Sometimes I feel invisible. Like actually invisible. I will be in a meeting, or having a conversation with my family, or be in a crowd of people and I have the thought- can people actually see or hear me? This is usually a result of a deep insecurity I feel related to someone interrupting me or not acknowledging something I say as they move the conversation on as if I never had a contribution at all.
Sometimes I visualize Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak covering me, quite literally, and I have no way of taking it off. I have to take a deep breath and realize it’s probably just me and I’m projecting, but I can’t help but feel this way sometimes.
My whole life I’ve been told to be quiet or that I was talking too much or that I am interrupting, so I go into a lot of conversations with this awareness and therefore over share. Sometimes I feel like the whole group is chatting and I’m just trying to get a word in so I end up repeating myself because no one acknowledges or responds and then when I do repeat myself, it’s too much. They inform me that they heard me the first time. Or like my mom often says- I’m being too intense.
This happened a lot in my marriage. I never felt seen. I would say things to Tom* that I was excited about and he would be glued to his phone, unable to look up for a second to acknowledge me. I noticed this a lot when we were watching TV. I would say, “look look look!” to something on the screen and he wouldn’t look up until it was well passed. I was left feeling alone and as if my interests don’t matter.
I know that seems really minor, but when it happens daily, small things become big things and pretty soon we are like two lonely people existing under one roof. I used to ask Tom if he resented me. And not just recently, like early in our relationship. That should have been a red flag. He would say things to me that were generalized that I always do something or before I even have the opportunity to do something he’s already decided the outcome and it’s not good.
I got used to being alone, not having an opinion, not speaking up or asking for what I wanted. I would still try to tell him things I was excited about, but they often were met unenthusiastically and with a lack of interest. There was this expectation that I was to be excited about his interests and his friends, but when I would ask him to come with me somewhere or suggest a movie, it was- I think that would be fun for me to do with my friends- meaning not him. He wrapped it in showing support for me spending time with my friends, but what came out was that it wasn’t for him and I should do it with someone else.
My friends would often ask where my husband was at- their partners always seemed to join if they had the night free. Eventually they stopped asking. My family started to notice it too. Bryan was always complaining that we had too many family get-togethers. There was always a birthday or a holiday or some reason we were getting together to celebrate. Tom would often join, but towards the end, he just stayed home because it was too much. He usually would make an excuse, like he had to work the next day or he was tired, so I was left explaining and defending why my husband wasn’t at our family event.
It became my normal. When I eventually decided to leave and I started to hesitantly tell some of my friends, no one was surprised. Like no one. Many of them said they felt like Tom didn’t like them, or never wanted to participate, others said they thought we were an odd couple but they loved me so they accepted him too. My mom later mentioned that even at our wedding she thought it was odd that we didn’t even hang out. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but that was in fact true. We spent the entire night alone with our friends- me on the dance floor, Tom with his friends, smoking cigars by the fire.
I remember one moment Pony by Ginuwine came on and I wanted to give Tom a lap dance, because duh, it’s Pony! I called his name, looked for him everywhere, but eventually grabbed one of my besties and performed quite a show for her and the other onlookers. That scene really captured what I felt for the entirety of our marriage and two years prior to that. Just existing, constantly trying to find him, pleading with him to join me.
We used to get into fights about social issues. I became so much more convicted in my beliefs and activism as our relationship progressed because, just as my marriage was deteriorating, so was the country. I started speaking out more about women’s rights and marching and fighting for things I’d always believed in, but now they seemed more critical than ever to be on the firing lines of the conversation.
One of my favorite memories was going to Pride in July and having the most magical time dancing and laughing and filling my cup with love. Tom used to cover the TV with his hands if two men kissed on screen. I know he wasn’t outwardly homophobic, but he certainly didn’t want to see it either.
I was able to get through to him a little bit on the side of pro-choice. He knew, I too had had an abortion and was hesitant to express his support of the issue, but claims I helped him see the other side.
We used to get into fights about social and political issues though. It became a topic that was not discussed because it always ended in him calling me judgmental and me resentful. I was never trying to be judgmental, but when you’re only talking points are Fox News narratives, I have a hard time taking anyone seriously. He didn’t watch Fox News, but all of his closest friends were Trump supporters, Hillary haters and Second Amendment activists. His Facebook feed was flooded with right-wing rhetoric that couldn’t be reasoned with. He claimed he was in the middle and tried to read and educate himself about the issues, but when you can’t stop talking about Benghazi and Her Emails and the fact that Trump handled the Pandemic better than anyone else, I think I’ve heard enough.
When I decided to leave him I finally spoke my mind about what I thought. I had been silenced for so long, most of which was my doing. I stopped wanting to argue, to make him hear and see me. But now that I was done, I had nothing to hold me back. I left it all on the table and gave him all of my thoughts. I don’t think we had used the word Divorce yet, but it was looming and he knew it.
Shortly after, he bought me a Peloton and two weeks after the Women’s March, he asked if there was a March we could go to together. I know he was trying, and I love him for that, but I had been asking for years for what I needed, only to fall on deaf ears. I did invite him to Pride, but he declined.
I know I said I had been silent for so long, but let me clarify. I was never silent about how I felt in my marriage. I would regularly have conversations with Tom about how lonely I was and how I'd never felt seen. I would be vulnerable and tell him my thoughts about how sad I was and how I felt like I was dying. It was as if I was speaking gibberish. He would hone in on one negative thing I said and fixate on that and then tell me what a terrible husband he was and how he was a failure. I would try to comfort him in knowing that was in fact not how I felt, apologize, and wrap the conversation up with more kind words to him and apologies. This went on for years. I would leave the room confused, frustrated, angry and tired. The only way I knew how to process what had just happened to me was to write. Writing was the only way I could make sense of it. Get all my feelings and thoughts down, without being interrupted and judged, or made to feel like I was attacking him for having feelings. I have hundreds of notes on my phone about this very subject.
