Talk

Unflip

Mumsnet has not checked the qualifications of anyone posting here. If you need help urgently or expert advice, please see our domestic violence webguide and/or relationships webguide. Many Mumsnetters experiencing domestic abuse have found this thread helpful: Listen up, everybody

1 2 3 4

Relationships

A letter to my husband

77 replies

houseHuntinginmanchester · 04/03/2016 13:24

My darling husband,

I write this letter to you because spoken words are so painful for you to hear, and I must empty my heart of this story once and for all.

Between late 2010 and the years through to 2013, our life unravelled bit by bit, till it was just a frail thread wrapped around a corpse of a cotton reel, nearly over, barely there. Quietly at first, or perhaps unnoticed by me, so preoccupied l was in 2010 with the first cherished years of our first Born child. I'm sure you must have realised though. In hindsight, I understand your baffling frustration, the tension that seemed to hang around you like a cloud, the stress between your eyebrows - I just simply did not see it at the time. A little bit young, a little bit overwhelmed by motherhood, and a little bit self-centred, I admit. That was me. Hindsight.
Then I lost my father suddenly, and there was a hole left in all our lives. Suddenly I wasn't so sure of myself anymore, the world seemed uncertain, and seeing mum as a widow trying hard to be courageous was even more devastating than the loss of dad.
But darling, When our life began to unravel faster, I saw that. You lost your very well paid job at first. I naively enthused about your self-employed venture, but it wasn't enough to keep us afloat. The debt began to pile up. I wasn't aware; you were managing the finances and you didn't want to acknowledge what was happening. The car on finance was the first to go. A court order, a heavy penalty fee and a big black mark on your credit history that would do untold damage later. A few weeks later, you suffered a serious injury and were left unable to walk or drive for months. Devastating for any self-employed work. Within the space of six weeks, I had lost dad and gained a widowed and lonely mum. We had lost stability and gained fear. hindsight.
We sold the house. Our forever home,the place we thought we would have and raise our children. It was perfect. What is a family without a home? Scattered. The whole decision was built on fear and haste and as we moved out to a temporary rented place, every bank refused us a mortgage. Newly self employed with a ccj and countless defaults and debts. Hindsight.
We lost everything one by one. It was like we were going through a check list of things in our life to lose, one by one. Four months pregnant with our second child now, and absolutely terrified of what was happening, I turned on you and the last shreds of us came tearing down. As each door slammed in our faces, we splintered, shattering each other's last dredges of peace and resilience. We hurled at each other out frustration and despair - our voices raising higher and higher with desperation as we tried, tried our very best to show each other we were still there, still there through the nightmare of it all.
But darling, we weren't really. Not always. I went away, unable to bear it any more, taking with me our little girl who you lived for. Your depression and anxiety escalated to the point of suicidal thoughts, my love, but I didn't know this at the time. I was far away, trying my best to hold on to the precious life inside me as I bled each and every day throughout the entire pregnancy. I came back but you had checked out by then. Physically there but your breakdown had taken vicious hold; you only had one mode then and that was self-destruct. That rented flat, that dark green door and the long walk up the driveway each day I will never forget. Gravel crunching beneath my swollen feet, eight months pregnant, slowly bringing home some bits for dinner as another evening approached where I hadn't seen you or heard from you for hours, sometimes even over night. We blindly stumbled on, living day by day. I held on to you with all the faith and fears of a child. You dragged on, even though your will was broken in the spiral of self-harm that your life had become.
When we were evicted from there, and were declared officially homeless, we found ourselves in a tiny council flat, on a quiet little street. There was bare plaster on the walls and we didn't have the £300 to buy a new cooker - but this was our first miracle. And we saw that.
Darling, the good thing about life is that it moves on. There was the birth of our second daughter - smiling seconds after she came in to the world, a winter born so full of warmth and fire with a laugh that could melt the iciest of hearts. And when I faltered after the horrendous birth which left me bed-bound for several weeks, you were there, my darling. Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and the guilt of a man who is not providing for his family, you nursed me back to health carefully, becoming a whirlwind of activity, cleaning, shopping, cooking, baking. Life's harsh edges started to soften around us, as we began to rebuild our shattered selves from this tiny, peaceful corner of the earth.
It took us months before we noticed, so caught up we were in the fog of negativity that had pervaded our thoughts and experiences for the past three years. But slowly, it dawned upon us; our luck was changing direction.
Darling, hope is a wonderful thing and we all find it in our own ways. I don't know till this day what exactly was your hope, but for me it was you. Seeing them shoulders straighten, seeing them eyes fill with excitement and enthusiasm once more. The pleasure you once found in small things that lifted your spirits. Your life found purpose and you began to -successfully- work for yourself. We invested every penny we had, selling anything we could, saving like mad. Talking and plotting and thinking up strategies late into the night. All our times, all our efforts, all our dreams balanced precariously on this new venture - and it lifted off the ground like a rocket that is launched in to space.
So today my darling, as I sat here, you walked in and silently handed me the keys to our beautiful new forever home. And when I looked up at your face, I saw all the images of the past several years flicker and pass by in your eyes. It doesn't take words anymore, and spoken words they seem to hurt you anyway. I would do anything to take away that hurt, but in hindsight, it is what has brought us sitting and standing before each other today. And I wouldn't trade standing by you for the world and all it contains.
So my darling, in hindsight, I understand everything now, I am sorry, I forgive you and I love you.

OP posts:

Report

Naomi43 · 05/03/2016 20:05

What a powerful story! I am so happy for you that you and your family have found your way back to some safety and peace. Life can be so hard!