Calling Time

AS this is my very first post on my very first blog, you will excuse the presentation (I have no idea what I’m doing!).

This is an idea I have been toying with recently, after searching for other people’s stories and experiences on this subject and finding none (again, I have no idea what I’m doing!). Therefore, I have decided to write own and one day someone else may come across it and find it helpful.

And so I begin.

I am married to a man who has a drink problem.

I’ll refer to him as J.

I would like to say he is an alcoholic but I’m not sure-the lines are blurry.  When does someone who drinks too much become classed as an alcoholic? How much does someone have to drink each day to be classed as an alcoholic?  How often does someone have to drink to excess to be classed as an alcoholic?

It’s early evening. He is out cold on the sofa, still dressed in his interview suit. He walked in less than an hour ago smelling of booze but firmly denied having had anything to drink.

Our kids just carry on with their business around him, one watching TV and one on social media. This is nothing new to them, it’s just how things are in our family.

At this point it is essential to add that he is not a violent man, he loves them dearly and would never intentionally harm them. Unintentionally-well that’s another story for another time.

We are all tired, we were woken past midnight when my husband’s friend called to me from hour hallway having carried him home from the pub.  As I went downstairs   I could see blood trickling down J’s cheek from below his ear. He was clinging to the end of the bannister, swaying and trying to stay upright.

Not unusual for a boys night out you might say-but his friend was almost in tears and clearly shocked at the state of J, swearing they’d only had three pints.

I love his friend to bits but I was glad he had finally seen the reality of J’s problem and I could see he was horrified.  I know the tricks, the hidden drinking, the masked breath, the acting sober. I’m hoping the friend will now understand why I’m divorcing J.

This blog is about moving forward, putting an end to this life of not being able to  control what comes through the door and what trouble may follow it.

I’m Calling Time.

 

The secret of my success.

Just a short post because I haven’t updated in a while.

So, after a looooooong time of single contentment in which I wasn’t really bothered about finding a special someone,

BOOM!

I found a special someone.

Ladies, don’t endlessly search dating sites and come away feeling used, disappointed or worthless.

My best advice is to sit back and let it find you.

And when you least expect it, there it is.

It worked for me.

He’s amazing.

I smile constantly.

I’m happy.

❤️

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The one where I had an epiphany at the end of my post.

I’m my head I’m leaping out of bed, throwing the curtains wide and smiling at the winter sunshine which promises to melt away the snow.

In reality I’m sat in bed writing this with two slices of warm, butter soaked, seeded toast. However, both the imagined and the reality give me a happy glow so it’s a fair trade.

It’s been a coooold week. Here in the North we’ve had snow but nothing like years past. An annoying centimetre- too much to avoid the misery of scraping your windscreen and not enough to close schools and workplaces.

It has been though, very frosty; a frost which came and stayed bringing with it a ghostly fog which haunted us, hanging just a little away from the windows and taunting us with the promise of  swallowing us whole when we ventured outside.

The landscape was turned a magical white; every twig, every leaf, every blade of grass wore an icy coat. I half expected to see Mr  Tumnus leaping across my garden as I looked out every morning.

However, the forecast is showing the temperatures rising fast in the next few days and I need to be Spring ready.

I started yesterday with a good clean of one of my rooms.  I have an accumulation of stuff on shelves which I was desperate to clear- a) so I could clean the shelves and b) because the clutter was irritating me.

I thought it would be easy but it wasn’t. There were albums of little grandchildren, books and a few other artefacts belonging to my mother.  How do you part with things which are sentimentally valuable?

If she were here she would say “chuck out” but I still have difficulty disposing of her things after almost 8 years since she passed.

Nevertheless, I held each thing to say goodbye before sending it off to be rehomed.  I stripped the albums and divided the photos between myself and my sisters, enjoying each little face and feeling so much love.

Amongst those I found the very first photo taken of my first born who will be 21 next week.  I’m going to frame it, it shouldn’t be locked away in an album on a dusty shelf.

As I write this I am moved.

Whilst organising my thoughts to put this post together I realise she has guided me.

Through “chucking out” I have found what is truly valuable.

Thank you Mum ❤️

Nah, I’m good thanks.

As my no spend January comes close to ending I had a splurge today, buying jeans for my kids and a lovely mod style jumper in the sales for £7 for myself.  Not to mention the £40 on a meal out for us all.  As it’s my daughters 21st birthday in a couple of weeks I think February will be a frugal month too after giving her something special.  I don’t mind, I like the challenge of living simply.

I’m sensible with money but my friend always says “There’s no pockets in shrouds” so I try to treat my little family when I can.

My eldest is back from Uni a few days and I’m feeling happy and contented.  I look at my two and on the exterior they look it but I hope that under the surface they are happy and contented too.

I was reading an article on The Pool Facebook page about children who have alcoholic parents, it was sad reading.   It told the story of a girl whose mother was alcoholic and how she was so neglected and unloved.