Writing always made me feel better. It was as if writing it all down allowed the sadness and anger towards him to leave my body onto the page. I would feel better temporarily until it happened again. It also served a way to document my experiences because, oftentimes, in these types of relationships, gaslighting and manipulation are hard to recall. That's, I think the very reason why it's so toxic and confusing. Being unable to recall specific instances as proof this was a pattern, or allow myself to be validated in my feelings.
It wasn’t until I was in Minneapolis with my girlfriends for a Justin Bieber Concert that it finally hit me. I was in a new city with three other powerful, amazing women, no husbands, and no inhibitions that I finally felt free. I had traveled without Tom before, but there was something about this city, these women, this concert, that struck a nerve. Maybe it was because we were at the center of where George Floyd had been shot and killed and we were meeting people on the streets and talking about race. Maybe it was because we were four hot ladies commanding every room we went into and everyone wanted to be part of what we were doing and where we were going. Maybe it was nothing more than I had finally had enough and I needed a couple of days away with three other women who were actually happy in their marriages.
On the last day we were sitting on this gorgeous balcony eating brunch and, of course, making friends with everyone around us. I began to get really sad about going home. I wanted to keep being this me. I wanted to keep being treated this way. I wanted to bottle it up and never let it go. The idea of flying back to Montana made me ill and I knew the reason was that I was flying back to a life shadowed by Tom and void of any real ambition to do anything I truly dreamed of.
Whenever I started to feel unstable in my Bipolar disorder I would confide in Tom. It always was rooted in the deep desire to create- usually write. It was this deep longing I knew I needed to follow, I didn’t know how, but I knew I needed the space to find out. I would start to feel this wave of blackness come over me like a sheet suffocating me. I knew my jobs were constricting this creativity and if I was going to figure out what I really wanted to do, I needed to take a step back and give myself the time and space to do it. Whenever I would have these desperate conversations, they were met with- yes, but you have to work. Why don’t I just write in my free time? What free time? My mind was heavy with the angst of being at a job I hate, only to go home to a house where I felt the pressure to entertain my husband and if I didn’t, it became about me not wanting to spend time with him. I never had a moment alone. Always spoken for and absolutely dying inside.
Now I know not everyone has the luxury of just quitting their jobs and not working, but we could afford it. My husband made very good money and we were just fine for a few months while I figured out my next move. But the problem is, my next move never came because I was never “allowed” to try. Because, just like my gibberish that was never translatable to Tom, the idea of not working to figure out my life purpose was too vague. He needed timelines and concrete answers. I never had them.
So I’m sitting there with my friends eating brunch, dreading my flight back home, when I hear the scariest, most foreign words come out of my mouth. I said, “I think I want to leave Tom.” I think prior to me saying that my friend and I were talking and I told her I was sad to go home. She told me as much as she loves vacations, she couldn’t wait to get home to her family. Every. Single. Time. That’s when I blurted it out. As soon as I said it, I cried. Her response was not at all what I expected. She said, “Of course you do, Tom sucks.”
I know Tom doesn't suck. And I know that's not what she meant literally. I was dumbfounded. I wasn’t offended, I was curious. Did everyone else but me see that we were probably never meant to be married in the first place? I’m starting to think that. I don’t think my friends were assholes and let me marry someone that was the worst, I think they saw me happy and figured I must really love him or I wouldn’t marry him. I don’t think my marriage was abusive per se. Definitely toxic. There was also manipulation and a lot of gaslighting, but maybe I’m still in denial. But we were so happy on the outside. And I think parts of us were happy on the inside too. We had these two beautiful puppies, our dream home- honestly, on paper and Facebook, we looked like the perfect couple. It was stable and sensible.
When I called my other friend who is a lawyer to ask her some questions about the possibility of getting a divorce, I was telling her- probably more convincing myself- that staying made the most sense. It was predictable and secure. She stopped me and said, “Carly as long as I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to choose what is predictable and secure.”
I couldn’t believe it. After all these years, I finally started to be honest and every single person I spoke with validated me and saw me. They didn’t think I was crazy or that my reasoning was ridiculous. It was me. It was what I should have always chosen. Now I’m so very grateful I met Tom and for the years we had together. There was a lot of love. So much love. We did have a great life. A life I could accept. A life I could want. But, I want so much more. Not in the security sense, I want more of me. I lost my entire identity in my marriage, and I’m just now starting to figure out what that looks like.
And as much as I like to think I'm an open, honest and vulnerable person, a part of me, until that moment, was afraid to say the words out loud.
I still have no timeline or concrete answers, but I’m living my truest, most untamed life. I miss the good because there was so much of it. But I missed myself more.
So on days like today when I feel invisible or resentful that I’m not being heard, I have to remember that I am the only one who needs to hear me. My voice is mine. And there are people out there who see and hear me, I just need to recognize them. As I sat down and wrote all the things in my head, I started to breathe again. Maybe no one will read this, maybe I’ll never do anything with it, or maybe a million people will see it, either way, I’m here and I know I’m not invisible and that I never actually was.
*May 2022 in Minneapolis, pre Justin Bieber concert
*I changed my husband's name, as a courtesy to keep him anonymous.
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