What's It All For?

What’s It All For

The forest for the trees, the forest for the trees. A mantra so often used that I’d forgotten to pay attention when the trees in my life obscured the forest.

It was late in 1998, when my short six-year marriage was imploding. I’d spent so long in panic that it had become my new normal. My marriage to Spence was never ideal. Running from a cruel family, I had latched onto the only person who made me feel wanted. What a mistake that had been.

Six years of being ostracized for marrying the dolt I was now trying to hold on to. Why was I clinging? I don’t know. This man was ignorant and slovenly most of the time. Lazy to a fault. He stopped working once he had moved in with me and married me.

My family absolutely hated him and felt he had derailed my once hopeful future. Since I was six years old, it had been my dream to be a surgeon, and I was capable of attaining my goals.

I had come home for the summer from college, and don’t ask me why, because I knew my family would not be kind. The level of narcissism in my mom and dad was legendary. I was an afterthought, a person created to be controlled and beaten down. But I did it anyway. I came home on break, as all kids do, and that decision ruined the next six and a half years of my life.

It was then that I met Spence. On a night that had been particularly hard and tense with my parents, I had gone out with a friend to a local pub and met the nightmare of my life. We had drinks, talked a bit, and I went home with him because I just didn’t want to go back to my parents’ torment.

For the next few weeks, I saw him on and off. He was charming enough to distract me from my issues at home. He made me feel seen and even wanted, and I ate it up. I had so often felt neglected at home. Neglect and hostility were my constant companions growing up, and even as an adult, that had been my experience.

Spence pulled out all the stops. He was attentive and thoughtful, was there whenever I needed him, and was good in the sack, an added bonus. Unfortunately, those reasons were not enough to prevent the inevitable demise of our short union.

A few months into our nuptials, I began seeing things I had somehow refused to see while trying to escape my realities at my family's home. I began to see the difference in our intelligence levels, and that I seemed to dumb myself down to engage with him and even his friends. The conversations were inane half the time and useless fluff the other half. All his crew seemed adept at was drinking and smoking a lot of weed. Not my forte. I had come to realize I was more of an intellectual person, and the banter with these people was beginning to leave me bored and cold.

I wish that was all that left me with little interest in the man I had decided to hitch my wagon to, but it was most certainly not. Not six months in, the person I chose to be with quit working. He just stopped, with excuse after excuse for why he had stopped and could not go back to work. I should have left- no, not left, but run. I didn’t. I had it in my head that I was in a commitment I would honor, no matter what. And I did stick it out for five more years. Today, I can’t even understand how or why I did it.

I had a faith-based upbringing. Even though my parents said one thing and did another, I did have that much of a foundation. They did not live the lives of faithful religious people, but in front of parishioners, they looked like the model of propriety and decency. Their truth was far from it. They had been cruel, restrictive, and abusive parents, both emotionally and physically. And so I left the only way I felt I’d be able to get them out of my life. I married.

So here I was, day in and day out, working my tail off to support the two of us and barely making ends meet, but I was no quitter. I stuck it out. Even when I was mentally drained by this parasitic relationship, I kept on, keeping on.

As my frustration with the people and circumstances I had attached myself to grew, my countenance and reactions began to change. I became broody, uninterested, and I no longer used the pleasing ways I had tended to treat everyone. I didn’t like who I was anymore or who I was with, and while not inconsequential, those two reasons made things even more unappealing. I withdrew into my head and lost my love for the things I had relished. I stopped drawing and painting. I stopped being creative in any way, and that had been such a large part of who I had been.

I lost friends who no longer came around because they disliked Spence. Everyone in my family had distanced themselves from me. The only interaction I had was with the posse of men who would get hammered with my husband. A fine band of brothers, indeed.

These issues were not the only ones, sadly. Spence had an insatiable lust for pornography, and that was not my idea of a good time. I was made to enact what he felt was his entitlement as his wife, and that more than anything left me feeling dirty and used up. It had a direct impact on my emotional and mental well-being, and at some point I shut down physically and emotionally during sex. I would just lie there and take it, like the proverbial bad medicine you take as a child.

If Spence noticed it, he never let on. He took what he wanted and expected to be supplied with whatever he wanted, including his degenerate desires and his choice of intoxicants to boot.

I had often read about women in these kinds of relationships, but somehow I did not see myself in them. And oh yes, I was one of them. No one understands why a woman stays in these kinds of situations, but when you’ve seen it for yourself, you begin to get it. I stayed because I had nowhere else to go that was not worse. I stayed because at least it was familiar and not fraught with the insecurity that change would bring. I stayed because I was ashamed to let others see that my choices were ludicrous at best. I stayed for my faith and commitment to my beliefs, and yes, I stayed because of my pride. I did not want to concede that my family, whom I had been hurrying to get away from, and all my friends had seen the dumpster fire this union would become. And it did.