In the article, this phrase stuck out “Disfunction becomes normality”

Despite us all living together as a family unit, my girls’ dad was absent for much of their lives-partly because of work shifts but mostly because he was too busy doing his own thing.  They didn’t notice because they didn’t know any different.  Disfunction became normality.

My girls were neither neglected nor unloved because I was the driving force.  I picked up the slack and I hope that this has made the difference.

He came over to visit the girls yesterday evening. I went to bed to before he arrived.

During the course of his visit, he came upstairs to use the toilet and my daughter had to bar his way to stop him coming into my room.

He was here till late; my youngest came up to bed eventually and my eldest had to kindly but firmly get him up and send him home when he looked set for sleeping on the sofa. Although he denied it, she was sure he was drunk.

When I woke this morning there was a text message from him.

“I need you in my life after so long together.”

Really?

I needed you when I was raising my babies.

I needed you when I was running a household on my own.

I needed you when I was managing an alcoholic husband.

It was good training.

I don’t need you now.

I called Time.

Just when you thought it was safe to get back in the water…….

I’d decided that in future I was going to write more about my own life moving forward than just have an ongoing bitchfest about my ex husband.

Well, here I go again dear reader. Mainly because this one left me gobsmacked.

I swim once a week with my sister and a couple of friends at a local leisure centre.  I’ve been doing this for a good 18 months and really enjoy it.  Plus it means I can over indulge a little on the sweet stuff.

Its an adults only session and we’ve got to know some of the other regulars.  It’s a lovely, friendly bunch of people of all ages and cultures and a nice atmosphere.

Imagine my surprise/shock/horror as my sister and I swam down the length of the pool and spotted my ex husband splashing around in the shallow end.

I say splashing around with all seriousness because he was trying to swim but failing.  He bumped into a couple of people and managed half a length before giving up and placing himself at the end of the lane where I was swimming.  There he stayed for the duration of the session just holding onto the side and kicking his legs.

He looked dreadful and as my sister swum by she got the definite whiff of alcohol from him.

I switched lanes and carried on, ignoring him and chatting and laughing with my friends but all the time he was watching me with a smirk on his face.

Yes, this is an open swim session for any adult to attend and he is quite within his rights to be there, however, his only reason for being there was to get to me.  He has threatened to turn up a couple of times but I never thought he actually would.

My friend, who could barely contain her anger, said we should have confronted him and made a scene but I refuse to do that.

On his own he is the weirdo at the edge of the pool.  If we acknowledge him he becomes our weirdo.

He could have spent time with our daughter that evening but he chose not to.

He chose to stalk me instead.

Says a lot.

I haven’t regretted calling Time.

What a catch!

It’s Friday night and I’m curled up in my armchair in a pair of fluffy pyjamas with my hair scraped up into a messy bun and my pound shop reading glasses perched on the end of my nose. My face is free of make up and slightly shiny from heavy duty moisturiser.

I’m nursing a gin and a packet of cheese and onion crisps and Corrie is on the TV.

I look most unattractive.

Do I care?

Do I hell.

Happy Friday!

Chin chin

 

There’s method in my madness.

In my last post I referred to my constant whinings about my ex-husband.

I realise I must sound so negative in my blog posts when I go on and on about him.

I am a naturally anxious person but I’m not a negative person, I try to find a silver lining when there is a storm cloud overhead.

I have a few reasons for writing this blog.

After reading other people’s blogs, I thought I’d try my hand. Whilst not very competent with all things ICT, I’ve always had a love of words and the power they hold when organised in different ways.  I absolutely agree with the old adage “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

As a way of documenting the behaviours of my alcoholic ex-husband so that in the future I am reminded of what he did and how it made me feel.  I’ll always know I made the right choice.

To see the change and growth in myself over time.

Most importantly, to share my experiences for some other wretched wife in the depths of despare.  Read, relate, rise.

I copied this quote from FB, ironically posted by an acquaintance who is himself a recovering alcoholic.

It spoke to us both but for reasons at completely opposite ends of the spectrum.

I’m not using my blog as a platform to needlessly bitch about my ex.

There’s method in my madness.

 

 

Let’s be having you…

And so we begin another year. Welcome to 2019.

A friend recently posted on Facebook that for most of us this is the last year in our lifetimes which will end in teen.

A cheery thought indeed-not.

As the new year came in I reflected on 2018.

Anyone reading my blog would think I’d had a rubbish year, given my constant whinings about my ex husband, however, looking at the fuller picture and positives in my life it was actually pretty good.

I’m excited to see what 2019 brings.

It hasn’t exactly come in with a roar, more like a muffled growl, as I’ve splurged on my family over Christmas and I’m having a no spend January to try claw back some month into the money I have left.

