Chapter 3 – The baby and HIM

Being pregnant made me nervous. I had a miscarriage years ago, but that memory is haunting, it hurt me.

 

The pregnancy was complicated. At 16 weeks my placenta had ruptured and that prevented me from exercising and doing housework. Because of this, I struggled to pick up weight and the baby also struggled. But my ex-husband supported me.

At 35 weeks pregnant, I started leaking fluids and that meant the baby couldn’t move as freely. I was booked in for a C-section at 36 weeks.

 

Through all this he was terrific, helping where he could, making me comfortable and I, in return, supported him in becoming what he wanted. A pseudo-bodybuilder.  He spent more and more time at the gym as the days went by. He said the gym was his happy place.

Our baby boy was born healthy. I had no complications and life was perfect. Well, at that moment it was.

 

I picked up 15 kg in 5 months while on maternity leave, he was in great shape, he worked out every night for about 2 hours, and my weight started to bother him.

This man used to say I should lose weight because I am not pregnant anymore, rightfully so, but I struggled, my body was not the same anymore, my hormones changed. Every week he would put me on a different eating plan, but still, my weight loss was slow. And his criticism was constant.

I eventually told him that I don’t need his help. I was tired of having to answer questions like:

What did you eat today?

Why are you not having a salad?

Do you know how much sugar is in that?

I had to send pictures of my lunch to him every day or on request. I wanted to lose weight for me. I genuinely  thought that he was trying to help me, but he made me feel that because of the extra weight, I wasn’t good enough for him.

I deal with little things, or so I thought for the next three years, besides the fact he is unhappy with my weight, he is also showing he is unhappy with the way I dress.

 

He becomes obsessed with his weight, what he ate, how he worked out, and eventually this management spilled into our home.

He watched what everyone ate, and criticized them too. I was too scared to eat anything that he bought because if I did, he would get upset over food, and I would have to apologize for eating it.

This man would put an open packet of crisps in a bag, and make a knot in a way that he could tell if I opened it.

We ate out when he said so and at places he suggested, he would ask where I feel like eating at, I would recommend something, but we always ended up where he wanted us to go.

I was anxious most of the time, I dreaded the lunch conversations, at home I had to walk on eggshells and hope that he hasn’t noticed if I moved something, or ate something, everything was my fault.

 

We got caught in a hail storm once, and it was my fault because I wanted to go, I inconvenienced him because now the car has to go in for repairs.

 

His behavior was 100 times worse when he was on steroids, short-tempered, moody, aggressive, and rude. All I could do was apologize, for upsetting him, for moving stuff around in the house, for eating his food, for not trying harder to lose weight, most times I would withdraw, he silenced me, this man took away my voice.

 

I am not sure at what point I stopped loving him, but I knew I didn’t like him anymore, I knew I wouldn’t be happy with him anymore, but I had to think of my child.

 

Although I knew this, that I did not love him, that I had to leave, I stayed for another three years.