It's All About Him (15 page)

Thoroughly conflicted, I applied my lipstick, grabbed a jacket, and went downstairs.

There was a little tap on our kitchen door, and Alan walked in as the girls were having their dinner. Their eyes lit up when they realized that Daddy and Mommy were actually going out together. It all felt incredibly odd to me . . . as if I was somehow reliving our first date in high school, yet here we were, with three little girls and an eighteen-year marriage under our belt. Part of me felt as though Mother and Daddy would be waiting up for me if I got home past my curfew. We kissed our girls good night and drove to the restaurant.

Our Second “First Date”

The emotional blizzard continued. We settled into our table at Merchants, which was private enough that we shouldn't be disturbed, but also lively enough that we shouldn't have to worry about anyone eavesdropping on our conversation. At first we were quite civil and kept things on the surface. I told Alan little stories about Dani beginning to crawl, and how Mattie and Ali could make her laugh by the silly things they'd do. We talked about how the older girls were doing in school.

Then Alan finally asked, “How do they seem to be doing with the separation?”

So much for civilized conversation.

“What do you mean?” I sputtered. “Their whole world has been torn apart, and you ask how they're doing? Why don't you ask them how it feels to suddenly have your daddy move out, and see what they say? Why don't you tell them all the things that are wrong with me so maybe they'll understand that your leaving us was not my idea? Why don't you tell them why I've been crying for the last three months?”

When I finally stopped to take a breath, I heard an entirely different response than I had expected. Instead of lashing back at me, Alan looked at me steadily.

“Denise,” he said humbly, “I'm really sorry for all the pain I've caused you and the girls by moving out. But I just couldn't continue pretending everything was okay when it wasn't. I'm still real confused, but I do think I'm willing to go to counseling with you to try to figure everything out.”

I LOOKED INTO HIS

BLUE EYES AND KNEW

THAT I STILL WANTED

HIM MORE THAN I COULD SAY.

BUT HOW COULD I

ERASE ALL THE PAIN

HE HAD CAUSED ME

AND THE CHILDREN BY

THE SEPARATION?

My flip-flopping heart flipped back toward Alan. I looked into his blue eyes and knew that I still wanted him more than I could say. But how could I erase all the pain he had caused me and the children by the separation? Yet I was thrilled to hear him offer a glimmer of hope to my wounded spirit.

In between these heights and depths, we managed to pick at our food, but decided to skip dessert. Neither of us had much of an appetite.

As tense and awkward as I felt that evening, I knew in my heart that I still loved Alan, no matter what, and that I would do anything to restore our marriage. He drove me home. Then, on the porch next to our kitchen, he kissed me good night, not a polite peck, but passionately enough for me to know that he missed me too.

Crossroads

That strange date was a crossroads. When I began to realize that Alan might actually be willing to try to reconcile, I began to think about all the positive growth that had come from our time apart.

For the first time in my married life, I felt some sort of identity apart from Alan. I was making decisions on my own that I had never made before. Some of these sound ridiculously insignificant now . . . but back then my self-confidence was so low that any decision apart from Alan was almost impossible. So, during our separation, when I actually went to the Ford dealership where Alan had always bought our trucks, and bought a new Expedition, it was a big step for me.

And as I drove that big blue SUV home, I remembered that blue used to be my favorite color. This sounds absurd, but at that time it was an emotional revelation. I had actually picked something based on what
I
liked and wanted, not on what I thought Alan would like. Gradually, I was beginning to rediscover pieces of myself that I had long forgotten—even if it was something as simple as recalling my favorite color.

This small, new pleasure in self-discovery showed some of the ruts we'd gotten into. Alan wanted me to make my own decisions, to be bold about my preferences. But his personality was such that
his
preferences were quite strong and entrenched. He had opinions about everything, and if someone didn't share his view, he knew just how to argue him into it. I'd drive myself crazy trying to please him, trying to make my decisions based on what I thought
he
would prefer—since his preferences were “best.” It was so freeing not to be consumed with trying to guess what Alan would want.

If he did come back home, would I have the confidence not to fall back into that passive way of relating to him? Further, were there parts of his personality that I actually resented for the way I allowed them to control me? I knew I loved Alan. But did I really
like
him?

Seeking Counsel

I had started seeing a Christian counselor as soon as Alan moved out of the house. I looked forward to every session, hoping that some magical remedy would reveal itself. As the sessions continued week after week, I became more and more frustrated. I did not want to talk about my family history, how I had felt as a child, or anything else that I thought didn't pertain directly—and quickly—to my relationship with Alan. Here I was,my marriage on the verge of dissolving: I didn't have the energy or patience to go back to square one in my youth and work through all my inner issues. I wanted a quick fix.

HERE I WAS, MY MARRIAGE ON THE VERGE OF DISSOLVING: I DIDN'T HAVE THE ENERGY OR PATIENCE TO GO BACK TO SQUARE ONE IN MY YOUTH AND WORK THROUGH ALL MY INNER ISSUES. I WANTED A QUICK FIX.

When Alan went with me to see the counselor, as he had promised, I was very defensive. We'd sit in big wingback chairs, both facing the therapist, not looking at each other. I wanted to relate in great detail exactly how Alan had hurt me, and give complete histories and analyses of all his flaws. When Alan's turn came, he was quite skilled at listing all the many reasons that our marriage was so much less than he wanted it to be.

Both of us finally had a captive audience—the poor counselor— and each of us wanted to win the debate. Meanwhile, after meeting with us, the therapist himself probably wanted to go off and get some counseling, or at least down a few stiff drinks.

