A letter I've been meaning to write

This is a purely therapeutic letter for me. I felt the need to write down everything that has happened and maybe gain some closure from it.

To my soon to be ex-husband,

To be perfectly honest, words escape me. The person you have become today is so far removed from the twenty one year old I met all those years ago. I know your exact answer to that would be that I made you that way but that isn't fair and not exactly true. We all have a choice in how to act and present ourselves.

I know that I made a mistake all those years ago by engaging in messages and exchanging risky pictures with someone I most certainly shouldn't have. It meant nothing to me in the slightest and to this day I still cannot give a reason as to why it happened, maybe at the time I was already subconsciously unhappy, not that it makes it right in anyway. That I understand. The cracks were already appearing in our relationship before this.

I refuse to apologise for my mistake anymore. I've apologised until I was blue in the face. You had the power and the choice to make at that time, you could either leave me or you could forgive and move on. You choose the latter, oh how I wish you had just left, looking back.

We made amends, we got married amongst the horrible family drama you had going on - the time where my family did more for you than yours ever will. We continued, fractured but still together. Just.

I spoke about cracks in our relationship before, maybe I should explain? We had our first son not long after I turned twenty one and you twenty five. During the pregnancy it became apparent to me that I was growing up at a much faster rate than you. Bills, house issues and anything really fell to me, you never really bothered to learn when I asked for help. You would rather play the PlayStation or something along those lines. This may seem like small things to alot of people but to me building a family should be done as a team. You were showing me that you were still a child yourself. Small cracks appeared throughout the first years of our first son's life, they cracked away at the foundation and there were only more to follow.

After the forgiveness of my indiscretion and our wedding. We were overjoyed to be adding to our family. Another baby boy. I doubt you may remember my fear of the Labour going as terribly wrong as the first time? Maybe you do. In those few short hours of labour, I've never known a fear quite like it. To experience that feeling twice in a lifetime? Horrific. When I began to panic and the tears where building, where were you? Sitting in the seat beside the bed, either on your phone or just staring. My dad ended up taking your place and holding my hand. I made it through the panic because of him, not you. More cracks.

Our sons are wonderful, well-behaved and so beautiful. They made and continue to make my life amazing. Our life continued on, we made plans. Plans need money which we never had too much of. You were going nowhere fast in the dead end job you had for almost a decade. You never pushed yourself. Never worked too hard even when I tried to encourage you. So it fell to me to make up for it, either with two jobs (along with being a full time mummy) or retiring to a soul sucking, depressing and crushing job that I had left in fear of losing our then unborn baby to stress. I didn't want to. You knew it, but it was the only choice.

Looking back, I'm glad I went. It was the catalyst of things to come. More cracks to appear, but in these cracks were glitter, the people I met. They, along with my mum and sister, were the ones to make me see that what was happening was wrong. They added to the strength I was gaining.
In a matter of weeks I had went from housewife whose only people in life were you, the boys and my family to a twenty four year old woman who had all of the above but including friends with similar interests to my own. Boy did you hate it.

You will forever say that you never stopped me for going anywhere it doing anything but that's a lie and we both know it. The attitude, words and the way I was made to feel if I ASKED (It's not a task to spend time alone with your own boys) to go somewhere were enough. This applied to anywhere with friends. My mum. My sister. So in the end you began to get what you wanted. More cracks.

You began to accuse me of cheating, of being a slut and of flirting with every man in sight. I maintain that I have a naturally flirty nature and a pretty dirty sense of humour, ask anyone. It got the to point I didn't want to make conversation with male cashiers in fear of an argument. Also, for the record, I wasnt doing anything that I shouldn't have been.

The name calling. Slut. Slag. Whore. These became commonplace in arguments. I wasn't where I said I was or who I was with. I would be accused of not wanting to spend time with the boys - side note to this, who looked after them Monday to Friday while you worked? Then did two twelve hour shifts at the weekend? Me. I had to prove where and who I was with. It was embarrassing and degrading.

I don't know what made me snap. Possibly a documentary about DV informing people that it isn't only physical that is wrong, mental and emotional abuse is there too or maybe it was this one fight I remember as clear as if it had only just happened.

