In short: I was in unfamiliar and unexpected territory. At first, I carried on like nothing had changed--on the outside. Considering I was about 5 weeks pregnant, I obviously wasn't ready to tell anyone, and so I just pretended it wasn't happening. The weekend after I learned I was pregnant I went on a century ride with my friend Nicki.
As we were ascending a minor hill I told her. She dropped her chain along with her jaw. I felt great on the ride, and was considering continuing to Ironman. After all, I would only be 8-9 weeks pregnant when I raced so the fetus would be below the pubic bone and safe from impact. Unfortunately, about two weeks before Ironman it was like someone pulled my plug and I could not perform. An easy five mile run was an impossibility, so I couldn't foresee swimming 2.1 miles, following that up with a 112 mile bike ride capped off with a marathon. Nope. I was pregnant. In some ways this disability brought home the reality of what I was facing, and that was good.
Ever the researcher, I threw myself into learning everything I could about pregnancy from the optimal diet, to exercise to fetal development stages. I immersed myself.
Matt's brother, Wayne, was in town learning the business. Matt ran a used cooking oil recycling business, where he obtained contracts with restaurants to collect their used cooking oil, which he then cleaned and resold as the commodity "yellow grease." His business was going well, he said, and since his brother was in residential real estate and this was 2009...well, grease was looking good to Wayne.
The day Wayne arrived in town is a perfect example of Eakin family dynamics. Wayne showed up, took one look at Matt's unfurnished apartment and said he was leaving, at full volume and with a multitude of accusations, insults and swearing. Matt called me at work and started venting about his brother's actions. I was simply horrified at the brother's behavior. Who acts like that with someone who is doing you a favor? Matt had gotten a mattress for Wayne to sleep on, and a tv, but the place was unfurnished. This was not a surprise, and Wayne really owned a part of that. Matt's furniture was in storage at his mother's house which is also next door to where Wayne lives in Delaware. When Matt told me Wayne was coming to Atlanta, I suggested that he ask Wayne to bring some of his furniture from their mother's to make the apartment more habitable. Wayne refused, and so he got an unfurnished apartment.
All that settled down and they went to work. Matt was still talking marriage and I was warming up to the idea. As my pregnancy progressed I started to envision our family: me at the law firm, Matt running his family business, happy and successful and living in my beautiful home that room for us all, and a guest room for visiting grandparents. I bought tickets to a table at the Chris Isaak concert at the Chastain Amphitheatre, and invited Nicki, Wayne and my cousin and her husband. We packed a picnic dinner and had a great time as a group, but as the evening progressed, I could sense a change in Matt's mood. He was angry, I could sense, and withdrawn but I couldn't understand why. Everyone was getting along, no one was drunk or weird. It was just good family fun. As we packed up to leave Matt could barely bring himself to say goodbye to my cousin and her husband, which was embarrassing for me, but I was more concerned why Matt was upset.
As we walked to the car I probed him about his mood. He started yelling at me, asking me why I hadn't been holding his hand or sitting closer to him. He accused me of having been sexually involved with my cousin's husband. Now, I must take an aside to tell you that at that time in my life I was quite centered. Other people's outrageous behavior, or even just an aggressive driver, were things I handled with equanimity. I had done a lot of soul searching (and therapy) and I was easily able to allocate responsibility for actions, and his behavior was so not about me. He stormed off into the night. I took one look at Nicki, then the brother, placed a hand protectively over my abdomen and said, "Let him walk." I drove us back to Matt's place, dropped the brother and the car, retrieved my own and retreated to Nicki's house to wait out the storm. I gave my phone to Nicki and went to bed. He called repeatedly and she spoke to him briefly to let him know that I was done.
The next morning he was at my garage when I arrived. Crying and recalcitrant he apologized, took responsibility and promised it would never happen again. This was August. I forgave him. In September he snooped into my Facebook and read a message from a male high school friend asking to meet up for coffee when I would be in traveling to his town on business. Matt kept me up until 3 in the morning screaming at me, telling me I was a slut. Aside: I had declined the invitation.
