The Second Chance


Skylar Smythe Blog Midlife Debutante

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I asked for a divorce just after Christmas, in 2019. The fighting between my former and I had been consistent since 2017. I think it was around March of 2017, that he asked me to check his cell phone for a message from a friend. We were arranging to go on his boat and go fishing in Lake Texoma.

The friend’s name showed on his text message. So, I entered the code and began reading. I quickly realized that the message wasn’t from the friend. It was from a family member with the same first name.

This weird thing happens to me when I’m confronted by something really bad and upsetting. It’s like my body puts on a mute button. I can’t hear for a moment. I’ve had it checked out. Apparently, it’s a symptom of a panic attack. Because what I read broke my heart.

The Text That Broke Me

My husband was bragging about a lover. In great detail, he itemized the sexual things she “allowed him to do”. My ego wants to assert that I am a lover. I am not a prude. And I have always had a strong sex drive. So, if you are imagining a neglected husband? Don’t. That wasn’t the case at all. In fact, he was less adventurous than I am in that regard.

I’m passionate about everything I do. And have the erotic poetry to prove it. 😉

As I scrolled through what seemed to be pages of texts back and forth the previous night, I was devastated. There he was bragging about his ‘side piece’. And then one part of the text shattered me. When he boasted that he had the best of both worlds. A hardworking nerd for a wife, that provided, essentially. And then the hot side piece.

My former at the time was over 300 lbs and 6’2. I have never met any friend that categorized him as a ‘hot guy’. He had the ‘bad boy’ thing going for him. He was the life of the party. A story of a wild misspent youth partying. College? Nah. His inheritance of $500k at the age of 17 was gone in a few years. He lived in Florida with his brother. He rented Cadillacs and had escorts. And lot’s of drugs.

Red flags? Why didn’t I register them. Part of me I suppose thought that was his past. And not indicative of his future. Wreckless spending. No regard or strategy for financial stability. No plan to get ahead in life. Fly by the seat of your pants and live in today. That works, as long as you have a partner who can be responsible for everything. Kind of like a parent.

The Genetics of Being Really Bad Husbands

My former’s illustrious career included a stint as a Kirby vacuum salesman. And then he went to work at an insurance agency with his Uncle. In the heyday they made lots of money, but when we met him the company was defunct. Losing money. And slowly diminished.

When we first got together, his brother worked for him. It was kind of a mess. Two very undermotivated men with the same delusions of being better than other people. At least his brother had a college degree. Like my former, one of the best “life moves” his brother made was marrying a nurse. You know, a girl that loved him that had an education and a good job and income potential.

Their marriage has been on the rocks for the past five years. She has kicked him out. Brought him back. They have five children. Her desperation to escape at one point, had his brother’s friends pointing out her profile on a popular dating app. Am I judging? Yes. But with compassion.

Sound familiar? It’s amazing how patterns emerge that you never think of when you are in love. And the second I got a course correction, my eyes began to open. I saw two men who were raised wealthy, with a playboy father. Who cheated relentlessly. Spent everything he had. And moved frequently, selling his house and starting over. The sign of a bad money manager, even though they idolized him. I thought his Dad sounded like a con artist.

My Role In His Life Was a Financial Provider

I guess I was crying. Not sobbing but I felt the tears running down my neck, silently. He had the best of both worlds, he said. Basically, a wife that made money for him and a hot chick that rocked his world. Everything changed at that moment.

You see, I had left my family in Canada and my best friend, who means more to me than anyone on the planet. I had spent thousands paying for plane tickets to visit him, and then when the border patrol didn’t like my frequency of travel, paid his tickets to come to see me. I paid for the entire wedding myself. And every part of immigration fees (with the exception of one lawyer fee he paid, once) were paid by me for years.

My role in his life was not a soul mate. It wasn’t a best friend and partner. It was to fulfill a role he needed more; financial stability. A responsible adult in the house. A mom? Maybe. Because I ran the household like a pro. I scraped to get us into a small starter home. I paid for renovations.

He paid the utilities. His credit cards, his truck, and insurance. And that was pretty much it. Everything was provided by me. From gifts to groceries, pet care, repairs to the house. At the end of the month, he typically had $250 left in his budget. And that was usually spent on recreational drugs. He leaned heavily on me; I provided.

No One Seemed to Care What He Did

In my family, the parents or inlaws play a part in supporting the couple. Emotionally. Encouraging them. Imparting advice on their marriage, and helping couples work through things. This is how strong families operate.

They were people I had done a lot for. Given free business services to. I was the girl showing up at the house with tonnes of food to share at family events. While other folks brought a crowd, and one pie; feel me?

My best friend Diane says that my biggest flaw is that I am too generous. That comes from wanting to be loved. It’s also an Italian thing. You give what you have to your familia. With an eager heart. And when the time comes that you need someone, they are there for you too. I mean, that’s how it is supposed to work.

No one cared. No one wanted to console or support me. Talk me through it. Talk to him and maybe, in my wildest fantasy, make him realize what a jerk he was. And that he had a good wife and marriage he had defiled. One that he needed to fix.

It was then that I realized I was surrounded by people who didn’t care about me at all. Sure, they were willing to partake of my generosity. But I meant nothing to them. Just as I meant nothing of value to him. Beyond my next paycheck. At family gatherings, I sat alone. Unwilling to gossip about others.

Establishing a New Status Quo

It was a tsunami of realization. And it changed everything in my head and my heart. The two people I could count on were my Aunt and my best friend. They loved me. They had been hearing about things that were concerning from the moment I moved to Texas in 2014.

My Aunt raised me. My parents were dysfunctionally married. I’m going to share some of that because it is part of my journey to understanding where this flawed generosity and desperation to be loved came from. That’s an important part, I think, of healing and making better romantic choices.

Yes, I would give him another chance. After all, there were the kids. I didn’t want to hurt them and loved them so much. They are the one reason I do not regret the marriage. No one can take those ten years of being a stepparent away from me. My heart bloomed helping to raise them. That is the only gift he gave me of value.

It became clear to me that the guy that had partied his whole life, refused to grow up. Instead, he imported infrastructure. Found an emotionally broken woman, and promised her a family. Nieces and nephews. Love and protection. And I bought it. I immigrated for it. And paid heavily for it.

Pulling Back the Carte Blanche Role as an ATM Machine

In 2017, I began to pull back. No, I would not be spending big money on gifts for his family anymore. He would have to budget for that. I bought for our kids, but the ‘gravy train’ was over. And the feeling of being exploited for my generosity was going to end.

He didn’t like the ‘new normal’. The sex changed because it was no longer lovemaking for me. And every time he touched me I wondered where that body had been. I began to be repulsed when he touched me. I started to lose attraction to him. Even the smell of him turned my stomach sometimes. But I went along with sex when he whined and demanded it, because, well, that was my job right?

But that wasn’t what he noticed. I started to slowly pull back on the cash. Six months later, his mother lectured me on how married couples should share their bank accounts. There should be no “his money” and “my money”. I told her that her son is the type of guy that pays $100 on a maxed out credit card, and charges $99. And that I wasn’t comfortable sharing a bank account with him. And truthfully, never had been.

I summed up my emotions to try to love him again. Believe in him. Trust in his capacity, to be honest. I talked myself into giving him a real second chance. And I did.

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