Forgiveness Is Overrated

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There’s this notion that life is about forgiveness, but the more I live and look at certain people and analyze certain events in my life, the more I realize that life is about accepting the truth and finding a way to live with it.

 

Take my stepfather.

 

He was in Special Forces.

A well-decorated war vet.

A Mason.

A Shriner.

But deep down, he’s a coward.

 

His true self is:

Abusive.

Mean.

Narcissistic.

He’s a bully.

 

What man hits a little girl, or sends his teenager to jail for an unpaid traffic ticket, or tells her that it’s not his fault she’s all fucked up and no one will marry her?

 

Clearly. I have my demons, but I know deep down in my core. I am not a bad person. I did not deserve his treatment and neither did my mother.

 

But.

 

My mother chose him.

I did not.

My mother stayed him.

I don’t have to.

My mother let him bully her.

I can stand up for myself.

 

The only person I have to forgive in this equation is my mother, for trying to make things work with a sociopath, for not knowing her worth. I’m barely uncovering mine, and in this process, I realize I DON’T have to forgive him, but hold him accountable for the things he’s done. I DON’T EVER have to subject myself to his abuse again, and I have to trust that the TRUTH will prevail; no matter how difficult that is to prove.

 

My soul hurt at not being at not being loved by him.

At not being understood.

At being forced to sit in the sidelines and wonder:

  • What’s wrong with me?
  • What’s made me unlovable?
  • Why I’ve accepted less than I deserve?

But, now I know none of this is my fault.

I am better than that. Better than him.

He does not deserve my love, my forgiveness, or my goodness.

 

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Mistress NO More!

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I’ve always known better. Heck , I was raised Catholic, not that that means much these days, but I did it— I had an affair with a married man. He is 12 years older than me and his wife is 7 years older than him, which technically means his wife could be my mother. I’ve seen pictures of her, she’s definitely older, but that’s neither here nor there, this is an affair.

How it started. Seven months after my mom passed, I was reunited with HIM in a production staff meeting. I was brought on to a show to help write a TV pilot. HE happened to be producing that pilot. I had worked with him previously on other films and we had the same boss for eight years, until I left the production company to pursue my own writing career. He hit on me then, and I refused him because he was MARRIED, which didn’t matter much to him anyway because he found another side-dish to play with, but we became friends and I became privy to all the women he dated on set.

Even then he said his marriage was over, that he and his wife stayed together for their son. His wife is an airline stewardess and they made the agreement for her to fly during the weekdays, if he would be home on the weekends with their son. A perfect space for infidelity.  He would spend 4-5 nights a week with me.

After we caught up, he confessed that he’s always been in love with me and felt this reunion to be serendipitous, “meant to be”, whatever—and so it began. He said that he was separated, intent on getting a divorce, once his son left to college.  But recently, I found out that this was not that case, that the divorce wasn’t even on the table, that I was in fact his mistress.

His weekday concubine.

He claimed that once his son left to college this year, and got the divorce finalized things would change. That he would be with me on weekends. That we would have a life together.  All the cliches.  We have not had one weekend in 10 months. It’s been three weeks since his kid left to Berkeley, and I’ve learned that he is currently a financial disaster and has had to borrow money from family and friends just to pay bills, a difficult task since he was accustomed to make over 500k a year.  Now, his wife pays the mortgage and he pays simple bills.  He says, now, without money he cannot get a divorce.  How convenient.

All this came as a surprise, because we would go out on elaborate dinners on one of his credit cards. Card he could be using to pay his house. He busts his ass working in a job that pays a fraction of his income to pay towards the house he and his wife built and apparently plans on keeping, AND  in my experience, if you really want out of a relationship, you get out. If they were really separated and getting a divorce, wouldn’t they logically sell the house, split the profits and move on?

Pain and humiliation finally set in, when I found out I had been duped.

Oh, he was skillful with his life.  He had me convinced he was separated, made it even seem like they had an open relationship and were merely waiting to get the son off to college.  That they slept in different rooms.  Didn’t have sex. How could he  if he spent 4-5 nights a week with me? How could a divorce not be in the making?

Deep down, I knew something was off, but I ignored my instincts.

Why?  Because I didn’t want to be alone.  And he also having lost his father years ago, could relate to my grief.  He knew how much I loved my mother.  He would hold me. Tell me he loves me. Endure my depressive states. Kiss me.  Hold my hand.  Let me cry. He made no judgements.  He also presented a good case for staying in the facade of the marriage he didn’t want to be in– for not divorcing immediately —for his son.  Given that my father figure has been anything but amazing to me, this got me, this lured me in.  I believed him.

But boy did it hurt when I found pictures of him with the wedding ring he claimed not to wear. When I found Thanksgiving pictures of him and his wife, her with a ring he claimed she didn’t wear. I confronted him and he said, “It’s for the kid.” — I still believed him.

Yeah. I know. Stupid. Naive.  Me.

I told myself it must be true, I mean, what kind of husband can get away from being home four to five nights a week? What husband can get away with spending tons of money on dinner on his mistress?

He claims he doesn’t have sex with his wife.  That he sleeps in a separate room, that that’s how it’s been for years. That her sex drive has diminished and he has no desire for her anyway—yeah, I don’t believe it either, I’m sure they have some sex. I asked him if he still loved her, even just a tiny bit. I begged him that if he did, to go back to her and leave me alone. To work it out, not for his son, but for him and his wife, after all they have built a life together, but he said there is no way it would ever work out, that he’s been emotionally and physically out of his marriage for over ten years and there’s no going back and divorce is imminent, but from what I see, not right now.

I realize none of this matters. I realize I was wrong. I sinned, even if he was “in the process” of divorce, he was not divorced.

I was weak.

I couldn’t bear being alone.

Grief without a partner is bad. Sometimes all you want is a body next to you to reassure you that you will be okay. Someone to hold you and love you, even if it means losing your self-respect and ignoring your morals and values. I didn’t want to go in as a mistress, in fact, every Monday, like clockwork I would tell him I didn’t think what we were doing was right,  that we should be together when the divorce is finalized, that it was not only affecting me, but his wife and his son.  That is was wrong.  But he convinced me otherwise.

I didn’t want to go through this ending, but that’s what happens when you look for signs from the afterlife.

I swore my mother would bring my husband to be. I prayed the sign would be a number, possibly something related to her birthdate. My mom was very keen on numbers and numerology. When I found out his son’s birthday was the same birthday as my mom’s, I was sure this was the sign. Especially when he confessed that he’s been in love with me since the moment he met me ten years ago. Yeah, I bought it.  I bought it all.

But my mother wouldn’t want this for me.

So, today, I took matters into my own hands, via text,  who needs a face-to-face these days with all our social media.

Maybe some of the fog of grief is lifting and I’m beginning to think again.

I basically texted him a message saying that I need to move on, that he has clearly chosen the life he wants to be in, and I can’t be half in anymore. That we can be friends someday, but not until I’m in love with someone else and I have my life back on track. I’m not really sure if we can be friends, but I didn’t want to make it ugly. This is already ugly enough. He was supposed to be with me on Sunday, per the plan,he didn’t even cancel and that was it for me, reality hit me like a ton of rocks— he’s really not getting a divorce.

He lied.

So, today I realized I can’t be his beck and call girl anymore. That maybe it’s time am alone.  Really, alone. I can’t be a mistress or a weekday concubine. I deserve better, so does his wife and kid. Please pray that I continue to be strong in my resolve.