In October I indeed travelled for a business retreat, and Matt showed up at the conference, dirty and manic, demanding to take me to dinner outside the group's plan. But not before he insisted on inspecting my vagina. I knew I was innocent of any wrongdoing, and so I had nothing to "lose" by submitting to this inspection; moreover, he was so angry and intense I feared for my safety if I denied him. Finally, after the event (which included his commentary on my grooming habits), I had to live with the fact that, in the moment, I submitted to a degrading inspection just to keep the peace. I feel humiliated, cowardly, and chagrined about the level of my then-denial. It was as though I was persuading myself that if I did everything he demanded, he would be ok. But he wasn't going to be ok, and I ought to have stopped things then, and minimized the damage. I was foolish because I was hopeful. We need to teach girls to run away from hope: it's a chimera and will lead you into trouble.
On November 9 we had our gender ultrasound. Matt got a haircut before the appointment, because he was constantly "behind" on his grooming. So I swung by the salon to pick him up . He had also picked up a stuffed animal as a present for the baby. It was sweet. So we had decided to ask the ultrasound tech to write the gender on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope, so that we could experience the surprise together, in a more intimate setting than the doctor's office, at dinner. We left the doctor and I was fairly vibrating with excitement. Matt started to become surly. He didn't like what he was wearing, and felt like he needed to change to go out, but he also didn't like any of his clothing at home. So basically he was just being impossible to please. I finally persuaded him that I cared not a bit about how he was dressed, but that this moment was important to me. I selected a restaurant: The Iberian Pig, a new place on the square.
We arrived early for dinner, around 5. We were seated and told our server the plan. He was excited, a medical student planning to go into obstetrics he was the perfect server for the evening. He brought me a virgin cocktail and took Matt's order for a bourbon. When he delivered the drinks, Matt gave the waiter the envelope to open. I was dumbfounded by this. We had agreed to do this intimate thing together and here he is handing it off to our fucking waiter? I had offered to Matt the privilege of opening the envelope because I felt like so much of the pregnancy was about me, that it would be cool for him to "have" this experience. But he delegated. And then he drank. And drank. And drank. He probably consumed 8 bourbons, and became sloppy, boisterous and loud. I told him I wanted to go home. It wasn't late, maybe 8:30 or so, but his behavior was embarrassing.
He predictably tried to insist on driving. I refused. He became angry and ripped the keys from my hand. I don't know what I said to get him to give me the keys, but I was ultra cool and calm. In the mile and a half drive home his anger built. He began the insults, interrogating me about my exhusband, an exboyfriend or two. I did not respond. His anger mounted. I got home, parked and went to the bedroom to prepare for bed. He trapped me in the WC while using the toilet and tried to force me to perform my ablutions in front of hime. This was particularly traumatizing for me because my first husband had dome the same thing several times (only he spied on me, and this was being forced). When I finished with the toilet, I pulled on some comfortable clothes and got into bed, repeating to my self over and over that stress was bad for the baby, and that I needed to stay calm and not let his words get to me. And I was successful. I was so immune to his rage that I decided to write down some of his comments to better follow up with him when he was sober.
Some of the interesting points:
- accusing me of sex with my brother in law
- further accusations of sex with my cousin's husband, to include group sex with my ex and him
- accusing me of continued sexual contact with my ex husband
- accusing me of sex (particularly anal) with my father
- accusing me of sex (including anal) with college classmate Tim Duncan
- general accusations of being a shitty, selfish, mean slut.
I want to take a moment now and describe what our life was like between these incidents. Matt was waking at 4 am most mornings to go to work. He would arrive home at 5pm, well before I did. I would wake at 5:30, go to a 6 am yoga class, go to work and return home at about 6:30 or 7. We'd have dinner (I love to cook so I'd usually make it) and watch some TV before going to bed. So we were busy; we both had 12+ hour days. We were very, very busy. And successful. His business was growing and I was working for the swankiest law firm in town. Power couple. If Matt blew his stack every once in awhile, I attributed it to the stress of being a business owner. I was patient, understanding; I bent over backwards to justify his behavior and created complex rationales for why this wasn't really "him."
But there were little things there that were problematic, and which I cannot explain: the continued racism, including an intense and totally unfounded jealousy of my early-morning yoga instructor (he was a former drill sergeant), his arrogance and uncouth manner of dealing with the wedding planners (and yet his insistence that he be present). His short temper whenever he felt marginalized, such as New year's eve. He had purchased several bottles of champagne, and was attempting to "saber" the nicest bottle off my balcony. He could not get the cork out, and when his best friend, Trey, attempted to help, Matt became enraged, threw the bottle of champagne as far as he could and then my silver knife! His utter disregard for other people's property was breathtaking, embarrassing and quite frankly horrified me. It would get worse.
