8 Lessons From Marriage #2
It was May in Rome.
(That's practically a guarantee that you won't be in your right mind.)
He was Spanish -- with a French accent.
He spoke four languages -- all of them with a cute accent (which he later told me he exaggerated, because women loved it.)
His skin glowed like polished oak.
He had just enough gray hair to convince me he was mature, ready for this.
"Why haven't you ever been married?" I asked.
"I was waiting for you," he said.
And that was it. I was alive. I was on fire.
I had to make him mine.
And I did.
I hired an immigration lawyer.
Within two years, we were married, which qualified him for a green card.
He walked into fully equipped fitness studio I'd secured with a home equity loan, a client base I'd already created, insurance, a bank account, a car.
And me.
He took off the mask almost the moment he arrived to the U.S. as my husband.
He was cold, aloof and secretive.
There were days on end when he didn't speak to me, occasionally punctuating the silence with a mean comment.
At first I chalked it up to "cultural differences," "language barriers" or adjusting to a new life.
After a few days of withdrawal, he'd set a bouquet of grocery-store flowers, still wrapped in plastic, on the counter.
And it would begin again.
In any language, any culture, I'd married a true-blue narcissist.
After a couple of years of this, I'd say, "If you can't be nice, please leave."
He'd pull it together again. For a little while.
At four years, the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) wanted proof that we had a "real" marriage, which I alone supplied.
I sent statements with our shared address and wrote persuasively about how solid our relationship was. I procured every proof I could find.
I almost believed it myself.
A few weeks later, the INS, removed the conditions on his green card based on marriage.
He continued to be cold, withholding and secretive.
He no longer bought flowers and set them on the counter.
I asked him to leave -- again.
"Okay," he said. "I think I will."
Just like that.
I helped him get an apartment, though my friend said, "Where I come from, his s&*# would be out in the yard, on fire."
A couple months later, as we were finalizing what I thought would be a straightforward divorce, he threatened to go after pre-marital assets including my retirement, if I did not give him the entire studio with all of the equipment.
Though I had a good cause for marital fraud, my lawyer said, but by the time I fought it, I'd be out more money than the studio and all the equipment was worth.
So I walked away.
I'd been taken for a 4-year-ride.
I'd almost lost everything to my raging teen hormones -- at age 47.
I went into the fetal position. From my deep shame, I told myself the following:
I can't trust anyone
True love doesn't exist
I can't trust myself
I'm a fool
But I DIDN'T lose everything.
My clients and friends rallied around me.
Soon word spread through the community and many offered support.
Within weeks, clients came to my condo, while my ex kept the studio I'd financed across the street.
By spring, I'd found a new place.
It became the biggest specialized fitness studio in the Twin Cities.
It turned out, being duped by "love" or lust -- or whatever it was that made me feel that only this one man would ever love me -- was the greatest gift of all.
I learned all of these things and more:
I am an entrepreneur
Emotions can deceive us from seeing the bigger picture
There are people who lack the empathy (this is hard one for empaths to swallow)
Believing in the essential goodness of our fellows is not a weakness
There are many people who love me and want to see me succeed.
Anyone can be swept off their feet by the promise of love
I am worthy of true love
I am worthy
Little by little, I returned to the living -- wide-eyed, humbled and much smarter.
Best of all, I did not allow the lessons from that marriage to be the wrong ones.
Instead, I discovered what lives inside me — qualities that cannot be given or taken away by another.
I am worthy. This belief is up to me.