Love Isn't Supposed to Hurt

by Paul, Christi

  “I love you, too, Christi.” I could tell she was crying too.

  And with one more good-bye, it was over.

  I sat on the couch and bawled like a baby.

  Here I was crying, not only over what was to happen in a few hours, but also for the loss of Anna, Mark, and Justin’s whole family.

  At the same time, I finally felt understood. To hear Anna say, “I know you’ve tried”—she’ll never know how healing those words were for me. Whether Justin or Mark or anyone else ever understands that I really gave this all I had, at least I know that she knew. She acknowledged it. And it was like medicine to my soul.

  The meeting with Dr. Anderson lasted about two minutes. At least for me.

  I was sitting in the office lobby when Justin walked in. He didn’t even look at me. He was trying to be stoic, but I could see the anger boiling under the surface. He knew what was coming.

  At that moment the fear and guilt over what I was about to do flooded me, and I started shaking. It was uncontrollable—my hands trembled, and the muscles in my whole body tensed up. Not enough for him to notice, but I certainly knew the feeling. It was the same fear, the same physical reaction I had whenever he came home drunk.

  Dr. Anderson called us into his office. I sat on one couch, and Justin sat on the other. Dr. Anderson started the meeting.

  “Christi, what would you like to say?”

  I inhaled, and as tears started rolling down my face, I looked at the floor. “I want to move forward with a divorce.”

  Silence.

  I looked up at Justin, who was staring ahead, his hands clasped together in his lap.

  “Justin, I’m so sorry,” I offered.

  He looked at me, robotic, empty. “You had your hour with Dr. Anderson a few days ago,” he said. “I’d like my hour now.”

  I looked at Dr. Anderson and he nodded his head. “We’ll talk later,” he told me.

  I walked out to my car, and the moment I shut the door, I started sobbing. Right there in the parking lot. I was blubbering so hard I could hardly get a breath between sobs.

  My heart ached for him. I wasn’t crying because it was over. I was crying because what I’d just said pierced Justin with a pain I knew all too well, and it was killing me that I was responsible for it. I’d been in the place he was in right then. I’d known what it was like to have my spouse not want me. Only this time it was official. And I was the one saying it.

  “God, please be with him,” I pleaded. “Give him peace and comfort.” I didn’t know what else to say. I prayed that same prayer all the way home.

  Chapter 14

  You Never Run Out of Chances with God

  The next morning as the sun gently woke me up, I opened my eyes and just lay there. I looked out the window and saw the bougainvilleas flitting in the faint breeze. And all at once I realized something: it was a new day. A new day in every sense.

  “Thank you, God,” I whispered. “Please be with him.”

  I wondered if Justin was at the airport or already on the flight to his parents’ home. I pictured him staring out the window of the plane, like I’d done on my flight back from Chicago when I started feeling the weight of what was happening. The weight of the end. I wondered if that reality was hitting him now too.

  “God, be with Anna and Mark. Help them help him,” I prayed. I inhaled a huge breath of air until my lungs couldn’t take in anymore. Then I let it all out slowly and steadily. I sat up, put my feet on the floor, and smiled.

  No eggshells. Just solid floor.

  I was free, and I didn’t need a signed piece of paper to tell me so. That feeling of liberty was as exhilarating as if I’d just been released from prison.

  It was comforting to know that Justin was surrounded by his family. I knew they’d take good care of him.

  I got dressed and stepped outside into the autumn sunshine. I relished the lightness I felt as I jogged along the golf course, with the gorgeous view of Camelback Mountain straight ahead. Somehow the air felt fresher, clearer, more brilliant than it had the day before. But mostly it was my thoughts that I noticed. The heaviness I’d felt trapped under these last few months was noticeably absent. I had hope again. Hope that felt so real it might as well have been running alongside me.

  I got home, showered, and then made a phone call I’d been wanting to make since we moved to Phoenix. My friend from the humane society answered, and I said, “I’m ready! Bring me my new dog!”

  She asked what kind of dog to be on the lookout for.

  “Whatever needs a good home,” I said. “I don’t care if it’s male or female, big or small. I trust you.”

  One of the best things about animals is the unconditional love and affection they give you. A dog is always happy to see you. Always ready to cuddle up beside you. Always willing to sit close and listen to you gripe or cry, even if it doesn’t understand you. That was something I needed at that moment, and it felt good to know I was providing a safe, loving place for an animal to live. I just couldn’t wait to meet the little one.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Within a few weeks I was introduced to a tiny eight-week-old puppy. He was a terrier/basset hound mix, if you can imagine! Short and long with big paws and the long ears of a basset, but covered in the fur of a white terrier. One look from me and one tail wag from him, and it was decided. He was mine. I named him Bruno.

  As I walked him along the golf course, I’d chuckle at how he’d always look back to make sure I was nearby when I let him off the leash to run wild. It was Bruno and me against the world! Everything was starting to feel right again.

  The next day my former coworker in Flagstaff called to warn me that the word was out.

