Every week, Preen tackles motherhood sans the rose-tinted glasses. Our columnists L. Juliano, Marla Darwin, Monica Eleazar-Manzano, and Rossana Unson tell their personal experiences like it is—at times frustrating, oftentimes confusing, but always enlightening.
How does a marriage jump from bliss to uncertainty? From literally being fine one day, and then the next completely amiss? The sudden jolt baffles me. I’ve had friends tell us that the 10th year is among the hardest. But I never expected the foundation to just crumble in a matter of hours. The questions that arise from what I knew as true yesterday are the very contemplations that test my sanity—like a tiny pen slowly blotting an immaculately white weave until it consumes it to pitch black.
It all began when hubby decided to stay most of the week in a condo in Makati. Months ago, it seemed like the perfect plan. Long hours at work was not healthy and the additional time he gets to sleep instead of driving all the way home will do him good. His schedule has been so crazy, and I understand. We’re building a business and that’s a part of it. But recently, I’ve noticed how we’ve become distant. On days when he’s home, we would bicker about things you’d expect a couple going 10 years should be well adjusted in. From the way I almost singlehandedly raise our daughter to his poor choices and work priorities, there’s always something to question, always something to be irritated about. His absence, despite it bringing a false sense of relief from the arguments, adds to the complications; compounding without us even knowing it.
Then one evening at home, after a few drinks with friends, I woke around 11 p.m. to the sound of mumbling in the bathroom. I open the door and to his surprise, he tells the person on the other line, “I have to go. I have to go” and hastily puts it down. I demanded for the phone where he flashed a woman’s name on the log. I asked to see the messages and he buckled. After a few seconds, he headed to his inbox and scrolled way too fast for me to see anything. I grabbed it and looked at the first few messages and see nothing. I couldn’t go on, a part of me was afraid of what I’ll see. I just stood there perplexed. I barraged him with questions he couldn’t even answer. Defeated, I just tell him “Break it off. Whatever it is that you’re doing. F*cking break it off.” And I go back to bed.
Sleep wasn’t kind enough to give me rest. We uttered no word until 5 a.m. He held my hand and apologized for being too drunk to explain anything, that it was simply a client who called him. It’s not new to me that a client calls in the wee hours of the morning, but what’s new was his reaction. He blamed intoxication. He convincingly assured me of his fidelity and I was willing to let the issue go, to just rewind and start again. But those hours lying in bed were enough to conjure long forgotten demons I’ve locked away years ago.
I’m acquainted with this fear. I’ve had to go through it many times in my life because of my anxiety disorder. By now, I’m expecting myself to rebound from it quicker than before. I’ve learned to understand and work around it. But that doesn’t mean I no longer feel the same kind of dread. His actions that I’ve always seen as innocent are now tainted with judgment. More questions are brought up, more actions seem to be far from innocent. It’s been weeks since the incident, and every day is a step down into the pit. My daughter has been asking for him and I couldn’t even bring myself to say “daddy,” as if mentioning it is akin to calling the Devil himself. He hasn’t been home so much to notice, and the more there’s this distance between us, the more I succumb to the dark clouds that try to pull me into abyss.
My daughter has been my cure. Time spent with her is time in another world. A place of no hatred. My days are filled with her magic. But as soon as it is 2 a.m., when silence fills the room and her tiny body is flung across my chest, I choke and drown to all these thoughts.
I cannot and will not let this go on. Not when I have another human being to raise. It’s about her now. Whatever outcome the universe decides to reveal, I will take it and act on it. I just hope my intuitions are wrong, just as they’ve been wrong before. In my case, intuition isn’t something I can fully trust because of my condition. I just pray for truth.
Disclaimer: The views expressed here are solely those of the author in her private capacity and do not in any way represent the views of Preen.ph, or any other entity of the Inquirer Group of Companies.
Art by Dorothy Guya
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