Here I was, in the thick of my stellar life choices. As I began distancing myself from engaging with Spence on every level, he changed as well. He would spend long hours on the internet, doing God knows what, and he would become more forceful when his needs were not met. I just took it all. I would lie there like a shell, sit there like a shell when I was around him and his goons. I was not me anymore.

I began to notice that he was going out more and spending more time on the computer. I was too naive to know what that meant. I thought it was a blessing, actually, because it meant I would be left alone in my little world, without having to spend much time with the circumstances I was now used to, as a new normal.

Don’t get me wrong, he did as he pleased, when he pleased. And I was compliant for years to come. I immersed myself in my faith, trying to be a better wife, a better person, as if somehow I could regrow love for this man, if it ever was love to begin with. That, as is so often the case, never works in the long run.

He began running around on me. He must have been doing it for quite some time before I finally found out. Maybe I didn’t care. Maybe I didn’t want to see it. When I finally realized it, it hit me hard. Here I was trying to become a better person, maybe salvage something, and here he was getting his rocks off wherever he wanted. He was certainly careful about it, because it took me a while to figure it out.

I drove myself crazy looking for ways to catch him or get him to admit it. He never flinched. If anything, things grew more volatile as he suspected I was trying to figure it out. We began fighting more and more. He became more forceful, as if trying to prove a point. What point, I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to prove to me he was not cheating; maybe he was just another cruel person in my life.

Everything came to a head one day when I noticed a text on his phone. I had him. His sidepiece had texted him more than once, and I saw the messages. While not overtly sexual, I knew it was real, and I confronted him. That was probably not a good idea. We fought badly, and at one point he lifted his hand to hit me. I was not having it. I drew the line, late in the game, but I drew it. I looked at him and told him that if he hit me, he should make sure he knocked me out completely. For good measure, I told him that after that, he should never close his eyes in my presence. While that stopped his attempt to hit me, it changed nothing else.

I did not wait too long before I begged a friend to let me stay with her for a bit. She was so kind and offered me her spare room for as long as I needed it. I was grateful.

This is where the trees all got in the way of the forest, and I could not see it. I began to feel guilty for leaving my marriage. Added to that was the fact that, faithfully speaking, I did not have enough grounds for divorce and had little evidence of his infidelity to support that outcome. I was encouraged by my faith leadership to reconcile and return to my marriage. So I did that.

Almost as soon as I walked through the door, Spence disappeared. He was here one day and gone the next, but not before he got what he needed. I began frantically calling his line to no avail. I looked all over, and again, nothing. I spoke to my religious mentors, and I was told I needed to be still and wait. I did as I was asked.

I refused to give up. I had returned to reconcile our relationship and be a good wife, honoring my commitment.   

Weeks dragged on and on, and I was so confused. I didn’t understand why, if I was honoring this marriage, he would not want that. My friends and family did not understand my decision to keep up this sham of a marriage. I needed to do what was right. I felt this was right.

Spence had fled to another state with a woman. I could not prove it. I had no pictures and no names. Every day, I would call him, or he would call me, and we would fight over him coming back so we could work on fixing this thing between us. I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess.

The funny thing is that his family embraced me. They cared for me and made sure I wasn’t alone or missing anything. They didn’t believe he was doing the right thing. Spence’s family were faithful people as well and worshipped where I did. So they upheld their responsibility to me as part of their family, much to my husband's chagrin.

My health was beginning to show signs of the fatigue and anxiety from this drama. I was shaking all the time. I didn’t understand or see why all of this was happening when I was doing the right thing, even despite what he was doing. Yes, I know he had the free will to do as he pleased, but the universe was enabling him and, consequently, making me wait to see what would happen.

I was in complete denial that I would have to let go of my commitment to reconcile, and that I no longer loved this man, or maybe never had. I could see no benefit to severing this covenant I had taken so seriously. And I did take it seriously. So much so that I fought tooth and nail to save it. I didn’t want to accept failure or give in to him anymore. I wanted it fixed and didn’t think anything outside the marriage would be permitted to break us apart.

Oh, the foreshadowing of the marriage’s demise was all there, but I refused to see it. In my head, there was no way a marriage could be intended to fail, and I would keep mine intact. All I saw was the image of a perfect union and the responsibility I had to uphold my vows. Everyone kept saying it was all for the best, and I argued that it couldn’t possibly lead to divorce.

I had real fears. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being alone. Fear of having to take a step back in life. Fear of having to return home to my parents. It was all there, feeding my insecurities and my denial. I could not see beyond it at all. What would happen? How would it be possible to go on without my husband? And I refused to give in to his now-frequent requests to file for divorce. I would not do it.

