Before the Ex and I could start marriage counseling, Christmas arrived. There was no point in starting therapy with the Christmas holidays interrupting the sessions and I secretly hoped that the joyous season would bring us closer together. We would be visiting family and we would be away from the doldrums of everyday humdrum life. We would also be staying at our own respective family homes, staying apart from each other.
May absence make the heart grow fonder.
What I was forgetting about was the fact that these festive times tend to do nothing but increase stress. It was a juggling act spending a fair amount of time between both families and picking and choosing which dinners to attend. There was the driving from one house to another restaurant to a third pub and then finally to the fourth house. There was the cold and the snow. We were also harbouring our unspoken burden of the separation from our families. How normal did I act during those two weeks?
I think I bore the secret better than the Ex. My mother stopped me one day after Christmas, and asked me if the Ex was all right. He was quiet and distant; there was an air about him that he was incredibly unhappy to be at my mother's house. What could I tell her? Absolutely nothing. I smiled and shrugged and made some lame excuse about him being stressed about work and fighting off a cold; then I drove him home. I had gotten very used to making excuses on his behalf. After all, he was hardly by my side at social functions and I was far too independent to stay at home simply because I wasn't being accompanied by a man.
Everybody must have thought his boss was a slave driver.
Did anyone suspect how strange it felt to be smiling in my in-laws' family Christmas photos, knowing this could be the last one with them? There was the realization that if the Ex and I split up, I would miss these people, my in-laws. They had always welcomed me with open arms; I had never not felt like family with them. I wasn't just losing a husband - I was losing an entire branch of my family. I wasn't just fighting to save a marriage, but a family. I loved these people. We had been to weddings and funerals. I had driven or flown hundreds of miles to visit them. We had a history there. I was in their photo albums!
There's a photograph of the Ex and me at his family's Christmas lunch that sums up neatly the whole Christmas holidays. I'm sitting on his lap, I'm wearing my wedding ring and I'm grinning. The Ex has his lopsided smirk but his hands are positioned away from my body and close to his chest, instead of being draped on me in an easy going manner. We have brave smiles and nobody knows the truth. We had just had a fight about 15 minutes prior.
There was one day where I did throw my hands up in frustration and thought maybe a divorce wasn't such a bad idea. It was a big Christmas dinner with my extended family. Big dinner with lots of food, games, gift exchange and so many options for dessert that I almost wished I hadn't had second helping of the turkey. The Ex was feeling out of sorts; he pulled me aside at one point and asked if we could leave after dessert.
I glanced at the clock. Barely past 9 p.m. The Ex and I have always fought over when is the appropriate time to leave a social event. He wants to leave when it's in full swing and on a high note. I want to close out the night and drag my arse home after last call. But I agreed because he had always said I never compromised with him, fighting down the sudden flare of anger that spiked through me. I saw my extended family perhaps two or three times a year; I cherished every possible second I had with them. The Ex wanted to cut the night early so he could go home and ...what, play video games with his brothers?
Dessert took longer than expected. It took time to get everybody assembled at the table. It took time to individually cut the pieces of cakes and pies, to dole out the ice cream, to pass around the platter of homemade cookies. By the time dessert had finished, it was nearly an hour later and the Ex was sitting at the table, head in hand and completely disengaged.
It was mortifying and humiliating.
I made some excuse as to why we had to go, thanked my hosts for a lovely evening and bundled us off in the car. There was a stony silence as we drove down the dark and snowy highway. What I did say to him came out in short, clipped tones. The 20 minute drive seemed to take forever and it was only exacerbated by the storm outside; when we finally reached his house I was so relieved. Relieved that we had made it safely and relieved that he was exiting my car.
Because I turned around and drove right back to the party, snarling and hands clutching the steering wheel for dear life. "Well!" I thought to myself. "If I die in a car crash on the way back to the party, I'm blaming him."
The Ex was right. I was incapable of compromising. But these people meant too much to me and I saw the situation as win/win. He got to go home and I could return to the party and be with my family.
This was my sticking point. This was probably what caused me the most grief in the marriage. But I felt so incredibly shallow. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that the Ex was a kind, loving, generous man with so much love and support to offer me. He had always been there for me, when I really needed him. He had held me in countless nights while I cried, or fretting, or worried, or just complained. He was just a bit of a loner. Was I willing to give up a man with all his good qualities because I wanted a friend to go drinking with? After all, I wasn't going to be a wild party-girl forever...right?
Or was I allowed to want something too, no matter how frivolous and shallow and petty and silly?
I was never happier to see a holiday season end. Merry freakin' Christmas.
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