My Ex is Crazy

No, not mine. He lacks empathy and consideration for others (other than the singular person in his orbit at any given time in his life), but I’m not calling him crazy. Well, maybe.

But I bet he’s desperately painting the picture that I am right now, just like his last two (only two) long-term girlfriends, who he moved in with as fast as possible and had or raised children alongside, were “crazy”. This blog post isn’t about those women, but I believe they both deserve a deep and humble apology. Because, knowing what I know now? I am pretty certain they’re not crazy either.

Did I hear stories that made them sound unhinged? Yes. Threats, desperate behavior like throwing his belongings from their shared home on the lawn or destroying a dozen gifted roses in anger, fights that lodged children squarely in the middle… Did he tell me those stories to explain away what might have otherwise been perceived as his bad behavior? Oh, I get it now.

I will admit, the level of disrespect I have been shown over the past several months, known and unknown, has left me less than my best self. First it was finding that, rather than have an adult conversation with his ex-wife, who up until this point had been so fucking agreeable that he’d been welcome in my home to visit his kids for weeks at a time, he had secretly moved his girlfriend of a month or two(?) into our jointly-owned home. The home that my children were supposed to visit. The home that I had historically spent several weeks at since the divorce so the children would visit. OUR HOME. Without a word. 

Not only that, but they played house for almost six months before I found out ON THE INTERNET that this had transpired and reached out to encourage him to discuss with his kids before I did. See, when I told him I was leaving, I asked him to talk to his oldest as I felt it was his right to share the news the way he saw fit. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it without defending myself. And he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t tell her for almost a month. A month where I talked to her nearly every day, not mentioning it out of misplaced respect for his position as “parent.” That secret kept nearly destroyed my relationship with someone incredibly important to me. I wasn’t risking that again. He ignored my suggestion that he talk to his kids for nearly a week. By the time he bothered to respond to me, I had already talked to them, as gently as possible, while telling them the truth. Your dad is dating someone. It appears they are living together in the Colorado house. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you.

I was furious and hurt, but fairly reasonable in the beginning. 

Let me try to tell you how it feels to be betrayed like this, to watch your children feel betrayed like this. To try to understand the cosmic shift in what you understood your family dynamic to be (divorced families are, after all, still families). To watch what you thought was mutual respect cease to exist. It feels like the world you thought you lived in isn’t the world you actually live in and that distorted reality leaves you feeling off-kilter. Crazy.

There are probably 100 more little things. Conversations with our daughter that feel manipulative, traveling constantly while telling me he can’t afford to reimburse me for court-ordered costs, the fact that he hasn’t responded to a single text, email, or direct statement in more than two weeks despite that we’re in the process of selling the jointly-owned home, which requires some cooperation. Or more relevant, that he refuses to communicate with me despite that his children live with me 100% of the time. Sure, they’re teenagers and he can communicate with them directly (and does now, for the first time in five years of them living away from him). But they’re children and we’re adults. Well, I’m the adult. 

So yeah, I took back the power of my own voice, my perspective, and I write a pretty scathing blog about this hell I was thrown into. I threatened once to text his girlfriend to get him to respond to me. I didn’t do it. For a time, I watched podcasts and read comments and scoured social media because I couldn’t bear the thought of learning she was pregnant or they were married from the internet and having to break news like that to my children. Again. As it stands, I get most of the updates from my kid. And it’s wrong. I’m no longer the agreeable person he got so used to after years of arguments that were no longer worth it. So yeah, I am pretty mad. Maybe crazy.

But I know who I am. I’m the girl who let him stay at my house because there was “no other option” financially for him to see our kids. I’m the girl who gave everything up to bring my kids somewhere they could thrive again and then went back to the place where my heart broke so they could still have time with their dad where he thrived. I’m the girl who still talks to exes from 20 years ago once or twice a year. I’m the girl who had big feelings, but never went crazy over any breakup, even the ugly cheat-y breakups in my life. I’m the girl who is there for my kids EVERY day. Not when I’m not busy, not when I’m not traveling with someone I’ve known for a year and made a priority over them and their wishes, not when work isn’t crazy. Always. Every day. When they wake me up in the middle of the night because they can’t sleep or they’re spiraling. When they’re angry or hurting. When they’re sick or stressed. And every second of mundane life in between. 

So, if you’re the common denominator and your behavior has infuriated everyone around you except for those new to the situation, and you find yourself sharing half-truths or deflecting; if you are the one whose children aren’t speaking to you (except for the one you most effortfully pour yourself into for a whopping 3 months so far) and if you are doing the same thing with the same result and are surprised at the reaction…maybe it is you who are the crazy one. 

I can reflect and acknowledge where I could have done better. I spend most of my life as a mother gently adjusting my efforts, my language, my energy to accommodate the current version of my children’s needs. But I’m not taking this one on. I’m not crazy. For the first time, I’m standing up for myself and that’s about the most sane thing I could do after the past 20 years. 

Watch yourself. Patterns tend to repeat themselves. I just took longer than the rest to realize they were patterns. If you’re THE ONE person who sees something some way (or is treated a certain way), you are possibly the one who has it wrong.