As fate would have it, that was not my choice to make. One day, I got a call to come into my faith’s offices for a conference. I thought maybe we’d get some good news or talk about strategy for turning this disaster around, so I immediately went down. I entered the office and immediately noticed that Spence’s dad was in the meeting. This was not good news. I felt it in that moment.

I was asked to sit, and I did so. Then the reason they asked me to come poured out of their mouths. Apparently, not only had Spence abandoned the marriage, but there was now a child to consider. The woman he had run off with was now with child. What a turn of events.

I think I had my mouth on the floor, open as it was. It was then that I was informed that I now had grounds for legal separation and divorce from my spouse.

I was numb. I sat there and thought about it for a while. Then I responded, telling them that I would give up trying to fix our marriage and allow the divorce to proceed, but that I would not be the one paying for it. I would release him for the sake of the baby.

I was despondent for a bit because I really didn’t see why this was a better option. Marriages are supposed to be forever, after all. Even a bad marriage was something to hold on to in order to fulfill that statute. None of this was true, of course. A bad marriage seldom becomes good, and a good marriage is less likely to end under these circumstances. Either way, I could not see a positive resolution to the scenario.

I went home. The wait and countdown had begun. How long before I’d have to find out what my new life would look like? What purpose did this entire experience have in the grand scheme of things in my life? I still could not see the reason any of this had happened. I waited some more.

A few weeks later, I received my divorce papers in the mail. Spence had gone ahead and paid for the divorce, and I had been spared the need to lawyer up because he filed uncontested paperwork. I was officially free and single again. It did not feel as liberating as I had expected. I felt spent and sad, as if grieving a friend, and scared. Scared of the future and all the now-what’s that were coming.

I had some tough choices to make, and I made my first one that day. I had spoken to a dear friend in Colorado who had begged me to pack up and go there, and I agreed.

In the meantime, I had to get my affairs in order for such a big move. I spoke with her daily, and then moving day arrived.

The drive lasted two days, with an overnight stop to rest. I had a lot of time to process and get acclimated to a new beginning. I needed it.

I arrived at my destination, having never seen the state before, and was amazed by its beauty. It was stunning mountains and a vibrant city. I was so pleased when I got to my friend’s home. She was kind and warm to me. She took me out and introduced me to her friends, and they were all so interesting and smart. The conversations were stimulating, and I felt excited about a fresh start.

My past was now truly behind me.

On one of the nights we went to dinner, my girlfriend introduced me to Daniel. He was a quiet, soothing presence, and I enjoyed the time I spent talking to him. He was intelligent and very sweet, so much so that I agreed to go to lunch with him at his favorite Mexican place.

The meal was great, the conversation engaging, and it was a great time overall. From that point on, he became a constant fixture in my week. I enjoyed his company.

I was able to get established quickly with a great job and get my bearings. The day came when I found my own place to live. Once again, I packed my life into my car and moved. Daniel helped me with my move, and from then on, he was with me whenever we were not at work. We got to know one another well and found we had similar, if not the same, interests.

Every day became every night, and one day he came over and never left. The days that followed were a beautiful adventure with him. We had similar backgrounds and stories and just seemed to fit, as if we were made for each other or fated. We married fifteen months later.

Now twenty-four years later and one child later, I sometimes wonder why I fought my divorce from Spence so hard. What was I thinking? Why did I want to hold onto that toxicity? I can’t wrap my head around it. I did realize something, though. I wasn’t seeing the big picture at the time. I was being set free to find love, to find a companion who would be my equal and share similar interests and intellectual pursuits.

I could not see how the incredible mess I was living in at that time would be for my good or facilitate a happy future. If I had fought harder, or heaven forbid, if I had salvaged it or even had children with Spence, it would have been an enduring disaster for me.

He wound up fathering several children with different women he didn't support, and I found the man of my dreams. I got a second chance at true contentment. My experiences and pain made me a better mother and a better wife. I was careful not to repeat my parents’ failures or my own in my first marriage. It’s night and day.

I look back, and I don’t regret having lived it all. It made me appreciate what I have even more. I am content and happy, loved and cherished, and I have reclaimed myself. I revived my artistic talent and am now even a published writer. Fulfillment is a great feeling.

I have forgiven the people in my life who hurt me or were cruel. I don’t want to live with bitterness. If I hadn’t, the anger and resentment would have festered, turning me into an embittered woman. I’m all the happier for having forgiven and released the negativity.

Would I do it differently if I had a choice? I don’t think so. It might have made me a different person with different outcomes, and I’m glad to be right where I am. I have peace with my past and hope for my future. The trees make the forest. Bad trees, good trees, big ones and small, all come together to make a beautiful forest to be savored and enjoyed.

(Published by The Story Well, on Medium, July 2026)

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