The last time I saw my attorney, she suddenly looked up from the papers we were reviewing and asked, “Do you miss him?”
With no thought at all, my mouth said, “NO.”
It’s the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die truth. I don’t miss a single thing about the man I was married to for 23 and a half years. And that’s a little bit sad.
I don’t miss the lies. Big lies, little lies, dark lies, white lies, and stupid lies. I got to the point that I didn’t believe a word out of his mouth unless I could independently verify it. And that continues even more so now.
I don’t miss walking on eggshells all the time. I never knew what would set him off, and not in the way you’re probably thinking. He wasn’t outwardly violent, he was pouty and snippy. I had a mental list of things to avoid, but he added new stuff that upset him to the list regularly and it was impossible to keep up.
I don’t miss feeling like I was bats**t crazy. On a daily basis, we had an exchange that went something like this:
Me: Did you do XYZ?
Him: No. Why?
Me: Yesterday/last week/last month you said you’d do XYZ on your way to/from work.
Him: Really? I don’t remember that.
I truly thought I was losing my mind. Nope. I was living with a passive-aggressive man whose go-to response to any request was that he didn’t see, didn’t hear, didn’t have time, didn’t remember, didn’t realize anything.
I don’t miss the physical and emotional distance. He barely spoke to me or the kids for years. He had to be cajoled into participating in family activities like decorating the Christmas tree. Eventually, I gave up and just did stuff without him. Great training for post-marriage life.
I don’t miss paying a price for everything. If I wanted something, anything, there was always a price I had to pay to get it. A martyred sigh. Rolled eyes. A whiny tirade about how he didn’t wanna. It didn’t matter if it was his attendance at a child’s event or a ride to pick up my car from the shop, I always paid for his favors. (And everything was a “favor.”)
I don’t miss being blamed for everything he was unhappy about. Nothing was ever a result of his choices, actions, or inactions. I was his scapegoat.
I know that Voldemort suffered from depression and had several major depressive episodes during our marriage. It took a long time for me to understand that he was also a textbook passive-aggressive personality. No doubt I was a co-dependent personality. About six years ago, I took that bull by the horns and quit feeding his monster. I drew boundaries and defended them. I worked to define myself as a separate person, one not responsible for his failings. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
It’s gotten much better with him gone. Now I don’t take his passive-aggression personally. I don’t feed it. I don’t own it.
And I don’t miss it.
I’ve finally reached that phase of the divorce process where I know it’s really over and I no longer regret choosing to marry Voldemort all those years ago. I’m starting to feel truly free, to believe I can make choices and plans without paying a price to him. I don’t have to answer to him or placate him any longer.
With that freedom comes amazing peace and possibilities, things I never thought to experience again and certainly not as the result of such a painful ending.