Throw your tantrum, you won't take my peace

How taking my children to a family function in support of people we love was apparently an act of war, and yes, I have the receipts.

Last Friday, my ex texted me at 11am to tell me his grandmother’s brother had passed away and that the funeral would be at 1pm, and that he would be late for pick up that afternoon. He refused to tell me where the funeral would be until noon.

I’m still close with his grandmother, and I still care about his cousins, especially one of the daughters of the uncle who passed, so I googled the obituary, got the kids ready, and we left.

I was a ball of anxiety— I knew that my ex-mother-in-law and her sister would be hateful, as they always have been. I didn’t know how his cousins, other aunts, or uncle would respond.

I was with my ex for nearly 10 years. Over that time, I fully embraced his family, despite the frigid and hostile treatment I received back from some of them.

I have been thinking about how to write this for days. I shook all day long Friday.

My ex father-in-law told me to come sit with him in the family section. I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t going to allow them to separate me from my children, and I thought that my ex’s family might like to be near the kids; that it might bring some joy, some small comfort. So I moved from my spot off to the side of the tiny, packed chapel, to sit next to my father-in-law. When my ex-husband came in, I squeezed over to make room so that he could sit with our children also. It was uncomfortable, but being there in love and support of these people who I considered family for a decade, especially his grandmother, who is truly lovely, was more important to me, so I stayed.

After the ceremony, it started to thunder and rain, the storms predicted for later in the afternoon arriving early. It was 2:45, still my parenting time until 4. My ex told me to put the kids in his car. I told him I wanted them to at least say goodbye to his grandmother, who absolutely lit up when she saw we were there and told me multiple times how glad she was to see us. My daughter had picked flowers for her, and wanted to give them to her.

I am still shaking as I write this essay.

My ex stomped off to talk to his mother, and I overheard snippets of their conversation, she shouldn’t even be here, she’s refusing to leave until they say goodbye to Granmama, they don’t need to do that, tell her to go.

He walked back and told me that his grandmother was too busy, despite the fact that they were still waiting for people to gather for the burial. My 4-year-old wilted like the flowers she held clutched in her hot little hand— the flowers she had picked for her Great-Granmama. My ex told her she could pick more flowers when they saw them Sunday; an empty promise. Tearfully, she obediently walked toward the car. My heart shattered for her, and I wish I had fought for her, that I had at least taken the flowers she had picked and delivered them to her great-grandmother myself.

I tried to stall, tried to insist we wait to say goodbye, but my ex steamrolled over me, as is his custom. I wish I had put my foot down, but it was not a scenario I had practiced in preparation, and if I had pushed back any more, he would have caused an entire scene.

We got the kids loaded into his vehicle, and I started saying goodbye to them.

One last time, I said, “you know you’re taking them an hour early. This is still my time.” I don’t know what I wanted, acknowledgment? decency? I know better than to expect these things from him.

His response was an apathetic sneer, “yeah well, you didn’t have to bring them out here.”

Punishing me for trying to be considerate, for trying to love people. He drove off with our children in the rain, refusing to stay for the luncheon afterward.

Reeling, I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I waited until the burial was over to say goodbye to his grandmother. She insisted I stay for the reception. I told her I didn’t want to cause a scene or make anyone uncomfortable. She insisted that I stay, telling me she wanted me to be there, that she still claimed me, despite the divorce. I still claim you too, I said, tears in my eyes and a knot in my throat.

Shaking like a leaf, I stayed. I talked to Granmama, her friends, some of my ex’s cousins who I have missed. My ex has told me no one wants to talk to me, discouraged me from talking to anyone, made me think everyone hated me.

True for some of them, sure, but not all, unless they’re all just really good at pretending. My mother-in-law was mysteriously absent from most of the reception, likely avoiding me. She and my ex claim I treated her horribly. My horrible mistreatment of her? Daring to try and set boundaries around the safety of my children.

She is the one who, during covid, stood in our driveway and screamed at my ex that he was “kowtowing” to me, that I was wicked and evil, and that he needed to be the man of the house while I stood on the porch with our 5-month-old. My crime? Asking her to wear a mask around my infant, who had already had 2 dangerous experiences with RSV and Covid, after she came into our house unannounced one night. She didn’t talk to us— wouldn’t even let us send pictures, for 6 months. She is an antivax, Covid disbeliever, and she didn’t care that my grandfather had died from it. She didn’t mask, social distance, or take any precautions whatsoever, and she ridiculed everyone who did.

