You Said You’re Leaving Me, You’re Not A Good Guy Too
Are my husband’s exit gestures to mitigate his guilt or make him look good?
The dog.
We were a family of 4, and I was a stay-at-home mom caring for a 4 and 7 year old. We had a golden retriever who died, and my husband wanted to run out and get another one right away. The time for grieving wasn’t allowed. Rather life was to be lived with a new dog!
So we got another golden, picked in a bit of haste, and he ended up being a handful. He needed a lot of activity, training and consistency, something I lacked with my attention more geared towards my children. I honestly never bonded with the dog.
The solution in part, my husband determined, was we needed a second dog! We knew 2-dog families who swore by the lifestyle, and my husband thought this would be good for all of us.
Dog #1 remained a handful, and Dog #2 was sweet and manageable.
Then the exit happens. My husband walks out one November evening, declaring his love for another, and just like that our world turns upside down and sideways.
I’m now going to be a single mom of 2 young children and caregiver to 2 golden retrievers under the age of 2, one of which requires a lot of managing, and I’m not that fond of.
This new life in unchartered waters was going to be difficult in and of itself, and I knew handling the 2 young dogs was not going to be realistic or easy. I didn’t want to be the parent who gave her kid’s pets away, and I was fond of Dog #2, so I allowed myself the idea of getting rid of Dog #1. I never truly loved him.
He was a golden! Someone would want him! He needed a family to handle him, train him, and give him the attention I could not. He would be happier. I would be happier. Happier was needed right then.
I told my husband I was going to get rid of Dog#1, and in his quest to keep the dog he offered up an alternative solution. I guess he didn’t understand that when you leave your home and family that you don’t exactly get to decide what goes on in that home anymore.
He suggested he keep Dog#1, and when he traveled (which was usually part of every week), he’d drop the dog off with me.
Look at me, I can be the man that leaves, but I’ll still take care of things! I’m a good guy!
What?! Do you a favor? Make life convenient for you, so you can keep the dog?
Um, no.
When my husband had all those months of forethought to carefully stage his exit, making his grand plan to leave me for his mistress, I would venture to say he never thought that one of the dogs would be collateral damage.
The lawn.
In the days that followed his decision to remove me from my marriage, he tried to soften the blow. Perhaps the reality of what he had really done was hitting him too.
In his attempt to ease the hardship of the mother of his kids and all that comes with home ownership, he said he’d still come over every week to mow the lawn.
Or maybe I’m giving him too much credit. Maybe it wasn’t to ease my hardship at all, but to make himself look good.
Look at me, I can be the man that leaves, but I’ll still take care of my family! I’m a good guy!
Um, no.
A little lawn mowing to ease your guilt? You can’t leave, and continue to insert yourself in my life. That’s not how leaving works.
Just leave. I’ll mow the fucking lawn.
The car.
The Jeep Laredo I was driving at the time was beginning to become unreliable, and it actually broke down in the weeks following my husband’s departure. A minor repair, but enough to weigh on his adulterous soul.
Again, to soften the blow, he says I could buy a new car for myself. Or was he once again trying to be the “leaver” and still look like the good guy?
Look at me, I can be the man that leaves, but I’ll still take care of my family! I’m a good guy!
For half a second I thought about it, but then I realized well, that means he’s gonna leave me with a car payment, and how’s that exactly going to work if I don’t know my financial status?
Um, no.
I’m not here to relieve you of the guilt that comes with your actions. Your exiting offers are nice to assuage your feelings, but your loving? (ironic isn’t it?) gestures are a stab at soothing your soul, the soul that’s surprised post-departure at how difficult this is all really going to be.
You said you’re leaving me. You’re not a good guy too. Just fucking leave.
Church.
Heated phone conversations punctuated the weeks following the fallout. I really don’t know what this particular one was about anymore, but I won’t forget what he told me after I hurled a few choice words.
Offended by the harshness of words he’d never heard from me ever before, he says, “you need to go to church.”
We were church-goers. So this made him a good guy too. And I guess he thought that sitting high in his pulpit of goodness he could perhaps save my foul-mouthed soul from the doomed hell I would surely meet by offering up this free tidbit of advice.
But the hypocrisy is laughable! The adulterer is going to tell me I need to go to church?! I’d never hung up on anybody in my entire life until then.
Did he hear himself? At all?
Um, no.