If I am going to be honest, there is no way to gloss over the pain that stalked me constantly after my husband came out to me. My soul was shredded into unrecognizable ribbons. It seemed my soulmate was ripped away from me and replaced with a stranger who said he loved me but was drawn to men at the same time. I wrote in my journal that it felt like finding out there is another person in his life. It felt as if half of my own soul had been cut out with a rusty knife and the resulting Tetanus was paralyzing. As the noise of the city daily swelled around me, I shut myself into my house. I cancelled any activities that would bring me into contact with others. The conundrum that faced me was haunting – to leave or stay?
What I loved about him
He was everything important and all my missing pieces.
I loved him. He was the yang for my yin. His love was warm and comfortable like the thick soft comforters my Grandma was always stitching together. My husband had helped me heal from so much childhood pain. He had fathered my babies and was a great father to them. He made me laugh and was fun to be around. Austin was good at things I wasn’t, like talking to strangers, creating art, being calm in crisis, and being okay with ambiguity. He cared about things that mattered deeply to me – social justice, gender equality, caring for the earth. He was everything important and all my missing pieces.
We had traveled the world together. Pared down our belongings to fit into suitcases multiple times. We had created home in our souls so anywhere on the planet felt safe so long as we were together.
But what about the kids?
Not only did I still love him, there were the kids to think about. Our three boys adored him and I could not imagine raising them without him. And lets be honest here – three boys produce enough testosterone to fuel a rocket ship. Never mind the fact that I grew up taking care of three brothers. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it. But I really didn’t want to. And I didn’t have the energy to do this on my own. They needed him. I needed him. Who else would help take them to the 50 million soccer games we had in our future? What about ER visits for broken bones? Who would help them with homework when I was worn out? Who would teach them to drive?
But I just can’t…
But, if I stayed, how would I deal with the constant fear that he would eventually leave me? The feelings of betrayal? That deep churning inside of me that convinced me that I was not enough, never had been. That constant feeling that I was lacking and that something was wrong with me. It ate through me like a caterpillar in a juicy apple and I crumbled from the inside out.
In a moment, all the years of building up my confidence, of going from a shy, insecure girl to a woman of dignity and worth, all was shattered. Because, from where I had fallen flat on my face, the biggest force that had built me up and helped me find healing and confidence was now looking like a lie. My reality flipped and landed upside down and took me down with it. I was utterly miserable and at my lowest point.
I soon knew that I would not be able to navigate these waters safely by shutting myself in my house in a foreign country. And as comforting as it was to finally have one friend to talk with about it, I knew I needed to be in a familiar place to heal. At the same time, I knew that Austin had his dream job and that the kids were thriving at the International School they attended. My guys all loved Bangladesh and were so happy there. The conundrum deepened because the last thing I wanted was to be the reason they all had to leave their happy place. Yet I was dying inside.
Moving towards emotional health
Finally I told Austin that after the school year finished in June, I would take the boys and go home. He was free to stay and finish his job contract. I let him know we could get a divorce. I only had energy to utter these last words, but no energy to pursue them. Yet I wanted him to be free to truly embrace who he was and pursue his wholeness and healing, even if it meant I was not in his life.
Love is a hard thing because to truly love, we must be constantly moving towards our own wholeness.
Isn’t that the conundrum of love? Setting another person free to pursue their wholeness and healing, even though it feels like it is killing us? Love is a hard thing because to truly love, we must be constantly moving towards our own wholeness. Yet if we only focus on our own wholeness, love dies because it can never be just about us. True love must hold space for each individual to be whole and true to who they are.
It’s true that I promised to stay with Austin until we are parted by death and I took that seriously. There are many kinds of death, though, and I was walking through one of them. So I refuse to be the poster girl for the one who stays in a mixed orientation marriage. Neither will I be the poster girl for the one who leaves. Our story, as is each MOM, is unique.
In the midst of the pain, of the death of who I had always believed he was, the betrayal that I felt, I knew we each had to move towards wholeness. The big question was whether or not we could do it together.
And so began a time of sorting. There was a parallel journey as I sifted through, gave away, threw out, unpacked, packed up. Emotionally and physically. One type of sorting took much longer than the other but there was no rushing it. It had to be done one moment at a time, breathing in and breathing out. Being present in the muck. Staying with the journey was more important than rushing to the end of it.
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