She is the one who, when I tried to ask for help talking to my ex about his drinking, screamed at me, my son doesn’t have a drinking problem, how dare you ever say that to me, don’t you dare ever speak to me like that again, you are the problem, while I sat crying, holding my gently rounded belly, and praying that the stress didn’t cause me to miscarry a third time. My ex-husband was drinking 3+ bottles of liquor per week at that point. Passing out daily, leaving the oven on, nearly burning down the house. Multiple times I woke to the house full of smoke because he’d left the burner on high or something in the oven, and then gone and passed out on the couch.

She is the one who called me randomly one day just to yell at me, and when I asked if that was why she’d called, she screamed yes in my ear.

She is the one who handed my 12 week old to a stranger after being specifically asked not to do that.

She is the one who got angry when I said no to taking my 1 year old on the ATV and did it anyway.

She is the one who told me my mental health was trash and that everyone could see it when I was in the depths of PPA and PPD, and then told me it was my fault for not asking for help. (I did. Her son refused to help or ask anyone else to help.)

And so much more.

She is the one who abused me.

But sure, lets tell everyone I’m absolutely awful and abused her and her son, and that I’m the reason he is in this dysfunction spiral.

Near the end of the reception, I was working up the courage to go say hello to my brother-in-law and his cousins, when my ex’s uncle came up behind me and told me to quietly get my things and get out, because it was too hard for his sister, my demon ex-mother-in-law, for me to be there.

Instantly, my diaphragm shrivels. My eyes well with tears, and the lump in my throat threatens to choke me. The pressure of his hand on my shoulder and his head near my ear is too much, and I fight to maintain my composure even as I feel the blood rush out of my face and my body start to shake. The message was clear: you did a bad thing by being here, and now I’m going to scold you like the misbehaving child you are. Now leave and don’t make a scene, and don’t ever do this again.

And look, I get it. From his point of view, he’s protecting his sister from some crazy bitch who, from what he’s been told, abused his nephew and treated his sister horribly and is keeping her grandchildren from her and has now shown up at a family funeral for what reason? I get where he’s coming from. I do. But that wasn’t his call to make, and the way he handled it was inappropriate.

To make things worse, I had posted a TikTok of me hitting an F6 earlier that day, a high note in the whistle register that I’ve been working to gain back since I’ve started singing again, and an ex friend who is extremely narcissistic and toxic went out of her way to comment something super nasty on it. My ex told me that if I’d gotten the lead in a musical or a solo in choir that the talent pool at my school must have been small, and he constantly put me down about my singing until I stopped. Reclaiming that has been healing for me, but also terrifying, as it’s a very tender and vulnerable for me. I had just read the ugly comment (that she posted anonymously, coward) when my ex’s uncle came up to tell me to leave.

Fighting tears, I gathered my things and went to say goodbye to my brother-in-law. While over there, his cousins and one of his aunts hugged me and came to catch up for a few minutes. And maybe they just were being polite, and they hated that I was there too, I don’t know, but if they did they should look into acting careers. I still shook like a leaf the whole time.

The floodgates opened as soon as I was in the safety of my van. Bawling, I called my friend to tell her what had happened. 20ish minutes later, the crying had finally subsided enough to start driving home.

Divorce sucks no matter what. Divorcing my abuser still caused heartbreak, even though there was also tremendous relief. The loss of family has been one of the hardest things for me. I devoted myself to being part of that family. I truly loved them, and I still care, deeply. I also wanted to teach my children that we show up for the people we love. Maybe I was wrong to go. It’s too late now.

I wish I had been able to talk to one of his aunts, she was always kind to me, and I miss her, and her children, but it was her husband to told me to leave, and I have a feeling she believes the distorted version of events she’s been told by my ex-mother-in-law and her sister. That shunning hurts, and that pain is sticking around for a while.

I’ve been processing this for the last several days. I knew I needed to write about it to get it out of my body, but I wasn’t ready to crack myself open again. I’ve felt so raw. I felt like a live wire— all of its casing stripped away— exposed.

Today I got a text from one of my ex’s aunts, one who has always been nasty to me, and I am not surprised that I got the text.

