I'm sitting here somewhat confused, with a gnawing sensation inside that something just isn't right. I can't articulate it really, but it's there still eating at me. Sometimes you just know when something is off. Right?
I'm not making sense, let me explain. I just went to my wife's office to drop off her phone that she left at the house. No I didn't see some text from someone she's having an affair with or anything like that. It's not that simple. One of her employees was looking at me funny but wouldn't make eye contact. Kind of like she was avoiding looking at me while still looking at me if that makes any sense. I don't know what that was about but her expression stuck with me.
I think her expression was pity.
Maybe I should start at the beginning to bring you up to where we are right now since I don't really understand myself. If I don't none of this will really make sense. I promise to keep it short.
My wife Denise and I met at a university on the East Coast in the early 90's. My name is Joel. I'm 40 and she is 41. We live one the West Coast now and have for 17 years. We've been married for 17 years as well but we've been together since I was 19. We married at 23. So that is over half my life with this woman. We were kids really when we married. You know - young, naive, hopeful...all of those wonderful things that come with youth. We have two girls Gemma and Sophie. Ages 12 and 10. Denise is an Architect and runs her own firm a few blocks from our house. I left that career 16 years ago for another more lucrative one with computers and entertainment.
We were right in the middle of all of that happening in the 90's out in Silicone Valley. Well, let's just say I've done al-right for myself. We aren't wealthy, but very well off by most American's standards. Funny though how those big salaries really don't get you far out here in California with the high price of living. With the schools being so literally poor and taxes so high you end up shelling out quite a lot every year to fund their public educations.
I digress. We had our first daughter at age 28. I didn't know a damn thing about parenting but we pushed our way through it. Hopefully I didn't screw it up as badly as my father did. I'll just have to wait and see.
Denise spent years working for big firms. She was a great designer, still is. We had talked many times that I'd have been happy to take time off when we had children and not leave it to just her responsibility. Funny how that doesn't work out so well when you're the one making 90% of the family's income. You become a slave to providing for your new responsibilities at home. I envied her freedom, she envied my career.
After about 5 years of this and the birth of our second daughter we decided our house was too small so we built a bigger one. Shortly after that, finances dictated that Tracy needed to go back to work to help with the expenses.
After a short time back in the workforce and with her being constantly unhappy with having to work for others I pushed her into venturing out on her own. Little did I know that this would be the single most anxiety causing decision I'd have ever made in my life up to that point. I also didn't know that it very well would determine the outcome of what now appears to be our inevitable divorce.
I'm a jealous person. I have been all my life. It has to do with being a bit insecure. Why am I insecure? My Father mostly.
Watching your siblings and pets get abused on a regular basis both physically and verbally kind of has that effect on your psyche.
Like the time I watched my Father when I was 8 take a 2x4 to my Labrador's head. Except the board had a nail in it and it had put her eye out. She would later get hit by a car crossing the road at night on her blind side. She probably never saw it coming...poor thing. I had really loved her.
Or the time I saw him go after my Sister with the end of a screwdriver. He never went after me though. Probably because he knew I could hurt him. I had that much anger inside. I had stopped some of the beatings when I could, but I couldn't stop them all. In the end you blame yourself for all of it. I did.
I blamed myself for not being perfect enough for him to love me. And I blamed my Sister for causing him to be so angry all of the time. My Sister and I haven't talked for years. I guess I always resented her, blamed her for ruining our family. It wasn't her fault though but it took me a quarter of my life to figure that out. But that is another story.
It has taken 6 years of therapy to accept that as an 8 year old child, you just can't protect your Sister from a 200lb man who was acting out hatred for his mother on her every week. His mother used to hit him over the head with an iron skillet. One of the only times I met my Grandmother she called my younger Brother a transvestite for wearing women's shoes. And she called my Sister a tramp for the way she was dressed. My brother was 4, he was playing with my Mother's slippers. My sister was 8, and the tramp outfit my Grandmother was referring to was her posing in her dance recital leotard. What a hateful woman.
So Denise started a firm. It was just her for a while. Her partner had a nervous breakdown and we had to end that professional relationship. I called him up and asked him what the #&CK he was doing. He had stopped his meds. Some serious anti depressants and he stopped cold turkey without doctor's help. Some of that stuff you can't do that with. He was holed up in his apartment doing everything he could trying to NOT kill himself. Needless to say that relationship was over. Can't have an unstable business partner and all.
Denise and I started having issues a few years into our marriage. They started before she went back to work.
I felt it was time our problems needed to be dealt with so I took us to counseling. We were in counselling together for 5 years as a couple. We've been in counselling with a child therapist to learn to communicate with our oldest daughter. We've both been in individual therapy. She only lasted for a year but this is year 6 for me.
I went to see my Doctor first because I was having panic attacks. I stayed because I got an education in human psychology and it was helping in my career and home life.
I managed a lot of people at work. I became a very good listener.
Like the one time my friend's ageing mother at the nursing home was angry about the food they served. Angry to the point of throwing it on the floor and calling it crap whenever my friend went to visit. After talking with him for a few minutes I learned his mother had been a great cook when he was a kid. I thought about it and suggested that perhaps she was upset that she could no longer take care of herself like she used to take care of him. Maybe she was angry because she would prepare these wonderful meals for the children and wasn't physically able to do it any more. Maybe it was even humiliating for her to have her Son see her that way.
I'd have been angry too. I suggested the next time he visited and she acted out that he remind her of all of the meals she made for his family over the years. Talk to her about sitting as a family at the dinner table and all of the happy memories he could recall. Thank her for providing that part of their life for them. Tell her 'of course those nursing home meals could never measure up' to what she did for their family. He did just that.
I wasn't trying to be a therapist, I'm not qualified for that, but as a manager that becomes a lot of the daily job description.
Guess what, I was right and nailed the problem on the first try. He just kept reminding his mother every time he visited of her cooking. I could have never given that advice if I hadn't learned some of that insight from my Doctor.
I was having anxiety attacks after my father died. He died of heart attack complications at age 63. My anxiety? Something about all that pent up emotion coming out from within me now that it was safe to express it. I'd been carrying that crap around for 20 years or more and it all just poured out.
My wife had to clean up a bunch of the mess I made. I loved her for that. Grateful for being there and sticking beside me.
I went on antidepressants, mainly to regulate my mood swings. Mostly though to stop the suicidal thoughts. Those had scared me the most.
Once I even walked straight into an intersection without ever looking up to see where traffic was. It was a busy intersection in down town Berkeley and I didn't cross at the cross walks or during any sort of light change. I was hoping I'd get hit.
That would have been the easy solution to my pain.
Then there was this other time on the Golden Gate bridge on Father's Day while walking across it with my children. I was thinking how easy it would have been to simply jump over the side.
Strangely though, I'm a very competent and successful person at my business. I manage 25 creative individuals and on the outside I look rock solid. I manage with great success millions of dollars of intellectual properties each year and am respected in the company.
One of my staff once mailed out as a joke asking why I had so many brightly coloured shirts and such. I responded in email that the bolder the colour of the shirt, the greater the inner trauma I was trying to conceal that day.
You see people can get easily distracted by your appearance and not actually see you.