Husband Chronicles Part Four: Jared

Oh, this one is going to take some deep breaths.

While it’s the longest of my marriages, by far, I truly believe it deserves the least space. Not because it didn’t teach me a whole epic shit ton about myself, but because it stole so much from me that it doesn’t deserve any more. So here’s the cliff notes, for the story.

Cause you know, it’s kind of my thing.

I spent almost ten years of my life with this man. Ten years. We lived with my parents for nearly the entire marriage which — actually, probably, most definitely — saved me from a ton more heartache that could have been.

For what it’s worth, my Mama loved him. Looking back, that’s probably why I stayed so long despite the clear and obvious signs it was never turning back around. But most importantly? He gave me Hannah Lou. My Lou Lou. My precious, emotional, vibrant, sassy, fiercely independent baby girl. And y’all?

To be honest, he’s one of the only people on this planet I actually completely despise. I truly try not to hold onto those kinds of emotions, as they never serve you. Hating someone is like taking poison and hoping that they die but – I just LOATHE HIM.

He stole my twenties. You know? The good years, when you’re young and energetic. In ways I genuinely don’t have the vocabulary for – despite my English degree collecting dust on my resume – he broke my spirit.

Don’t mistake me — I did love him. Fiercely. So far beyond what he deserved. It was a love he never earned and I gave it anyway. You see, nobody warns you about love like that. Let me warn you: it doesn’t ask permission before it shows up, and it never leaves quietly.

Here’s how it started.

I saw him across the bar. Told my friend, “That one.” By the end of the night he was putty in my hands, as I was in his.

Six weeks later I had sold everything I owned and we had moved to Houston.

Three months in, we were pregnant — on purpose. That’s not a typo. All gas, no brakes, no seatbelt.

So much happened so fast that it’s genuinely hard to pinpoint the exact moment it started going wrong. But I’ll spare you the play-by-play and give you what actually matters. That man worked hard, it was one of his only redeeming qualities. Well that, and the fact that he never even flinched at me, a welcome change of pace from Erik. But he never once tried to be faithful to me. Not really. Not seriously. And here’s the thing you should know about me if you don’t already: the worst possible thing you can do to a woman who loves with her whole chest and commits like it’s oxygen, is cheat on her. It’s not just betrayal. It’s confirmation of every fear she was too devoted to listen to. It tears apart at the very fabric of her being.

We broke up more times than I can count on two hands. We even renewed our vows after a separation, because apparently I needed a second dose of the same lesson before it stuck. That’s always been my deepest flaw – not knowing when I’m still kicking a dead horse, always giving it one more round of CPR. My arms on fire from being life support far too long. In the end, he moved in with a woman he was sleeping with while working a job in Florida, and that was that.

The divorce was hard. He did not want to work with me at all. He was only concerned with paying the least amount of child support possible and ensuring that I couldn’t get a passport for Hannah without his signature. I later found out I was never negotiating with him.

I eventually caved to just be finished with it. I stopped fighting the passport battle and threw my hands up regarding the money. I just wanted it done.

I testified that we were no longer able to sustain our marriage.

And like that – a nail in the coffin of ten wasted years.

Here’s the part about this story I do want to make space for. It’s the saddest part, way worse than the cheating, worse than watching ten years circle the drain, worse than a broken spirit, and starting over again.

The kind of shit father that doesn’t send birthday cards or Christmas gifts. The kind that doesn’t know his daughter’s favorite color, or band, or what grade she’s in at school. The kind that barely upholds his financial obligation and thinks somehow that’s enough.

I bet you’re wondering if I have anything to do with that? I mean, I loathe him, so I can’t possibly make it easy. Right?

I have never once stood in the way of her relationship with him. I kept them connected after the divorce, put her on airplanes, labeled gifts under the tree to cover for him. I sold my own things and wore the same three pairs of jeans for five years so Hannah could have what she wanted and needed. I stood in the gap for him, with her.

She is sixteen now, and she sees him for exactly who he is. I never had to tell her because he showed her. She understands that relationships take work on both sides. She doesn’t do his share of the work. The result?

And it’s okay. I don’t have to share her now. I get to do all the hard stuff and all the fun stuff. It’s magic this way. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I never was much for sharing anyway.

You’re probably asking what I learned. There’s so much more in this story, more than one blog post worth, but I think there are a few lessons that stand out the most for me.

• Children don’t obligate you to stay in a bad situation.
• Fidelity isn’t a negotiable – it’s a requirement.
• You can absolutely, positively do hard things – alone – if you never, ever, ever give up.