to say "You need to make the best choice for you." You know what? I actually meant it. I have removed myself from his situation and feel no guilt, anger, or overall hostility.

Dearest Husband,

I love you. I want a family, a home and a future with you, but I have identified my bottom line. It is a line that must never again be crossed. I want a healthy relationship with you. The relationship we have now is far from a healthy one.

You are responsible for your drinking. I cannot control this aspect of your life. I have accepted that. You will do as you please. It hurts me when you drink, but I will be strong. What I will no longer accept is certain things that stem from this drinking.

First, I expect you to still be a part of this family. I understand that you provide for our family financially, but we are lacking in the emotional support. You need to be here and not be angry with us. We have done nothing to deserve this anger. It is rooted elsewhere and if you feel the need to be angry, I prefer you direct it to what you are really angry with.

Second, you have the right to be depressed. I understand that we are not where you want us all to be. You are under pressure and that is okay. You have a painful past. You can be depressed if you feel you need to be, but do not pull me in any longer. I will not help you beat yourself up. I will not agree that our life is falling apart. We are not where we wanted to be, but there is so much good surrounding us. I will not be depressed for you. I will not participate in this negativity.

I do love you. I married you because I wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. I still want that, but there must be change. These are my terms. I love you too much to help you hurt yourself.

Ireland

These are the words I want to have the courage to say. I am not at that point of strength yet, but I'm getting closer. I cannot work on him. I can only do my own work (and I have a lot of it to do).

I no longer feel a sense of disappointment when the drinking consumes him. I feel annoyance. I have decided to allow him to deal with what is his, but regretfully I am here and it affects me too. I live in no man's land. There is nowhere to go to feel free. Today there is a storm. The roads are slick and dangerous. All I want is to feel free.

How can I escape? How do I get free, at least in my mind? The negativity and self-loathing consumes me. I am exhausted. I listen to the words of this sick person and I am left feeling sick also. I do not like these feelings, this murkiness in my throat and stomach. It is something a thousand showers cannot wash away.

I want to be cleansed. I want to be free.

Another dreamless night. I am getting use to life without sleep. I don't even bother to get into bed anymore. I find it so difficult to lay in bed at night, next to the one I love, and feel completely alone. It is hard to stare at the ceiling and feel resentment towards the form lying next to me. I spend the night on the couch, thinking about the importance of trust. I question all that I have been told and all that I thought I believed. I wonder if you can commit to someone you don't trust. I doubt it. All the love in the world cannot save some things.

I remember a scene from my childhood. It was warm and the sun was shining bright on that summer day. My cat had found a mouse which she was playing with. Being the animal lover that I was and still am, I felt compelled to save the mouse. I scooped it up away from her and scolded her for hurting it. I took it inside and cleaned its wounds. I searched the house for a box and some of my mother's quilt batting she kept in her sewing room. I made it the perfect bed. I instantly fell in love with this mouse. I cared for it all weekend long. On Monday, when I returned from school, the mouse was dead. All the love and care I had shown that mouse could not save it. The wounds were too deep. The mouse was in too much pain to keep fighting. Love was not enough.

I feel my marriage is somewhat like that. I entered into it somewhat naive that I could save my husband. He just needed someone to love him and care for him. He was troubled and I could save him. No matter how much I love and care for him, the wounds of the past are too deep. He is in too much pain to want to find a better life. Love may not be enough.

I'm not sure how to feel about this parallel. It is painful. I do not fancy myself a hero, but I truly believed I could save him.

A dance is defined as an artistic form of non-verbal communication. This definition clearly covers what goes on in relationships. In the case of my husband, he has many different “dancing” partners that practice different types of dances. Friends encourage, family care but remain distant, children learn cautiousness and (sadly) fear. I may have the most difficult job playing a dancing partner to him. There is never an opportunity to remove myself.

When we are with friends, I try to “cut-in” on the dance forming between them. They enable and joke off. Some friends do not see that there is a problem with my husband‘s drinking. Others choose not to recognize it. Sometimes they join in this dance with my husband because they too have a problem and they want freedom from dancing with their significant others. They enjoy dancing with someone who understands.

Where family is concerned, I encourage dancing. So many of them are battling alcoholism, yet either do not recognize it in their loved one, or they choose to ignore it. These people have the potential to truly reach out in a way I am unable to. Regardless of how I attempt to initiate this dancing, they continue to dance alone.

My children have an unspoken dance with my husband. It is subtle, but it is there. They get a little more quiet when “something just isn’t right”. They role play him in a way that scares me. They remain distant in the same way I do, avoiding the dance at all costs. When the dance truly begins between them, hostility I never wish to see in my children immerges. It become a battle to see who will lead. How can an intelligent man like my husband not see this occurring? He is having a battle of strength with a young child. Eventually I intervene and the dance begins then with me.

