Turning Into Jekyll & Hyde
Posted in our forum; used with permission...
My husband had a midlife crisis. Honestly, it was like I went to sleep one night next to my loving, caring husband, and woke up beside a cheating, lying, narcissistic stranger.
It started about six months after he turned 49. He’s now 53, and I don’t think he’s fully come out the other side of it yet. At first, it was him fantasizing about other women. Then it escalated into an emotional affair with a colleague—so much so that he said he needed time to decide whether he wanted his wife or his “friend” in his life.
And when we were supposedly working on repairing our marriage, he said all the right things: “I know where I went wrong. I’ll never again do anything to risk losing you and the kids. I know where I want to be. Please give me another chance.”
Then he went and had a sexual affair with a different colleague.
From day one, I got all the clichés mid-lifers seem to use: “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.” “All we do is argue.” “I only love you because you’re the mother of my children.” “We’ve grown apart.”
Suddenly, everything wrong in his life was my fault. It was my fault he wasn’t happy, my fault his life hadn’t turned out better, my fault he had an affair. He even blamed me for things that happened before I’d even met him.
And then came the cruel, cutting words. He called me fat, ugly, lazy, useless, and unlovable. He told me he wished he’d never married me. I went from being a strong, confident, happily married woman to a shadow of myself. I believed him. I doubted myself. I blamed myself. I lost myself while fighting for my family, for my marriage, for the man I once knew, for the life I thought we had. Fighting, fighting, fighting… all on my own.
It wasn’t just the words; it was his tone, his coldness toward the kids and me. I tried so hard to shield them from his verbal and emotional abuse. I thought, better me than them. But I couldn’t be everywhere at once. I couldn’t stop him from saying cruel things to them, too. He once told our youngest he wished she had never been born. What kind of father does that?
It was like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One hour, he was one person, the next hour another. We all walked on eggshells.
Then came his “plan” with the last “other woman.” He was going to leave me—his wife of 23 years—and our six children to go live with her. But she wouldn’t leave her husband. So the new plan was that he’d move into his own apartment and she’d visit. When that fell through, the plan became: “We’ll stay friends, and if in two or three years the kids are older and we still feel this way, then we’ll both leave our spouses.”
And he told me all of it! Every disgusting detail. He talked like a giddy teenager with his first girlfriend—except I was his wife, sitting there while he poured it all out. To him, she was perfect. She was his soulmate, his true love, the only person who “understood him.”
Later, I found out from her husband that my husband was just one of many affairs she had. He’d suspected it for years, but never had proof until I gave it to him. When he confronted her, she spun a story about being the “victim” of men forcing themselves on her.
She even conned me for a short while, begging me not to tell her husband because he was a violent drunk. Turns out he’s never touched her, and he doesn’t even drink. It was just another manipulative story she used, the same kind she fed my husband.
As if the damage from my husband’s midlife crisis wasn’t enough, I had to deal with the devastation of his affairs, too. The kids and I are still in therapy. Meanwhile, he sticks his head in the sand, pretends nothing happened, and insists everything’s fine. If I remind him of the things he said, he denies it: “I was messed up back then.”
Our marriage now is loveless. He puts no effort into repairing it, insisting, “Things will change with time.” Meanwhile, the OW still harasses me with blocked numbers, prank calls, and vile texts. Things like: “Are you sure it’s over between us?” or “Tell your husband thanks for the other day—it was amazing.” Even years after D-day, she continues.
People ask, “Why didn’t you just leave?” If only it were that simple.
I have been declared disabled, unable to work. I had no money, no way to move out. Physically, emotionally, financially—I was trapped.
But I’m not that woman anymore. I’m becoming stronger. I’m finding solutions, step by step. It’s a bumpy road, but I’m not afraid.
I’ve realized I would rather be alone and lonely than married and lonely. I need to show my kids, and myself, that love may not always be easy, but it should never be this hard, this painful. You have to draw a line. You cannot lose yourself trying to hold onto someone who doesn’t feel the same.
I’ve told my husband I’m working on becoming strong enough to make better decisions for the future—for me and the kids. That may mean moving out. His response? “Why would you want to break up a family? We have a good marriage.”
He’s so deep in denial that he can’t see the forest for the trees.
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