  Oh boy, here we go! My body tensed up. This was the aspect of the breakup I dreaded almost as much as having to hurt Justin: other people catching wind of what had happened. And sure enough, our conversation sounded like something straight out of junior high.

  “Rich called Scott, and I heard him cry, ‘Oh, my God!’ I knew right away they’d found out,” she said.

  “How bad is it?” I couldn’t begin to imagine what they were saying. I knew I was the bad guy with Justin’s family—would I be with everyone else, too?

  I wish I didn’t care what they thought. But I did.

  “They were talking about how you were back on the market, and they wondered why Justin wouldn’t fight for you.”

  My guard went up, and I wanted to jump to Justin’s defense. I knew they were good guys, and I hoped they wouldn’t blow this out of proportion. I didn’t want Justin to be bad-mouthed.

  “Don’t worry, Christi. I’ll do what I can to keep clearing the air,” she said. “And you should know that Scott said he has too much respect for you to jump on the rumor bandwagon.”

  Wow. He had respect for me? It was surprising—and comforting—to hear that someone still held me in that esteem. But I was fully aware that this was just the beginning.

  At work the next day our main anchor, Patti, came up to me. Apparently word travels fast. But we were in the news business, after all.

  One thing I love about Patti is that she minces no words. She calls it like she sees it, and if it hurts, so be it. I’d solicited her advice numerous times about the industry and about news in general, but this time the conversation was clearly not going to be about work.

  She walked over to my desk. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “Are you getting divorced?”

  There it was.

  “Yes. I am.”

  Pause. “Can I tell you something?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but when I first met Justin . . . I just didn’t get it.”

  “What do you mean?” I had no idea where this was going.

  “Well, I never would have put the two of you together. I like Justin and everything, but I saw him as a player for some reason, and you just seemed like an o
dd match.”

  She paused for a moment. “You okay?”

  I had to smile. “You know, it’s weird, but I’m really doing well. You’re right. Justin and I are two very different people, and we just couldn’t make it work.”

  And that was as far as I was going to take it. I had no desire to air any dirty laundry.

  As the day wore on, I was blown away by the support I received from my coworkers. “If you need anything at all, I’m here,” they’d say. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.” One person pulled me aside and said, “To be honest, this doesn’t surprise me. I’ve watched the way he talks to you—the words he uses and the tone of his conversations—and I knew this wasn’t a good place for you to be.”

  I was dumbfounded by the kindness, and quite frankly, by the awareness people had about me and my situation. We might think we’re doing a good job of hiding our turmoil, but I was learning that people were onto my farce more than I’d ever guessed.

  It wasn’t long before people from Boise were getting word too. (For the big business that television news is, it’s actually pretty small.) My friend Jason e-mailed me, encouraging me that this was the best choice to make. “I honestly don’t know how you sustained it as long as you did,” he told me.

  The whole week I had a constant stream of affirmation that, yes, this was the right answer. Even though by now, I didn’t need anyone else to confirm it.

  With each day that passed and each hand that reached out to me in kindness, my heart started to crack open just a little more. A sliver here, an inch there. And when your heart starts to open, so does your world.

  Beginning to believe in your own judgment after questioning yourself for so long is a rebirth of sorts. It takes time to rebuild that trust, and I was grateful for God’s confirmations along the way. I thought about everything that had happened. The friends who told me Justin was drinking again. The way Justin initiated the conversation about separating. The guidance Dr. Anderson gave me. The time Jeff came to be with Justin, not knowing what was coming. The haven Carey gave me to stay in for a while.

  In a way, even Justin’s erratic, accusatory behavior was a blessing. It refuted any doubts I might have had that leaving was the best thing.

  As I reflected on everything I’d gone through in the past few months, I was struck by this realization: when you give it to God, He really does take care of you. And I’m not special. He does that for all of us.

  How often do I confine myself—and God—to limits I can understand? If I’d just stop trying to manipulate my life for a minute, stop believing that what’s around me is all there is, I’d recognize that all those small coincidences that happen just might be God’s way of revealing small miracles with His signature on them.

  His promises are always there, just waiting for us to believe them. It’s up to us to get a grip on ourselves and believe that anything is possible. Anything.

  But let’s be real. Trepidation still has a way of creeping in. When I finally made the decision to leave, I didn’t question it. But I certainly questioned myself. When you hurt someone on the level I hurt Justin, that guilt doesn’t just evaporate.

  On the way home from work one night, I had a little conversation with God. Here’s how it went: “God, You know I can be weak and question myself. Thank You for the hammering message of reinforcement You’re giving me through these people. Thank You for their encouragement and generous words. I couldn’t get through this without You. Please give me the desire of Your heart, and please . . . help my unbelief.”

  I was feeling more hope and confidence than I had in years. But I also knew I had a long way to go to make sure it stuck.

  Back at home that night, I was at peace. It was the kind of peace that wouldn’t dissipate when Justin came home—because he wasn’t coming home. This wasn’t his home. It was my home, and I was safe.

