My parents divorced when I was 24 after a very surprising affair.
It tore me to pieces. My parents were never especially nice to one another, so while the divorce was not completely out of left field, it was still a shock realizing what this new reality meant.
My mother started dating a year after they split up. She was in all honestly, probably not mentally ready. (She was emotionally distraught for years after she found out about the affair.) When I first met the man she was dating, I thought he was nice enough and seemed to treat my mom very well.
Over the next few months however, I started learning a number of not so great things about him - all things my mother told me. He had the CRA after him for a boat load of unpaid taxes. He frittered his money away on absolutely nothing and over-generosity, and he was not at all healthy. Soon after all of these came to light, my mother broke it off. I supported this decision, not wanting my mother to get serious with someone who was so the opposite of her (not to mention the red flags!). One major concern was that my mother had quite a bit of money, and I was worried that he was pursuing her for this fact since his finances were in such a sorry state. (I have since realized, this is not the case).
However not 3 months later, she was back together with him. I then voiced my concern over this decision as she didn’t seem to take in to consideration all the reasons she broke up with him in the first place, only focussing on the fact that he was such a nice guy and she had fun with him. She didn’t really listen, and I dropped the issue hoping that the red flags she had told me about were blown out of proportion.
But then she broke up with him again. At this point, I was thinking a number of things, but mostly that she was obviously not in a proper mental state to be pursuing a relationship. I mean, I had broken up with a former boyfriend twice before, but I had been 20 years old at the time - not 59!
You’ll think I’m joking or exaggerating, but this cycle of breaking up with him and getting back together with him happened another 14 times from 2009 to 2016 - 16 in total to date.
Around the 7th time of breaking up with him, I told her that were she to get back together with him, I would not be in her life (hoping to jolt her out of her insanity). This didn’t seem to faze her in the least as she got back together with him about 4 weeks later. When that happened, I stayed true to my word and stopped answering her phone calls. She sent me hateful emails calling me an ingrate, and inconsiderate. Out of all of the things she called me, these were the most hurtful as I had been beyond supportive of her when the affair came out. During the divorce I had been dragged into most of the arguments and was told all of the sordid details which I still have nightmares about. Knowing everything, really messed me up, and hysterically out of the three of us - I was the one who ended up in therapy. From then on, my mother refused to go to therapy and used me as her therapist (I think she did end up going to therapy a couple of times a year or two after everything happened). Of course, being forced into this role, did nothing positive for my mental well being. However I took it, because I was really worried about her. There were days when she wouldn’t leave the house and would just walk around sobbing.
A year after the divorce I moved to London, UK for school and called her everyday. Supporting her, listening to her cry and telling her it would all work out in the end. This, of course, racked up a HUGE phone bill for me and being a student, I really will never figure out how I was able to pay the bill.
In 2010, my boyfriend and I got engaged. I had been planning my wedding since I was 15, so it goes without saying that I was beyond excited for it to actually be happening. This two year period was one of the hardest and saddest of my life. One of my favourite movies growing up was Father of the Bride. I always imagined that my family would be exactly like that when planning my wedding. Unfortunately it didn’t turn out like that at all. My father, out of the blue, didn’t want to pay for the wedding, and I had to really become a brown-noser to a man that I couldn’t stand since finding out many terrible things about him.
Every time my mother would get back together with her boyfriend she became horrible. And during the wedding planning, was no exception. My fiance and I flew back from Paris to look at wedding venues in the winter of 2011, and my mother wanted to have nothing to do with us after a rather bitter argument. And so, my fiance and I chose our wedding venus without either my mother or father having seen it or knowing anything about it.
As the wedding date grew closer, tensions grew. I was convinced that I needed to invite my mother’s boyfriend. Wanting to smooth things over in the interest of preserving the day I had dreamed about my whole life, I agreed. Soon after the invitation was sent, she broke up with him. That was it - that was my last straw. I told her then, that if she got back together with him, I would never respect her again, and would never allow him in my home. Sure it was dramatic, but I was emotional and stressed about the wedding.
She, of course, then got back together with him about 3 months before the wedding. We didn’t speak much for the rest of the summer and I continued the prep and planning by myself.
The day finally arrived, and while the ceremony was lovely and I enjoyed every minute of it, I was an emotional wreck. I hated that not only were my parents not speaking, but I, myself was barely speaking to either of them. It was not the day of my dreams. The only good part of it was that, my fiance and now husband, was an absolute angel. He knew what I had been going through and did everything to support me and make me feel better. However, during pictures, my “fake it till you make it stance” finally gave out and I began feeling horrifically nautious. I threw up twice during the photos and then missed most of dinner, spending it in the ladies bathroom with all my bridesmaids fussing over me. One of my bridesmaids, thank god, practically slapped me and got me back out into the ballroom. After that, I was able to enjoy the rest of the evening, although it was in a sort of drunken haze despite barely being able to finish one glass of champagne all day.
That was September, 2012. Since that day, it has been a never ending cycle of heaven and hell. When my mother is not with her boyfriend she is sweet and happy, and fun to be around. But then when she gets back together with him, she is bitter towards me and mouths off like a lunatic.
One particular memory comes to mind. Thanksgiving 2015. My husband and I had just built a new house. Her boyfriend had very nicely helped us maneuver some landscape stones into place that September and so, while things were not super peachy, they were somewhat calm. We had not gotten around to purchasing a larger dining table so we were stuck with only 6 tight spaces for Thanksgiving.
My husband’s mother and two sisters were visiting us that weekend for the holiday. My mother and I had spoken at length in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving about what we would serve etc. The Tuesday before everyone arrived, she called me and in a very calm way started talking about a trip to visit my grandmother. Some how or another the date of this blessed trip came out. It was that weekend for Thanksgiving. I was in shock. “Wait, what do you mean? Thanksgiving is this weekend. We’re cooking dinner together for (my husband’s) family!”
In classic fashion, my mother blew up at me as if it was all my fault. “Well you only have 6 chairs and you refuse to buy another table so there is no room for (her boyfriend)!”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I had just built a house, money was beyond tight and I certainly didn’t have a couple thousand extra dollars to shell out to buy a new dining table not to mention another chair. (The existing table was way too tight to shove even a folding chair in - and her boyfriend is, how should we put it...rotund). We yelled a bit more and then both hung up on each other. I was so hurt, I didn’t know what to do. This was my first time cooking a whole Thanksgiving dinner by myself. I needed my mom. Not to mention the fact that I wanted my mom there to celebrate my first Thanksgiving with me in my new house.
We had only ever spent a holiday with this man in the very beginning of their relationship.....when things were...normal.
Since then, it had never been a question. He spent holidays with his kids, and she spent holidays with me.
Ever so shockingly, she called me in November to tell me she was no longer with him, and should we fly my grandmother down to my place so we could all spend Christmas together.
I would like to tell you that this story has a happy ending, but I am afraid we are still knee deep in this horrible cycle. When she is with him, she is more irate, indifferent and dumbs herself down to his level (an occurrence that absolutely makes my blood boil as a staunch feminist). All of her intelligence flies out the window, and her conversation and interests suddenly become mind numbingly dull (a detail, that no one other than myself and my husband seems to be able to identify). Maybe, it’s just because we know her so well after 7 years of this repetitive hell.
I’m not sure what to do with all of this. It is stressful and horrible. So I guess I am just putting this strange story out into the void, in hopes that some enlightened thought will come back to me to help me through this.
Here’s hoping.
