Without knowing the term, NH and I decided to create a nesting situation for the kids: they stay put in their family house and he and I take turns living there and caring for them. This was an easy move for NH because he had crashed at a divorced friends’ house. I, on the other hand, had to stitch together a crappy living situation. That’s not just me feeling sorry for myself…although I had plenty of those moments. I was a stay-at-home-mom, close friends with other (mostly) stay-at-home-moms, and all intact families. Finding a place to stay wasn’t easy me for because most people didn’t have the room, a few hadn’t told their kids what was happening and didn’t want to answer the inevitable questions, and I had no money to rent a small space or even stay at a hotel. One fearless, dear friend stepped up, though, and offered a place for me, which I did accept. But I didn’t want to impose so I made an effort to break-up where I slept on my “off days”. Because it was summer I was able to stay at several homes while friends were away on vacation.

I know everyone was giving support and love and kindness, and I believe they wanted to help. It was demoralizing, though. I was displaced, in shock over the possibility that my marriage might end, and so deeply hurt about not being with my children. Packing a bag, being told I couldn’t go into my HOME – the place I had literally crafted as our safe haven – was inconceivable. But the “nesting” was my idea and it made sense: keep the kids stationary while we figure out what the hell just happened. I did what all girls do: I sucked it up and put on good public face.

The man  – the other human being – I thought would always be my best friend had completely retreated from me. I couldn’t go in and check on my sleeping children before I turned in for the night. I wasn’t allowed to make their favorite breakfast or plan a fun summer outing on a whim. My heart was in absolute distress and my soul felt like it had been set adrift in unknown territory.

Some background: NH had been home for 4 years, and by that I mean he hadn’t worked. He closed a business after suffering some serious mental/physical health issues (and yes, there was a direct connection between the two), but he did not participate in our day-to-day life. He was a ghost of sorts who walked on the periphery of our world. We did eat dinner together every night, which is something, but he locked himself away and retreated into his own world every other waking minute.

At first, given the foundering of his mental/physical being, I was relieved he had stopped working. The chasm that had opened in his mind and heart was big and I wanted him to tend to it, to find some peace. I ran the house and cared for the kids in all ways imaginable, which was my job, but I had no support from my partner who was literally 20 feet from us at all times of day. He simply didn’t participate.  I had to ask his permission to leave one of the younger kids home if it was raining and I didn’t want to drag them to school pick-up for an older sibling. He usually said yes, but he acted like it was a burden and I had to give very specific information about how long I would be gone…and I better not get delayed because then he would be overtly annoyed. I had to get a dentist who took Saturday appointments because he wouldn’t come out of his home-office Monday-Friday and play with the kids for an hour. He would act put upon to attend school functions like class plays or holiday parties and he often wouldn’t go. The number one reason? It conflicted with his yoga schedule. Dude went to yoga instead of participating a classroom party for one of his kids. Years later, I get it…NOW we’ve been to 500 class parties and taken pictures of a gazillion craft stations that included glitter and glue…but back THEN this was all new and every fucking popsicle stick creation was a masterpiece not to be missed.

One year into his “recovery” I did become resentful. I was afraid and I wasn’t quite sure why. There was the obvious: running the household and raising the kids was becoming more stressful for me. I started realizing that the boundaries we – I have to take some responsibility for what was happening – had established worked against the long-term health of our family unit. NH became less and less available for normal tasks.

About two years into his self-exploration-recovery efforts, I was offered a part-time job. It would have required NH taking care of the kids one to two afternoons a week, maybe 4 hours each time. I would have earned enough to cover the groceries, which is a nice bill to have taken care of given that we all like to eat…as in, we need to eat. Call me crazy for wanting to give my kids food!! NH’s response, “If you’re unhappy being a stay at home mom, go ahead and take the job. I mean, I understand if you just need to get away from your kids. Also, I’m not your babysitter and I won’t watch them when you’re in the office. I have things to do.“ Wow. I was shamed and crushed all once. How’s that for effectively shutting down your partner?? Guess what? I didn’t accept the job.

The reality of shuffling myself in and out of my home and in out of my kids’ lives was torture. I cannot emphasize this enough. I didn’t see it as an opportunity to take an art class or catch up on pleasure reading. I saw it as a big fucking danger sign and my body was in survival mode.