By Laurel HighlandI used to say, "War vets don’t have anything over on us with the PTSD thing." I meant it. The economy of the early 1980s wasn’t so very different from today’s economy. Jobs few and far between. Too few dollars coming into a household. Couples breaking up over money.
I took the only steps I knew to take…and sought out a job. It was a terrific opportunity for me…the career I had always dreamed of. But life at home became a nightmare. My husband didn’t want me to work outside our home, but women were much more marketable because they would work for less than the men who were dead set against working for less than they were used to earning.
My husband became very depressed. He had been unemployed for a lengthy time. The depression started because he was unable to provide for his family in the way we were accustomed to living. As I watched him slip deeper into the black, never-ending pit of depression with no light anywhere, I began to take on more and more of the responsibilities—to try to ease his burdens so he could pick himself up and move on. But the easier I made things for him, the more difficult they were for me…and nobody was concerned with taking up my slack. Still I kept trying to move forward, to make a difference, to take care of my family. No matter what, my children would not go hungry or lose the roof over their heads.
I wasn’t prepared for someone to approach me saying, "His friends are worried about him. They think he is contemplating suicide."
"What?! No way!" I insisted. "He knows things won’t always be this way!" But left alone with my thoughts I wasn’t so sure of myself. What if I was wrong? What if he really WAS considering suicide? Could I live with myself for the rest of my days if he took his own life and I hadn’t done anything to help him?
I called the suicide hotline. I took him to a counselor. I expected we would talk and build up to the right moment to ask the question. She didn’t even wait for us to sit down.
"Are you going to kill yourself?" she asked my husband. He turned toward me. His eyes were venomous and filled with rage and hate.
"I can’t believe you’d tell someone something like that," he said. He turned to the counselor. "No." There was only quiet all the way home. He didn’t speak to me for several days. How could I have doubted him? How could I have let him down so horribly? When I couldn’t take the silence any more I asked, "Do you hate me? Are you going to ignore me for the rest of my life? Are you ever going to speak to me again?"
"I don’t know," he answered. "I feel so betrayed. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again."
How could he punish me when all I had done was try to help him?
A year later we looked at a house to buy. I was so excited at the thought that we might have our own house again. This was a wonderful century home with five bedrooms and a finished attic and out back a two-story garage, the second story of which would make a terrific office for me. There was work to be done on the house but the price was right. When we arrived back at home the kids raced into the rental unit ahead of us. He spoke, "I think I’m at that point again."
"What point is that?" I asked, cautious and alert. I knew before he ever opened his mouth.
"You know…"
"You mean…?"
He nodded.
I got out of the car, went into the house, dialed and told the real estate agent that we weren’t interested in buying any house.
He had treated me so terribly the year before. He had said he was betrayed…that he couldn’t trust me ever again…And now, a year later, he had confessed to me that, yes, he had been considering it and he was thinking of it again. Who was betrayed? Who had a right to have trust issues?
Our situation didn’t get better. He was jealous of every man I might have to talk to connected to my job. I didn’t sit at a desk all day. I had the freedom and opportunity to be out and about to do my job. He couldn’t control where I went or with whom I spoke. Was he questioning my fidelity?
"Why don’t you get a job where you’re home when I am?" he demanded.
"You mean a job where I’m tied to a desk from 9 to 5?"
"Yes!"
The betrayal of trust isn’t easy to live with. Isolation, alienation…words learned in college, help to define the life of a woman who struggles to do what is best for her family as she waits out her time until the children are grown and independent and she will be able to make changes. Then she will be able to reach her goals, words learned from experience … patience, forgiveness, and success.
Laurel Highland, a freelance writer, is a wife and mother. She writes to touch others and let them know that they are not alone. Someone else has been where they are and understands.
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