I didn’t know that I was married to a Narcissist when I decided to leave. I wish I could tell you what the last straw was. When I think back to that sunny Saturday in July, I try to find where my head was. It’s not like I had gone to bed the night before, with a plan. I have never been the kind of person to leave and come back, break up and get back together. It feels like crossing a bridge. Once I’ve crossed the bridge, I don’t go back.
On that morning, I had reached a wall or a limit. I grabbed three boxes, and handed each kid a box, keeping one for my self. I told them to put their most favorite things in their box. I told them that we wouldn’t be staying at this house anymore. I made a game out of it – no long faces, no lengthy explanations.
We were going on an adventure.
He walked in while we were packing and asked what we were doing. I explained that we were packing boxes for moving. Without hesitation he asked, “Do you want me to get the truck to help you with the boxes?”
(Weeks later I found the courage to tell him that I had always hoped I had the kind of marriage where, if I decided to leave, my partner might actually attempt to come after me. I know that contradicts the “crossing the bridge” explanation. It’s not that I would have actually stayed. But I really thought/hoped I might have been asked to stay; that this person might have cared enough to try to get me to stay.) Continue reading →