“What will you do when your kids get tired of me?”
“What makes you think they’ll get tired of you?”
“They just will…”
“I don’t think that will happen.”
“But you would leave me wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know…I just don’t think they’ll get tired of you.”
Since our last argument, an argument that lasted 4hrs and ended with me escaping to my car as my chest heaved with sobs, I’ve spent less time around Jonathan’s kids. His final remarks as I got in the car that night a few weeks ago were that he was trying to protect his children (from me), I should not acknowledge his children when they mention marriage, and I have no right to be upset.
I love his children, but I don’t want them in the middle of Jonathan’s commitment issues. One minute Jonathan wants me to sell my house in the city, buy a house in the country for the four of us, and get married. The next, he wants to save his children from me. I never know what to think.
All of this wishy-washy behavior while waiting for him to make up his mind on whether I am “worth” marrying has left me with a severe distaste of the patriarchy. There was a time when I would been a good and submissive wife. If Jonathan had found me earlier, he would have been pleased.
My submissive and marriageable days were long before my divorce. A divorce that left me all but starving with a negative bank account balance in a freezing cold house during a snow storm. As I duct taped plastic sheeting across the entrances to trap heat in the room with a fire place, I realized that there will never be anyone to protect me, to love me, or to keep me safe. All of that was my responsibility.
Why should Jonathan be any different? He has already shown that he isn’t.