I find it amazing and I am beyond anger that I am expected by my in laws to respect their religious beliefs and family values while they regard both me and my beliefs as evil. It's been 13 years, I think I am done. I am heartsick that after all this time my husband can not help me find a solution. His solution has always been ignore it, it will blow over and they will see what a great person you are. Well, I am into 13 years of: oh it will get better. It's not better. And I realize that I have been relegated to the corner as the family member that is openly ignored because she is not like us, but make sure to wish her a Merry Christmas anyway. Now, I am angry and inconsolable. I am angry at myself for believing in my husband's optimism.
I started not showing up to holidays and family events, but I fear I have given them just what they want. My absence. They get to look at their shiny grandchildren and forget the evil one who bore them. Every Yule for 13 years, I have been given pain without the courtesy of a pretty box or ribbon I can later reuse. My husband expects me to not only be okay with that, but to behave and then when it comes up he asks: are we gonna go here again??? He says that because he doesn't know what to do, so doing nothing is his answer. I think he actually got miffed at me when I demanded the kids stay home with me this year while he goes to his parent's house. I would actually like to spend the holiday with my children this year instead of my friends' kids. It would be nice if he would stay home with me, but his mother's umbilical cord is still attached. Actually, of late, everyone else's opinion weighs more than mine.
Well, if he's not miffed at me for requesting the presence of my children in my little pagan evils, he will be now for publicly broadcasting that there hardships in marriage where two religions are observed. Hex, he may be angry at me for hinting that marriage is hard period. Actually, there is a part of me that thinks he is just waiting for the socially acceptable moment to divorce me ( kids all grown and or he makes it big and can afford a nanny.) It makes me feel used, that thought, like our marriage is a sham. There is a part of me that wants to say he has a LOT of sucking up to do, but that would just involve meaningless trinkets and other BS. I don't want material crap. I want my husband's heart, his respect, admiration even. I want to feel like I actually matter rather than a convenience who knows where all the milk sales are and can spell well. I want to know that he actually understands the meaning of the words coming out of my mouth. I want to know that he sees me. I thought that was all stuff I earned when he asked me to marry him.
We had a really large blow up a few weeks ago. Actually, I think I did. It's the same argument, but more heat, another year's layer of pain being anticipated. I packed bags, emptied bags, repacked bags, threw bags. I took our wedding rings and threw them into the dark abyss of the deep sea trunk I inherited from my Grandmother. Good luck finding them. This was the same day I tore down all of my altars and packed everything away. My position was: FINE! I will never inconvenience you with my religion again. I miss my altars, but I am too stubborn and angry to put them back up right now. When I made commentary about putting them back up, he made the comment that he never told me to take them down. It came out in a self righteous tone that made me want to go find a punching bag. I hope that's not what he meant; it only fueled more anger that he either thinks has evaporated or he is ignoring because he doesn't know what to do.
I am going to have my Feri Feast, drink my sugarplum faery vodka and make glogg. I will do this all without my husband or his blessings. I am going to listen to those who have walked before me and figure out what I am going to do. Doing nothing is not an option. I have been 13 years of waiting for a solution or maybe just a scrap of hope. Most of all, I will be teaching my daughter that THIS SHIT IS PURELY UNACCEPTABLE and never marry a man who tries to hand you his heart while it's still ruled by his mother.
This post is not about pissing my husband off, although I know it probably will. It's not even about venting. It's more of a cautionary tale about what happens when you combine religions and marriage. It's hard all by itself to blend lives together in a functioning unit. It's harder when there is no emotional support or even acknowledgment that something is wrong. While I know my husband loves me and I know that I love him, this hurdle is hard to get around and I suppose every marriage has at least one very large boulder on the path. This one is ours. . . or maybe just mine.
I hope that your Yule is happy and bright and looks nothing like mine. This has been your cautionary tale. Pass it around and do not repeat.