What Goes Around...

Time seemed to slow as I stood there, watching his mouth move, tears streaming down his face.  In that moment, I was only able to digest a small portion of what he was saying, but I knew that he was talking about her and apologizing to me.  It was déjà vu, only it wasn't the week of my wedding anniversary in 2012, and we weren't standing in our living room with my hand on my growing baby belly as my husband admitted he had cheated on me.  It was 2015, the week of his second wedding anniversary, and I held our toddler on my hip in a parking lot, my mouth agape as my ex-husband told me that his wife was having an affair and he was getting a divorce.  I think I heard him say, "Karma's a real bitch."

The first two years after I was cheated on were the worst for me, so I've tried to recall what kind of punishments I hoped my ex and his new wife would suffer.  They weren't as dark as death or illness (they do have twin girls, after all), but I'm pretty sure they involved them being poor and overweight, constantly bickering and miserable, while I was having some fabulous adventures with my son and new love.  Oh, and I had really great shoes and clothes. Regardless, over time, my punishment fantasies dwindled, largely in part thanks to my family, friends, therapist, and TIME. Over the past year, I've pretty much stopped thinking about retribution entirely, as love, life, and motherhood clog my neural pathways. Thoughts of my ex and his wife fire here and there, but overall, my brain and I have pretty much moved on. 

Sorry, back to me in the parking lot.  I bring up my revenge thoughts only because of my reaction to this bombshell.  You would think I would smirk, stifle a chuckle, do an imaginary or actual jig, or say something tisk tisk trite like, "What goes around comes around," or "When you lay down with dogs, you wake up with fleas." But, I didn't.  My mind went blank and I heard myself saying, "I know it's hard, but you'll get through it, and you will find happiness again." Then, I got in my car, drove away, and cried...real real hard, and I couldn't even bitch slap myself out of it.  The whole thing was just so sad, and my tears flowed heavily and freely.  I cried for my eight-year relationship that ended overnight.  I cried for myself and everything I had to endure.  I cried for my son because he will never know his family intact or live with his mother AND father.  All of this sadness because of a decision to enter a relationship that didn't even last past a second anniversary. How pathetic.

I stopped crying after about thirty minutes, and it took me a good four days to stop feeling the agita associated with once again finding out shocking news pertaining to my ex-husband.  After all, my life is good...this isn't my divorce, my mess, my custody arguments, my legal bills, my court dates, etc. I've already done that, and I don't have the will or the time to take on anyone else's marital troubles, especially his.  And in all fairness, he's not asking me to. 

Since the news broke, my ex-husband and I feel more like real friends (or as real and natural friends as we can ever be,) and that's amazing for our son.  I've gotten what I always wanted--an apology, an admission that he lost himself and made a mistake, acknowledgement that our marriage wasn't bad--the things I knew but needed to hear to really put what happened to rest.  I've been cautioned by many to not be a "doormat" in this situation, and although I appreciate the advice, it's unnecessary. I have absolutely no desire to return to or glamorize my former married life, nor am I offering my ex-husband a shoulder to cry on or any leeway in his personal and financial obligations to our son. Oh, hell no. I'm simply being nice, which feels like the right thing to do, as his life is messy enough without me sending snarky comments and bad juju his way.

If that is being a doormat, then I'm a damn sharp-looking one that lasts through all seasons and weather, welcoming you across the threshold into a new place. I'll see you all very soon.