  I felt ready to undertake question number three: Why did I allow myself to put up with the abuse for so long?

  This was a tough one, because it meant I had to come to terms with my shortcomings. I had to forgive myself for staying in a situation like that. I knew I was like millions of women out there—I was smart, capable, and independent, but I’d become entangled in a relationship that was hurtful and unhealthy. It was humiliating to realize I had stayed for four years of my life. I thought again, What alien took over my head and convinced me that I couldn’t leave, that I just needed to deal with it?

  When it came down to it, I decided there were really four emotional handcuffs that kept me locked in.

  First, I stayed because I believed marriage was sacred. I had made a vow not just to Justin but to God that I was in this for the long haul. I was committed to sticking to my word.

  Reason number two: I stayed because I was afraid. I was starting to see this thread of fear and how much I was letting it rule my life.

  I feared what Justin would do if I tried to leave. I feared what people would say if I left. I feared what my life would be like without him. I feared being alone.

  It was baffling to me that I could simultaneously fear Justin and fear being without him. Even more bewildering was that my fear of being without him superseded my fear of his abuse—at least for a while.

  The third reason I stayed was because on some level I still believed in Justin. In retrospect, I realized that while we had our troubles, we also had our good times. I could see now that when he was sweet or thoughtful or loving—and he certainly was at times—I’d cling to that and let it override the bad stuff. I knew there was a wonderful, decent man in there. So when I saw glimpses of it, I hung on for dear life.

  Then it hit me—I stayed because if I didn’t, if I acknowledged that Justin had serious issues, I’d also have to acknowledge that I was guilty of ignoring them. I’d have to own up to the fact that they had been evident before we got married and I’d glossed over them. I’d have to admit that I screwed up . . . from the get-go.

  And this was a pivotal miss on my part. This wasn’t just “Oh, I forgot to set my alarm, so I was late to the meeting” or “Well, I screwed up and gave the painter the wrong color code, and now the walls are bright orange.” No, this was a colossal foul-up. The stakes were the lives of at least two people, and now we were left with a lot of pulverized emotions scattered all over the floor.

  I never wanted to be part of this sorority of divorce. Doesn’t divorce mean failure? In part at least, I stayed because I couldn’t face my own failure.

  God, I prayed silently, how do I forgive myself?

  My head felt so heavy I just couldn’t explore any more tonight. As exhilarating as this introspection was, it was also exhausting. I’d have to tackle that last question about forgiving myself later.

  For now I checked off the reasons in my head. The brutal honesty was gushing out of me now, and I was making some real progress.

  1. I stayed because I believed marriage was forever, and I was compelled to honor that.

  2. I stayed because I genuinely feared the wrath of Justin and I feared being alone.

  3. I stayed because I believed in the good side of Justin.

  4. I stayed because I couldn’t handle acknowledging that I’d messed up one of the biggest decisions of my life.

  The next week my friend Colleen came to visit from Ohio. We went out with a group of people from work, and one thing I noticed was how nice it was to be in the company of friends without the fear of a major blowup later.

  Whenever Justin and I went out, I couldn’t escape a sense of foreboding about what the alcohol would do to him, about what would happen once we got home with no one else around. It had been a long time since I’d enjoyed an evening out, and it was liberating.

  Then Colleen asked about Justin.

  This continued to be one of the most difficult repercussions for me—figuring out how to handle conversations about the divorce. While most people had been supportive, there had been some notable—and painful—exceptions. I shared with Colleen some of the r
eactions I’d been getting.

  One of our colleagues had been saying some nasty things about me since news of the divorce got out. I shouldn’t have been surprised since he was friends with Justin, and I could only imagine the version of events he’d heard. But I knew he wasn’t alone.

  Shortly after our separation was official, another friend and colleague warned me that word of the divorce was making the rounds about town. She told me she’d come to my defense when the public information officer she was interviewing for a story asked her about it. He, too, knew Justin fairly well.

  “The PIO asked me if it was true that you’d had an affair—if that was why you left Justin. I told him, ‘I know Christi, and I know she wouldn’t do that. I think you should keep in mind that there are two sides to every story.’ What was interesting was that then he said to me, ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ I could tell he didn’t really believe what he’d heard.”

  She looked directly at me. “But I’m telling you straight up—I’m sure it came from Justin. I think you should confront him on it so he doesn’t keep running his mouth.”

  I felt utterly torn. On the one hand, I was grateful to know someone was sticking up for me. Believed in me. Yet it really burned my cookie knowing my ex was running around spreading lies about me.

  When lies are bleeding out, we want to do everything we can to get a tourniquet and halt the flow. But the fact is, we can’t control what other people say about us.

  We can, however, live a life that doesn’t give their lies credence.

  I knew confronting Justin wouldn’t shut him up. It would probably just give him the satisfaction of knowing I was aware that his yapping was making the rounds at NASCAR speeds. One thing I’d learned by now was that nothing I could say would change how he chose to act.