Was It Always Like This?

I have been asked this question a handful of times, and a few times by the same people. People that know and love me, still in disbelief of all that happened. Was it always like this?

The short answer is yes. The long answer is no.

 No, it was not always like this. Because I was not always the same version of me. He was not always the same version of him. And when you add deception to the mix, it takes the accusation of “how could you not have seen this coming?” entirely out of the equation. No, it was not always like this.

 When I met my then husband, I was barely a 20-something, naïve, and anxious human. I was also top of my class and on a fast-paced track to a competitive graduate school program. I had my life trajectory planned out and an eating disorder layered in the background. I was a beautiful compilation of functioning, masked, human. Like we all are.

 My then husband (and not my husband at this time, for clarification), was also a highly driven human when I met him. He radiated confidence and our first month of dating was a stretch from the humble of an environment I grew up in. He was worldly and well-traveled for 20-something. He was handy and could fix anything. He was also determined to be successful and had a goal of a six-figure salary before he turned 30. He was appetizing and intoxicating. Until he wasn’t.

 My first trauma bomb went off one month into dating him. He was still seeing his ex, who also attended our same, so-very-small college. An ex who also happened to have an incredibly long history with him that dated back to their childhoods. It was my first experience with deception.  It was confusing and humiliating. 

 It was also my introduction to love-bombing. My brain had been on a dopamine high since I met him.  The dates and the food, exotic by my standards, and the intimate attention were all intoxicating.  And the trauma-bomb of deception dropped my brain to a low so deep that it wanted the high.  It wanted it immediately.  So, when my then boyfriend, eventually husband, showed up on my parent’s doorstep with flowers, promises, and talks of getting help and getting right with God, my brain recognized the drug.  The high it was desperately seeking.  The beginning of the chaos cycle.

 This story continued on repeat for four years.  I grew and I matured in my career and faith, and I completed the graduate program and was full speed ahead on my life’s trajectory I had so firmly laid out.  And trauma-bombs were laced through all of it.  Women in other states.  Professional women.  Each bomb was more traumatic than the last; each effort to pull me back into the relationship more grandiose.  Lengthy, handwritten letters of shame for his behavior followed by one-on-one sessions with pastors and therapists.  Him wanting to be good, and wanting a good life with me.

 My brain was now groomed and molded for a life of living in the chaos cycle.  My life’s trajectory was now arriving at mid-twenties and the next stop was marriage. I wanted to be married.  

 I remember asking a few wives to have dinner with me shortly before my wedding.  They were the wives of my then husband’s professional partners, and I wanted to be a good wife.  I wanted to dress the part, support my husband at professional events and his ever-growing goals. We sat at the high-top table over a glass of wine and appetizers, and I can still picture their faces with my bold questions and goals for marriage. Was I tackling marriage like I did all other goals in my life? Was I the product of the now seven years of psychological experiences my brain had endured? Or was it both? 

 We were married on a beautiful summer day under a weeping willow tree, where I stood just hours before the ceremony running explanations and scenarios through my head in case he didn’t show up.  I chose him that day.  I chose him every day for seven years following. Because if you were to ask the version of me under the weeping willow tree, “why do you choose this man?” I would have said, “Because I believe in him.  I see the real him. And there is so much more to him than any of us know, and I am going to figure it out.”

Was it always like this? 

The short answer is yes. 

The long answer is no. Because I was not always this version of me. He was not always the same version of him. Over the next seven years of marriage, my goals for my life trajectory moved from becoming a mom and building a home for my family, to losing sight of who I was entirely. And his behavior grew darker and more deceptive than I could have ever imagined.