Dry rot and the Phoenix

My marriage was a farce. Don't get me wrong, I did love my husband. But I was misguided. I was under the impression that if he was happy I would be happy. I did everything I could to help him achieve his dreams. I held three jobs, did the housework, cooked and worked tirelessly on building our own home from scratch. I naively thought that if I did all of these things for him he would be able to pull himself out of depression and an internet addiction. I fooled myself into thinking that if I was the good, compliant wife he would love me. But I was wrong.

As time when by he became more abusive. He became violent. He could not control his temper. We were both miserable. AS the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months and months into years I was slowly dying inside. Infected with dry rot that he injected into me with snide comments and mock humour, I withered. My strength faded. My spark died. I became a zombie, going through the motions of life.

Everyone has a breaking point. Mine was coming home after one hell of a week and having to drag groceries inside, pack them into the fridge and pantry, put on a load of washing to attempt to get through Mount Washmore and finally sit down after midnight only to have the man that I married turn to me and say "make me a cup of tea". I snapped. I didn't yell in a maddened raging rant. I quietly stood up, walked to the spare room, curled up under the doona and closed my eyes.

That night marked the start of my slow progress of chipping away at the infected wood of my soul. Slowly excavating the rotten parts. Undoing years of emotional damage. Relearning my likes, finding my passion and rebuilding. Like with dry rot in a house, I know that I will never be able to fully recover from fifteen years with a man I should not have been with. But out of that terrible mistake I was blessed with the two most beautiful children in the world. So I do not regret it.

In contrast to my slow decay, I know that I burnt my husband. I left him. But in doing so I lit a fire under him that has seen him reborn. Like a phoenix, what has emerged from the ashes of that fire is a man who is now actively seeking his dreams himself. He is running a blacksmith shop, building fences, raising goats and pigs and sailing. The man is better without me; something that I knew for many years but, because I desperately wanted our marriage to work, ignored.

Three years after the end of our marriage I am still trying to dig out the deepest parts of rot. I am still building myself up from a scared and lonely girl to a strong, independent woman.