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I slept in this morning.

In our bed.

I went home last night.  As he pulled weeds from the flower bed, he said that he had spoken out of anger.  He did not mean what he said.

We should talk about what happened, but not today.  And mostly likely, not tomorrow either.  I am in an emotional hangover.  And while I took care of myself yesterday, as best I could in the aftermath of my nightmare on repeat–I am still depleted.

While talking to my sponsor this morning, I told her how frustrated I am that I had a horrible Easter and he had a pleasant one with his kids.

He had a great time in my absence.  Perhaps this means I’m the wrong one in this equation. 

No, that’s your codependence talking.  I wish I could change your language on this. Perhaps he’s not the right fit for you.  Think about it.  What type of person fits into that situation? A very codependent one.  And you’re not that anymore.  You’re working on your recovery.  You’re making progress.  And you can’t take off those glasses once they’re on, my friend. Even though you want to right now.  

She’s right.

I cannot live under an open door policy where plans get cancelled, put off, altered at the drop of a hat.  I am a planner.

I tried to plan Easter.

Are the kids coming over for Easter? 

No, I don’t think so. I already had Easter with them. Let their mom do something. 

But then a package from his mom arrived, and she wanted to make sure he gave the kids their presents on Easter.  He wrestled with this Saturday.

I don’t really have time.  But she wants me to give it to them.  Maybe I should just give her presents to them on Monday when I see them.  

Yes, I said.  Maybe you could give them their gifts on Monday.

When we fought Easter morning, part of it revolved around this issue.  When at 8:30 a.m., while we were both still in bed, he reached out to his daughter about a good time to bring the package to them, her response was swift: Mama will drop us all off at your house after church so we can open it. 

Without consulting me, he responded to her: Sounds good. 

The entire day was changed just like that.  It would not be a work day.  And he had no further details to give me.

Will they be here for dinner?

I doubt it.

How long will they be here because I’d like to go shopping and cook dinner for us.

I don’t have those details. 

My boundary had been crossed again.  This is mine and his home–not his and his daughter’s home.  When I gingerly bring this up, still in my bathrobe, eyes swollen from crying myself to sleep the night before, he blew up.


Then he proceeded to fillet me with name calling and blame shifting.

You are a deranged mental case and I can’t fix you. 

You tried all day yesterday to guilt me out of delivering this package to my kids.  You’re bitter and pouty because you HATE MY KIDS! 

He was stomping, yelling.  He was clenching and unclenching his fists.  He said he had to leave because he was afraid something would happen.  He was afraid he’d get physical.

This relationship is NOT worth it!  I’m done!

And he left.

And I reminded myself that I promised never again to beg him to stay.  So I didn’t.

Through tear-filled eyes, I texted my sponsor: You still promise I’m not alone?

I wasn’t.

I talked to her several times.  Another CoDA friend met me for lunch.  My phone erupted with group texts from my CoDA family with holiday wishes.  I remembered how during Christmas I felt so alone as his phone constantly chimed with well-wishes from his family’s group text, while mine remained silent.  And here, mine was almost as incessant.

My sponsor stressed that he may not really be breaking up with me.  He may have just said that in anger.

My CoDA friend stressed her support, and reminded me that what’s said in anger is often more truthful than what’s said in peace.

My sponsor reminded me that I am in recovery and he is not.  He is not at a place where he’s ready and willing. And that’s ok, she eases. This means he is on his own journey.

My CoDA friend is sending me graphics card about loving myself and her hope that I’ll find someone who unfailingly loves me.  The latter stings a bit.

I am raw.  But I am not broken.

I’m falling back on my newest mantra: What is the next healthy choice? 

Tonight, he’ll take his kids rollerskating.  I will go buy myself those running shoes.  And then buy a rotisserie chicken.  And maybe a salad.  And maybe some gluten-free dessert to bake in my quiet home.  To eat while soaking in a very hot bath.





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