In my previous post, I said that we never get over the trauma and the wounds of having been married to a homosexual. And that’s true. The memories and the effects well up sometimes like a recurring case of athlete’s foot or genital herpes… and are about as pleasant.
The good news, however – and I say this with full sincerity – is that we can, and usually do! rise above it.
I say “usually” because the good times do far outweigh the bad. I’ve been known to say that I wouldn’t wish what I went through on my worst enemy… but that I also wouldn’t take a million bucks for the experience. That’s because I learned a tremendous amount about myself during those years, and during the divorce, and during the recovery time.
I learned I am intelligent (he’d told me I was stupid). I learned I am attractive (he’d treated me with indifference). I began to come out of the cloud of pain and misery that had threatened, it felt, to drown me all those eleven years.
I found photos, taken at about the midway point of our marriage – I looked shabby, had a bad haircut, wore no makeup; misery and depression were etched in my face. I looked far, far older than my mid-twenties, which is what I was when those photos were taken. Just a couple weeks before I’d found the depressing photos, I’d gotten the proofs for a sitting I’d done for my work promotion – I laid them on the table, side by side. The woman in those photos was laughing, sparkly-eyed…
That’s when I knew I was going to be okay – more than okay.
He told me I was stupid. “Success is the best revenge,” I told myself, and I became successful at the work he’d resented so vigorously.
He treated me as a non-entity, a personified abstract – not a person with a soul and a mind of my own, but a warm body to fulfill a title: wife. I decided, after I’d been successful, that “Happiness is the best revenge” must become the new motto.
It’s serving me well – because, by the Grace of God, I am a very happy woman.