Sex, marriage and children with someone I never fancied. And why it took me so long to get out.

Me Myself and Those Two - 20 Feb 18

The night we conceived our first son, my (now ex) husband insisted on sex. We were both drunk. Which is why I, eventually, said yes.

I spent the time trying not to cry and thinking about someone – anyone – else.

It wasn’t the first time.

When we met, he was older, had a great job and was cool to hang out with. I, on the other hand, was kind of lost and needed a little guidance. What we had in common is that we both partied hard. And so it began. We drunk, went to bed together, woke up and did the same again. Even on school nights. It was a habit.

I didn’t really fancy him then. But I was pregnant within 3 weeks. And this is where it all went wrong.

The way he handled the abortion and looked after me made me think I could compromise on my physical attraction when it meant being with someone who loved me that much. So I did.

Four years later. We’re married. I’m upstairs after my best friend’s wedding, about to get pregnant with our first son. Having said ‘no’ a number of times, ‘yes’ was the only answer he would listen to. Like I said, it wasn’t the first time. And after all, I got myself into this situation. I chose to compromise. And this was the toll.

It would take another 5 years and one more child before I realised that it had to stop. With him, ‘no’ never meant ‘no’. He would pester and pester me until I gave in. And wonder why I was so disengaged. Why I went to the bathroom for 10 minutes after and wouldn’t be able to talk to him.

For a lot of the final years, I put it down to post-baby blues, hormones, some kind of vitamin deficiency. You name it, I made the excuse. And he was happy to go with a ‘fake it to make it’ approach. Because he got sex. And that was what he wanted. He never realised he did anything wrong.

Devalued is probably the word I would use for the place I was in two years ago. Numb. And trapped.

Then, something clicked. Day to day, I started to take back control of my body in other ways. I ran, swam, entered triathlons. I went out for drinks with friends without him. I grew my hair and dressed differently. I’m still not sure what it was. But I started to find value in myself. And it felt fucking awesome.

But the more I did this, the worse those times with him were. Because I was stronger and less willing to pretend.

I vividly remember one of the last times, when he had finished and I pushed him off and shouted at him, he blamed me for being hormonal. I would have believed him before. But now I knew it wasn’t true. And most of all, it wasn’t my body betraying me. I just didn’t want to be with him. Plain and simple. The nice house, the car, the private schools. None of it was worth this feeling.

Summer 2017, I asked for a divorce. He still thinks he’s blameless and I’m in the wrong. Difference is, now I don’t care. And the most important thing I teach my two boys is that ‘No’ always means ‘No’. It never means ‘Yes’.

Me Myself and Those Two

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