Some backstory, and a TW for SA—

I conceived my second child because of reproductive assault. He refused to put on a condom, ignored me when I protested, promising to withdraw, and then not only did he not withdraw, he held me in place when I realized and tried to get away. The result was my son, whom I love with every atom I am made of, but his pregnancy was not easy, physically or emotionally. I had hyperemesis gravidarum with each of my pregnancies, and I was miserable the whole time. When I was around 17 weeks pregnant with my son, we went on “vacation” to Gulf Shores, as his family always does. My ex never helped with night wakes because he worked nights, but he didn’t help on his off nights or on vacation either. Anyone who has ever traveled with a 16 month old knows it’s not easy. She had a rough time, which meant I also didn’t get to sleep, which meant I was extra exhausted, and pukey. Whenever I would sit down on the couch to rest and catch a break while someone else watched my oldest, his aunt would say Oh look, Sarah’s on her throne again. Let me just go take a picture of her on her throne. And then she would get up and take a picture of me and make snide comments any time my ex brought me something like sprite or crackers. She told me I should be able to put mind over matter and get over it. Tell me you’ve never had HG without telling me. One day she was in a particularly foul mood, and she said to my ex husband, loudly, I don’t know how you put up with her.

When I tried to talk to my ex later, he told me I was oversensitive and overreacting, and that I needed to have thicker skin— that’s just how his family was.

There have been many other things this aunt has said or done over the years, so suffice it to say she’s always been a bitch to me.

Today I got this text from her:

I am not surprised that she felt entitled enough to send a text like this, especially after the passive aggressive text exchange someone anonymously sent from my ex’s grandmother’s phone on Saturday:

Regardless, as I looked at the screen, I felt my body go numb. I’m not going to respond, because it would be pointless. There are many things I’d like to say, like I feel genuinely sorry that you live with so much small mindedness and cruelty inside of you that you can’t fathom someone being genuinely caring or You have been nothing but ugly for 10 years and I owe you nothing. Don’t ever contact me again, but honestly, she is so low-value to me that I’m not going to give her any of my energy by responding. She wants to feel power over me. She thinks she is entitled to control the actions of other people, despite the fact that her mother is a grown adult who is capable of making her own decisions about who she has in her life. She is not worth my energy, and I’m probably just going to block her and move on with my life. Protect your peace.

And again, I understand that all they have to go on is my ex mother in law’s narrative, and of course she’s going to take her sister’s side, that’s her family. And abusive people tend to protect other abusive people. From the narrative they’ve concocted, I’m a horrible person who is trying to manipulate and take advantage of an older woman, their mom.

Emotionally immature people will never understand genuine, selfless care or concern for others. They can’t understand that I genuinely care about my ex’s grandparents, genuinely love them, miss them, and want to keep in touch. That I want them to know their great grandchildren and vice versa, because my ex sure as shit isn’t going to take them to visit. I was the only reason we ever went to see them, and I always had to make him go. He hates family events— couldn’t even be bothered to stay for the reception after the funeral— they had to make him a pallbearer to force him to even show up. He spent our wedding drunk and off with his friends. We had to stop the reception 3 times to go find him so we could do things like cut the fucking cake or have a slow dance.

I’m sure it was in a hurry to leave because he had to rush home to get his next drink. I hate it every single time he has our children, but especially in the car. He used to literally drink while he was driving, and didn’t see it as an issue. He is an alcoholic, full stop. He reeks every time I pick up my children. It terrifies me.

I don’t understand why people can’t be civil, why we can’t still love each other, even if our family dynamic has shifted, and I never will. Because I would never treat them the way that they have always treated me.

Despite these events playing in my mind and laying on my heart with a unique kind of grief that is mourning someone who isn’t dead, I haven’t let them take my peace or my joy. I have still been leaning into the calm, into the joy of my children, from doing something for myself, writing. I will continue to honor myself and not let them suck me into their petty drama, to acknowledge that I have worth, that I am loved, and that his grandma can do whatever the fuck she wants. They don’t get to dictate my life. I’m free now.

So my heart may be a little heavier, and I may have done more deep breathing today as my SNS was triggered throughout the day, but I was able to continue to lean into that calm, even in the midst of the chaos. Healing, baby.

They will never take my inner peace, my inner knowing, or my worth.

I don’t betray myself to keep the peace anymore.

-Sarah

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