I recently emailed my brother and told him that when I think about leaving, I can’t fathom it.  Here is his response:

“What makes the thought of leaving unfathomable? – earning your own living? Facing peoples’ reactions? Starting over? Having to live in a place with a normal floor and a sound roof?”

So what does make the thought of leaving unfathomable?

Earning my own living?  No, I don’t think so. I think I’m a pretty smart woman and that I could earn my own living.  I can see myself succeeding in that – when I don’t give into my fears.

Facing peoples’ reactions?  Not really.  Over the past year and a half or so, I’ve made progress in not worrying so much about what other people think.  After all, it is my life; nobody else is walking in my shoes.  They may have their opinions of my decisions, but nobody knows everything that someone else deals with. Period.  There is a quote I’ve heard in Al-Anon:  “What you think of me is none of my business.”  That could work here.

I KNOW there are people who would look down upon my leaving my husband, but I also know there are others who would fully support me.  And there are even some, that though they might not agree with me, would still stand by me.

Starting over?  Starting over is scary to me.  Not that I couldn’t do it.  It’s just scary.  And it sounds like a lot of hard work.  Hard work hasn’t stopped me from taking on projects in the past.  But the massive job of packing up everything, of tossing so much stuff, of thinking of my life in a hugely different way – those things are kind of hard for me right now.

Having to live in a place with a normal floor and a sound roof?  Yeah, see, I have a hard time with that one.  I don’t deserve a nice house.  Even though I have dreams of a pretty house – one that doesn’t need major repairs, like, a new roof, a new well, a new septic system, a whole new floor, as in the main supporting beam of the house is rotting and the whole house is sagging, need a new floor, new floor – I have a hard time actually believing that living in a pretty house could be a reality for me.

I read somewhere one time that a woman’s house is an extension of herself.  Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s not, but I know that I personally have identified an awful lot with my house.  And I think living seven years in this sad, falling down, not very pretty house, has really taken its toll on me.  Almost from the beginning of moving into this house, I have felt like I am in this house because I don’t deserve to have any better.

Maybe that’s why I’m in this marriage, too.

Sometimes I try to think what would I miss if he wasn’t here.  What would be lacking in my life that he gives me?

I would have to figure out stuff like taxes and insurances.  But, like I said, I’m fairly smart, and I’m sure I could find other people who would help me with what I couldn’t figure out.

I could learn how to change the oil in my van.  And I know an awesome mechanic just up the road who I trust.

Sometimes it’s cozy to have someone next to me in bed, but often it’s really uncomfortable.

And he does rub my feet for me sometime.  That I would miss.  But one of my goals for my future, whether I stay or whether I go, is to make enough money to be able to afford to get a massage on a fairly regular basis.  And that includes the rubbing of the feet.

I also don’t know what I would do with myself if I didn’t have a sad marriage to obsess over.

Maybe the unfathomable thing has to do with my beliefs about marriage and divorce, that when you got married, you got married for life, through thick and thin.  You didn’t divorce.  You just suck it up and work on being a better wife.  And submit to your husband, because then God would bless you.

Please do not think for a second that I condemn anyone who is divorced, because, quite honestly, the opposite it true.  I find myself envying them the freedom from their stressful marriage.

My brother-in-law’s sister, who is divorced, once said, “Divorce is hell” and I have read that divorce is as stressful to the body and as loosing a child (and I can’t even begin to imagine what loosing a child would be like; I can’t even go there).  So, I’m guessing divorce can’t be easy.

I guess I shouldn’t go as far as divorce.  Maybe I am making too big of a leap here.  Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking divorce as much as separation.

Maybe the unfathomable comes from the fear that I am doing the wrong thing, that it would be WRONG, bold, capitol letters, to separate from my husband.  Ha!   As if everything is so “right” as it is now!

Well, those are the beginnings of my thoughts to respond to my brother.

Who, by the way, if you haven’t figured it out, is one on the ones who would fully support me if I left.

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