It did not take very long to realize that this method of dealing with the problem was not going to get us anywhere.

Taken Apart to Be Put Back Together

As I saw Alan's patience wearing thin, I began to worry that he was going to bail out on me and the counseling altogether. I felt like a time bomb was ticking, and the longer we were separated, the less likely it was that we'd get back together. I told the therapist that things were moving too slowly. Was there anyone he knew who would be willing to do some intensive work with us—someone who could peel our marriage onion down to its innermost layer, so to speak, in the quickest amount of time? The counselor, no doubt thrilled to get rid of us and send us far, far away, suggested a St. Louis couple who were both psychotherapists.

We made an appointment and drove to St. Louis. It felt awkward to go to this couple's house (which we had chosen, given the option of their home or their offices), but it felt safe and private too. They were about our ages, dressed casually, like college psychology professors. Their modest home was in a natural, woodsy setting. We spent the weekend with them, leaving only to go to a nearby hotel to sleep.

At first, I talked with the wife, and Alan talked with the husband. Separately. This way they could hear each account without the interference of the other spouse. (The Nashville counselor must have clued them in that this approach would be necessary.)

Then we all met together. They seemed to be assessing all the data they'd collected and analyzing how we interacted. Was there hope, or should we just move to separate planets?

In the end, they gave their conclusion. There was hope. In their expert opinion, we were indeed compatible. We shared the same beliefs, goals, and desires for our family and our marriage. Success would now depend on how willing we were to humbly unlearn some old ways of communicating that had damaged our relationship and replace them with new ways of interacting with each other.

All this was totally exhausting, like doing a year's worth of therapy in one weekend. It even included a hypnosis session. I was pretty skeptical about this, but again, I was willing to do whatever might help us get to the core of the issues we faced.

I lay down on a sofa while the therapist talked with me quietly. There was no swinging pocket watch, and I did not stagger around the room like a sleepwalker. I did, however, enter into a relaxed state in which I felt very free to talk about whatever was asked me. I remember crying. I talked about how much I loved Alan, and how amazing I had always thought he was. I talked about my lifelong need to feel like I was good enough, and how I'd never really felt that I measured up. I said I'd always wanted to please my father, and then Alan, above everyone else. I said there was a depth of love I'd longed for but never completely felt.

ALAN SAW AN INNER STRENGTH IN ME THAT HE HADN'T GLIMPSED SINCE OUR DATING DAYS. HE SAW MY DETERMINATION TO MAKE OUR MARRIAGE WORK, AS WELL AS AN INTENSITY THAT MADE HIM REALIZE THAT I WOULD SURVIVE, NO MATTER WHAT.

After this session—in which I thankfully did not drool heavily or reveal anything that was
too
embarrassing—I was so emotionally drained that I literally could not stand up on my own. My legs were too exhausted.

But even though my limbs were weak, Alan saw an inner strength in me that he hadn't glimpsed since our dating days. He saw my determination to make our marriage work, as well as an intensity that made him realize that I would survive, no matter what. That strength was one of the things that had attracted him to me when we first met so many years earlier. And he also saw my willingness to forgive and put the past behind us.

As we left St. Louis, I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment that maybe we finally understood the big picture and knew what we needed to do to rebuild a healthy marriage. I was beginning to understand some things about Alan that I just hadn't realized before.

For example, no matter how many awards he got or how many fans were cheering him on, he needed to hear affirmation from me. He needed to hear my love and respect, both just between us and also in front of our friends. “What everyone else says about how good I am doesn't really matter,” he said. “
You're
the one I need to hear it from!”

He'd told me that many times over the years, but it hadn't sunk in. Now I was beginning to get the fact that my superstar husband needed affirmation from, yes, little old me!

I'd been raised with parents who loved each other, but didn't hug or kiss much in front of their kids. I'd never heard them build each other up with sweet words. They may well have done that in private, of course, but when I was growing up, I just didn't have a model of a husband and wife regularly expressing love and affection. As a result I had a habitual reserve about me, an inner distance that had affected Alan more than I'd ever realized.

Questions and Fears

It was great to have a sense of optimism about new revelations in our marriage. But the closer we got to Nashville, the more afraid I felt. If Alan moved back home, could our union survive and really be different after almost eighteen years? I could not think of even one couple I knew whose marriage had been restored after separation. But I knew of plenty of people who had given up on their marriage after crisis, infidelity, or simple estrangement and dis- contentment. Even people who had tried to work at it had eventually ended up going their separate ways.

Could we really be different? Or would we end up in the same situation as so many of our friends and acquaintances? I already knew the awkwardness of showing up at Mattie's basketball games only to worry about where I could sit to be away from Alan. It was stilted, embarrassing, and sad. But that kind of perpetual discomfort was everyday reality for many families we knew.

I'd also seen the resentment and hostility that sometimes settles in for couples after the divorce is final. I'd watched children become the mediators between their parents. I certainly did not want that for our family.

Even as I felt a chill of fear about our future, I thought about my girlfriends in my prayer group. I felt reassured, realizing that this really wasn't solely dependent on us—one false move and we'd be doomed. God was doing something here. My friends had not stopped praying for us since the first day I told them that Alan was leaving. They never stopped encouraging me and reminding me that all things are possible with God.

Every night since our separation, I had prayed Scriptures, claiming God's promises for me and asking Him to restore my marriage. If He wanted our family to stay together, then I had to believe that He had the power to make that happen. Hard as it was for me to acknowledge, I couldn't control the outcome. And incredibly, I was beginning to come to peace with that.

Chapter 17
COMING HOME