It Is Better Than This

Today my husband, who has never met a vegetable he didn’t hate, decided that we (yes, WE) are going to do a Daniel fast starting on the 1^st. I’ve explained my hypoglycemia to him approximately 500 times since then, but apparently I am crazy for thinking I need the protein I get from eggs and meat. He is furious with me for “not supporting” him, furious that I “won’t even try it.” I did try it. In my twenties. I was so sick the doctor thought I was having panic attacks and put me on Lexapro. When my friend’s dad (also a doc) showed me how to portion my meals and eat protein snacks every few hours, I felt like a whole new person. I am never going back to how I felt in those awful months. Why would I?

I also know that when I totally give up sugar, I binge when I’m finished. And I know that short-lived challenges don’t produce lasting change. I make lifestyle changes in ways that I can manage long-term, and it pays off. I feel absolutely no calling to do this Daniel fast. I do feel ready to tackle training for another half-marathon, boosting the amounts of healthy vegetables I consume, and creating a schedule for my life that involves waking to an alarm an hour before the kids get up to go a short workout and read the Bible.

Oh, but starting tonight, I’m not allowed to have my cell phone plugged in next to my bed anymore. My cell phone is my alarm.

No, I don’t use it in bed. I don’t check it first thing in the morning. The volume isn’t on, and there’s no light. (His volume is on, his light is on, and sometimes he checks it at 4am when he can’t sleep because he took a marathon nap the day before. But whatever.) I am 38 years old, I’ve single-handedly kept three children alive through the baby stage, I worked successfully as a teacher for 14 years, and I run my own business. But I can’t make my own decisions about my cell phone.

Eff him.

That’s what I should have said twelve years ago when he berated me for half an hour because I put a closed, room-temperature bottle of water on his precious bedroom furniture. Let me repeat: it was sealed. Room temperature. Not a chance in hell of condensation from that sucker, but he was sure it would leave a ring and ruin the dresser. He didn’t ask nicely either, he pointed out all the ways I didn’t respect the value of the dollar or his stuff. He made me out to be completely worthless. I was shocked that someone was speaking to me that way, especially someone without a job and living in his grandpa’s ramshackle rental house. I should have put on my stilettos and walked out that door, but I didn’t.

I should have walked when I told me he loved me after one week and then took it back the next day. I should have walked out every time we battled over my desire to wait for marriage to have sex. I should have walked out when he told me he was concerned because the rental house I shared with two friends was kind of dirty, and he liked a “clean house”…while standing in the middle of his own house that looked kind of like a frat boy’s room on a bad night. I should have walked when I had a terrible day at work and he told me men like to come home to a happy, perky wife. (In his case, he still wasn’t working, so really I was coming home to him. And he is never happy or perky. But whatever.)

I could go on and on. I could tell you how my five-year-old won’t quit saying hate, and I couldn’t figure out where he was getting that word until the trip home from Ohio where my husband screamed at me repeatedly: “I fucking hate you! I fucking hate you!” Certainly that isn’t the first time he’s said it, but I’m kind of desensitized from years of verbal abuse. Caleb is also toying around with the “F” word…probably because it seems so effective when Daddy uses it.

I could tell you about how he berates my oldest son for being a sensitive soul. I could tell you how he tells my daughter to shut the fuck up, how he says in front of her that all women cry really well for attention, even though I personally gave it up long ago. I could tell you how I would leave tonight if I could be sure that a family court judge would understand the power of emotional and verbal abuse and give me full custody. I can’t, and I also can’t send them to live with their father every weekend when I can’t be there to protect them. So I stay.

On the off chance that you are reading this and not yet married, let me tell you the things you should be looking out for, things I overlooked in those early months of dating because I was truly afraid no one would ever want to marry me.

I should have paid attention to the way he tipped. If he is stingy with the people who serve him, he will be stingy to you. You shouldn’t have to be embarrassed by the way he tips your servers. And pay attention to the way he treats his mother and his grandmother, even (especially) if they annoy him. Does he hang up on them while they’re still talking? Does he call them names? Does he say they’re crazy when they’re sick instead of showing concern for their well-being? Then run. Because it won’t be long until you are the one annoying him.

And how does he argue? Does he listen to you? Like, really hear you? Or does he just tell you why you’re wrong? A narcissist is always, always right…even when presented with a mountain of evidence to the contrary. I have not really been heard in over a decade, and there’s no sign of that changing. That ten-thousand dollar wedding isn’t worth it.

Look, too, at how he handles household responsibilities. Does he do his own chores, does he help you cook (or at least clean up)? Or does he sit on the couch and watch TV while you work. If he does that now, he’ll continue when you have kids and I promise, you’ll resent it. The eternal adolescence of the American male is destroying marriages, because after all, who in their right mind wants to be married to a teenage boy? Ugh.

If you are moving forward as a couple and making decisions together, are you an equal part in those decisions, or does he badger you until you come around. Does he agree to disagree? Does he focus his attention on changing himself or on changing you? A normal, healthy person will embark on a Daniel fast individually and invite the other person to be involved. A narcissist will tell you that you’ve stopped losing weight and you need to do something about it…and then bully you until you give in.

And when you disagree, how does he handle it? Does he continue to affirm his love for you, or does he call you an ever-worsening barrage of nasty names. Are strong women “bitches” or “leaders”? Does he consider women leaders or followers? Does he make generalizations about all women? When you are rightfully frustrated with him, does he accuse you of being on the rag? All of these are signs to lace up your running shoes.

Grace has given me three children that I love dearly in spite of my mistakes, but it truly sucks to raise children while using their father as an example of how not to act. At least once a day, I have to ask my sons how their father’s behavior makes them feel, in hopes of helping them see the consequences of unbridled rage. You don’t want to do that. You don’t want to be me. You want to be free to have a brain and use it. You want to be in a marriage partnership, not a marriage dictatorship. You want a husband who is brokenhearted when he hurts you, not one who accuses you of crying to make him feel bad.

And what if that guy never comes along? Well, stay single. I promise you. It is better than this.