You're in the hall, our youngest on your hip and our eldest on the floor playing. SLUT. SLAG. WHORE. JUST ADMIT IT. You were screaming these things at me, demanding I tell you who I'm seeing behind your back. None of these things are true. Nothing I do or say makes you believe me. As you continue screaming, in my mind I drift. The screaming becomes a dull buzzing as I take in the scene. Red angry face, one arm waving wildly. Our little boys not really all too aware yet what you are actually saying. I remember thinking. Is this what you want? Do you want this fight all the time, weekly or daily? How long before he decides that shouting isn't enough? My boys should never have to know what these words mean and that their mum is called them all the time. In that moment any love I had for you died. No more cracks. It's shattered.

Apologies mean nothing if you continue doing what you are apologising for. It became that cycle. Accuse. Fight. Name calling. Apologise. Repeat. So come autumn, I had had enough. We were done. One of the best decisions I've ever made.

I wish I could say that's where the abuse stopped. I'm sitting here a full year and a half later and I'm still subjected to the abuse only now it's weekly not daily. Our past was rehashed constantly.

Everything was an argument. You were okay to act the victim. Missing work, drinking yourself stupid and posting the most stupid stuff on social media. I had to hit the ground running. Continue with work. Keep the boys going as normal as possible. That only pissed you off more.

It was either through texts, calls or face to face. There was no discussing anything. The house had to go. The boys and I made homeless. You constant abuse took its total on me. Beating me down until I got to rock bottom. The things you would say where still the same with extras added in, who would want me? No one. I was made to feel worthless and disgusting.

I grew angrier and stronger over time. I'm not worthless or disgusting. I am a wonderful mum to my boys. I have fantastic friends and an amazing family. As rubbish as my circumstances where they will get better. You have no hold on me anymore and I don't need to take the abuse. You didn't like that I could do it on my own better than when you were there.

Everything reached a head when you refused to leave my car that winter night. You were screaming at me about taking the boys away from you. Which I never said I was doing, only that I wish I had done in the beginning so they didn't need to see all the horrible stuff they had. Screaming at me wasn't enough. You had to ask our five year old if he thought you were a good dad. Telling him I was going to take him and his brother away from you. He is far too young to be involved in a fight like that and he should never be emotionally manipulated like that.

You wouldn't leave my car. Leaning over and screaming in my face. I slapped you, I'll forever admit to it. I don't know what you are capable of anymore and I felt threatened. My only option? Take you to my parents.
You stormed out of the car, screaming at my mum who tried to help me get rid of you. You didn't care our sons could hear and see it all. We still aren't sure what happened. Possibly her blood pressure. POP inside my mum's head. Then blinding pain.

She had no idea what was happening. In her pain and panic she began to tell me that she loved me. To tell my dad she loved him. That my siblings and I and her grandkids were so loved by her. She was telling us goodbye just incase. In that moment, I hated you more than I have ever hated anyone or anything.

My mum has made a recovery, thanks for asking! You had the cheek to use her as an excuse for missing you. You didn't come to the hospital. You only text once that night and never again. The only thing you were worried about was you.

Under solicitor advice, we are trying to arrange a situation that means you still see the boys but not me. This is your five thousandth chance and it's more that you deserve. I'm done with what you subjected me to for years. You may have not beat me but it's still despicable. You even laughed in my face when I called you out and said what you were doing was domestic abuse.

This is an open ended letter as I know that you will always be a presence in my life due to the boys and each stage of their lives will present more arguments. During the last year and a half, I've been civil. I've tried to help you. I've been closed off toward you. Nothing works. You refuse to act civil and continue on like an adult.

All you need to know is that I'm no longer going to stand for abuse from you, no mistake i ever made was worthy of this. The boys are my priority and making their lives the best I can is my goal. I can most certainly achieve this without you. You preach about being a great dad to them. Seeking confirmation on social media that you are. Taking them for less than 48 hours at the weekend and popping on the tv isn't what being a great dad means. I'm never saying that I am prefect but I know they don't need to attitude toward life. They will grow to treat anyone they choose to be with, with the respect that that person deserves. If someone does end up hurting my boys, in anyway, they will be taught that abuse and clinging to the past when forgiveness is given is not the answer.

Free at last,
Your soon to be ex-wife.

Talk

Divorce/separation

A letter I've been meaning to write