So what does this dance look like? This dance between my husband and I? It starts as a game of wits. He makes a comment, I respond. We go back and fourth. I am always on my guard, fearing which question or statement will come next. I know it is a trap. I know what to look for, but each time we play this game, he learns. He has learned my weakness and will eventually slip me up. I will say the wrong thing. Although this appears to be a verbal communication, it is not. It appears to be talking about our day or discussing the future. What you don’t see is the underlying dance moves. He moves, I move (cautiously).

When general conversation does not cause a slip-up on my part, we move to what I call “hot topics”. These are topics that in the past have caused me to falter. How the children are being raised. What I spend my days doing, while I am “lying around”. Financial difficulties. My lack of contribution to the home. Again, I try to move carefully and sway the topic to a safe zone. Sometimes I take lead in the dance, but the times that I do not, we get to pure war.

In pure war, my husband is desperate to get me to dance with him. Guns are drawn with all stops pulled. If I have made it to this point, I stand a chance of succeeding. In pure war I can see the thought process of the disease. He is no longer the man I committed my life to. He is an alcoholic that wants me to enable him. He wants me to say “It’s okay that you drink like this. I understand.”

Sometimes I am safe from the dance at the very start. It is only temporary. The real danger falls in the hot zone. I am baited and try as I might, occasionally I am drawn into the dance of disease. All the hurt and anger I feel are brought forth. The worst part for me, being drawn into this dance, is although I am vocalizing the things I am feeling, I find no relief. What is worse, it is enabling him in a way I never intended. The voice in his head is saying “See, your wife is demanding and hates you. Your life sucks. Find any solace in any way you can.”

As you may have noticed, I have changed this blog from A Misunderstood Mother to A Misunderstood Woman. I did this because I don't plan on going in great depths into motherhood, so much as my life in general. Struggles in parenthood are understandable. It may be a topic I discuss from time to time, but this blog is about being a woman and all the trials and tribulations (and joys, if I am lucky) that I, personally, am experiencing. May you, too, find understanding through these posts. Know that you are not alone. Someone out there in the great world-wide-web is going through the same things. Maybe we are not as misunderstood as we once thought.

I am feeling sadness and heartache. I am feeling anger I do not want to recognize. He has done it again. He has lied to my face. I no longer get angry about the drinking. I believe a part of me has accepted that it is him, take it or leave it. He may change, but I cannot put my eggs in that basket any longer. I believe that my pain comes not from the liquid, but the acts that brought it to his mouth. The deceit. He lies to me about his reasons for visiting friends and family. He makes promises that he knows will never be kept. I really wish he wouldn't. Every time he promises, against my better judgement, a small part of me believes things will be different. I am left looking like a fool.

This last "indiscretion" was cloaked in flattery. Darling you do so much around here. I'll take the bottles to the redemption center. Don't you even worry about it. How did I not read right through that? Am I truly becoming as stupid as he must believe I am? Maybe. Maybe that is why I left the redemption center feeling like an idiot. I had been fooled again. One month clean and serene, obviously not.

Falling for the same games over and over again makes me think less of myself (a problem I have continued to battle since Elementary school). It makes me feel used and cheated. I feel like I have no value. I realize in a logical sense that his drinking has absolutely nothing to do with me. It is a disease that has been passed down generation to generation. The disease was there before he met me. It was also hidden before he met me. Hidden in kind words and sweet gestures.

My husband and I have not yet reached our second anniversary. Let it be known, he is not an abusive alcoholic. To be perfectly honest, if he was, I would find this whole situation much easier to deal with. He hit me, I'm done and I have all the love and support of friends and family. My case is not that easy. My husband drinks and gets depressed. My loved ones interpret that as he needs my support more than ever. I just need to give more. If he is unable to make himself feel bad enough, he brings me in on it. This is what I refer to as our DANCE.

My husband no longer wants to dance alone on a particular evening, he wants someone to dance with him: Me. (Translation: He wants someone to agree that he is an asshole and he deserves the life he is living.) I know that I have the choice whether or not to dance. If I choose not to dance, I am not exhausted and my feet don't hurt when I go to bed at night. It is a struggle not to get involved. Some nights I can sit back and watch the desperate actions of an alcoholic trying to bait me. It is easy and I can actually see the pattern forming. Other nights, I am dancing without every realizing I've begun. I have found that once you begin, it is nearly impossible to stop. I have become part of the disease. I too am becoming diseased. I believe the clinic term would be "co-dependence".