It’s no hardship, I like cosy sofa time with my girls; I’m not missing battling through the crowds to buy things in the sales that I don’t really want or need or staggering around in sandles with blue toes and goose pimpled legs on a night out in near freezing temperatures.

These are the hibernation months where I recharge ready for the awakening in my favourite season-Spring.

On my to do list this year are books, films, art, craft, family, friends….and fun.

So much fun!

New memories and lots to laugh about.

Come on then 2019.

Bring it on.

 

Don’t mention the “D” word.

When I was a child in the 70s divorce was taboo, the word silently mouthed between gossips and never in front of children. Even more so in my Catholic household.  There were shockwaves around the wider family when my unmarried sister announced that she was pregnant-and this was in the 90s!

Fast forward to the 21st Century and there is not so much of a stigma in society about divorce (OK, maybe some in religious circles). But mostly you can be divorced and still be respectable.

I was flicking through a FaceBook page called The Pool this morning when just after  a review about a rejuvenating mask for your vulva (yes, really) I came across an article about how much happier women are after divorce than men.

I agreed with many of the points in the article but it was the comments posted in reply by women which had me chuckling over my morning coffee.

Each woman was loving post divorce life, however hard and one woman even posted joyfully that she was eagerly saving up for one, like it was a designer handbag.

How resilient we are that we can find humour in tragedy.

Don’t look back in anger….

…I heard you say.

Im feeling quite happy and contented, though with some trepidation as in the great balance of life things will inevitably swing the other way into darkness for a time before returning to the light.

My children are healthy and happy, I’m liking my work and I’m enjoying a healthy balance of home and social life.

I look back on my journey over the past few years and already the early footprints are starting to lose definition, as though I didn’t really travel them at all.

Im loving my life right now.

I was reading an article about how when an addict goes public and turns their life around, every one congratulates them and slaps them on the back offering good wishes.  However, for the poor down trodden partner, who has suffered years of misery, there is no such sentiment.

Do they get slapped on the back and congratulated for putting up with all that shit and keeping a public front whilst managing to juggle their partners, kids, a job and a household singlehandedly?

No.

Do naysayers apologise for playing down the cries of a desperate wife as nagging and fun blocking?

No.

Do the lies and tales they tell about us to cover their tracks fade once the truth comes out?

No

But we just pick ourselves up and carry on.

Im looking forward to making footsteps in the unspoilt track ahead of me, some will be good, some will be bad but they will be wherever I choose to plant my feet.

After over 5 weeks my ex husband finally asked to spend some time with our daughter.  He was so absent in our lives before that I don’t think she even noticed so much time had gone by without seeing him.

We are still playing the midnight maintenance payments game, this morning a 02.20 message asking if I was awake to receive some money towards the care of our daughters.

He can tell his crowd that he offers regular maintenance payments but I won’t take them.

That’s how he operates.

Smoke and mirrors.

Him with a clear conscience, me discredited.

He also messaged this week to say he has two other pensions, which I should have benefited from but didn’t go through divorce agreement.

I say messaged, I mean crowed.

So smug was his delivery of this news that I was initially quite angry.

After much careful thought and calming down, I’m not going to peruse it. I can’t face the hassle or the financial costs of chasing it.

I’m happy with where I am and it’s not worth opening up an old and unhappy chapter of my life.

I told him he was welcome to them.

I feel smug about that and proud of myself.

Here’s me slapping myself on the back and offering myself congratulations.

I’m glad I called Time.

All good things…

Like all good things, the school holidays are coming to an end.

Most parents, skint and exhausted,  are jumping up and down with glee, ready to return their little darlings to routines and early bedtimes.

But I too am back to school next week and am already mourning the loss of long lie ins and endless days in the glorious sunshine that we in the UK have enjoyed this summer.

However , I am feeling quite contented (and hoping I’m not jinxing myself by saying so).

I’ve arranged a few things to look forward to in Autumn to make the dark nights less depressing and I’ll suppliment these with evenings talking and laughing with my friends. Always the best nights.

I did eventually get some child support from my ex-husband. After his repeated-and failed-attempts at control, he finally put it through the door like he should have done in the first place.

My stand off appears to have been successful, for now.

He hasn’t asked to see our daughter in over 3 weeks.

His loss.

She and I have had a lovely summer together, first away on holiday then at home doing the usual cinema trips, days out, curled up on the sofa watching TV, cycling together round the local park, etc.  (Admittedly, the last one is a lot about me losing the weight I’ve gained during these holidays!)

I hope she remembers this when she is grown up. I hope she remembers the things we did together and knows that I did my best for her. For both my girls.

Despite the problems by ex-husband caused and the misery he put us through, I always feel that I am the one who broke up the family.

I’m the one who pushed for him to leave the family home.

I’m the one who turned us into a one parent family.

I’m the one who filed for divorce.

I’m the one who sent him off to cope alone.

I’m the one with the guilt.

Even so.

I’m glad I called Time.