A reader asked why I speak my truth to my passive aggressive husband. Why bother?
To answer the question regarding why I speak my truth to him, it’s because I reply or respond in truth to his words or behaviors, or to explain my own boundaries or choices. My voice speaking out is heard by me. If my words fall on deaf ears, blind eyes, and a hard heart, my conscience knows that they were spoken, and I bear witness to myself that I tried. This is what feels right inside of my own heart and being, and what helps me to remain clear. It’s not because I believe he’ll understand, or that if he does understand (which I suspect he very well does), that he’ll agree. It’s my voice speaking my truth straightforwardly.
For me, it isn’t about faking love or marriage or peace on my part. I’m married until I choose not to be, and that would happen in the moment and at the time it also becomes the right choice for me. I gave my word that as long as I’m here, and until the day comes that I decide differently and walk away, I’ll continue to allow the grace of another chance, a redemptive space of grace in which he could repentantly turn. I’ve also prayed that if leaving becomes the right thing, that I’d leave while I still have love for him.
He may choose to abuse that choice, and it may be casting pearls, but it’s the right choice for me within my heart and being.
Pragmatically and objectively, my goals are set towards addressing the mess that my choices to marry and remain married (choice I allow myself kindness and mercy for) created. This required soul searching, realistic compromises, new boundaries, and some grit because it involves serious health issues, the practical impact on kids, and complicated financial enmeshment. I’m trying to reverse auto immune health issues, and heal severe adrenal burnout. My husband is aware of my basic goals, but he also knows that I’ll let it all go in a ‘poof’ if he crossed certain lines as he did in years past. That would be rough, but I’ve settled within that it’s okay if that would happen. Meanwhile, progress is slow, often painful, but happening.
If the day comes that I walk away, I also gave my word to myself that I’d have cried enough, and I won’t look back.
So until we’re done, we’re not done. I can’t not be kind or affectionate, I can’t not choose measured and weighed vulnerability, and I can’t eradicate hope, even when I think I see him eroding it into inevitable destruction; I can’t do those things without breaking my own inner sense of what’s right and true for me. Even with those choices, and my best efforts to honor my inner guidelines, my humanity frail dust self succumbs to anger, grief, worry, fear, and despair. I’m also aware that a more peaceful path could be ahead, if I stay my course and keep myself focused on getting there. With or without him.
Only time will tell the end of this story.