A real selfishness and self-importance began to creep into our everyday lives. Several of his workers were arrested for stealing oil. He insisted that I take off from work to go bail out one of the guys (he gave me money) because he was too busy. Now, bear in mind, that while his business was growing, he was not contributing to the household fisc. He paid no mortgage, utility or grocery bill. He was living off of me. And yet I, at 7 months pregnant, was tasked with taking off from my paying job, driving an hour and a half and bailing out a guy I had never met. And I did it. My support of Matt was absolute. I believed that if I was perfect, if I never told him "no" and was absolutely above-board in my conduct that the jealousies would stop, the rage fits would quiet and we would be content and happy. Because that's how I am: once I decide to commit to someone, they have my everything. I know better, now. I spent so much time and energy on the relationship that my work began to suffer. I got a poor annual review. I took a pay cut.
But nothing was ever good enough. I had a board meeting for the charitable organization I was involved in. On the way home I swung by Outback and picked up a nice steak dinner for us. We'd never had steak together and so I ordered his cooked "well done" because that's how he ordered his hamburger. He berated me for 15 minutes that I had insulted him by ordering his steak that way, because apparently only troglodytes order their steaks well done and he was better than that. I tried to explain that I had deducted that he liked well done meat because of his hamburger preference, but he was not mollified, and informed me that I was an idiot for not knowing that he ordered hamburgers well done because of the potential for contamination with ground beef. I never knew when it would happen, but it would always surprise me: the intense anger and disgust, a look of hate and words that would redden my face in shame and sometimes anger.
Oh, and the wedding. The damned wedding. Once we decided to marry, I suggested and he agreed that we would have a small ceremony with only family and maybe a few close friends. Because we are from the same geographic area and our family all still lives there, I suggested we do it someplace relatively close. We agreed on a time frame (taking into account my pregnancy) and decided late October was best. I got on the phone and checked availability at several delightful venues and presented them to Matt. He didn't put them down, but he started to do his own research. Ultimately, he insisted that he throw the wedding, and that we do it in Atlanta (where we lived, but at a great distance for family and friends) at a fabulous place called Serenbe, and that he would put up all our family and friends at the place.
He wanted it to be a weekend of fun, and so we paid a down payment, printed invitations and sent them. Two hundred invitations. But as it turns out, he couldn't afford the wedding. I figured out a way to have the wedding in that location, but at a much lower cost that my parents were willing to pay. Matt refused. We had to call off the wedding. All my professional contacts, the people with whom I worked, etc. Family friends had purchased plane tickets and arranged their schedules. It was the single most humiliating experience of my life. There I was, 6 months pregnant and essentially, my fiance cancelled the wedding because his grandiosity had dug him into a hole he couldn't get out of on his own, and would allow me to help him out. It is one of the things I have not yet forgiven him for.
Ultimately we were married at a gorgeous cabin on a lake. My family showed up, but typical to Matt, he and his mother had a screaming match in the days leading up to the wedding and she ultimately did not come. They had so much back and forth I thought I would vomit. Stories to me, explanations, excuses, three thousand different variations of how and why she should get to Georgia and neither of them was ever mollified. It was probably good she wasn't there, as they tend to set each other off. His sister and her brood came, but not the brother, because of course they weren't speaking to one another after their attempt to work together predictably failed in spectacular fashion. I don't like to think about our wedding, but we did get married, after a fashion (by my nest friend's partner, who is an e-minister...he did a fabulous job and was easily the most dignified thing about the weekend). After the ceremony Matt started to spiral. He started to get aggressive with someone at the table, I don't remember who (maybe my sister) but my family is so decorous that no one would take his bait. After my family went to bed it was just friends still up, and that's when he lost it. He started screaming at me and throwing things at me, accusing me (again) of sleeping with Tim Duncan (it's the race thing again) and anyone else. I was 7 months pregnant and it was our wedding night. He threatened to throw his wedding ring into the lake. It was a fucking nightmare. No one could calm him down. But that now stands to reason, as nothing and no one had set him off. Just him. Just his own mind.
Two weeks later I started spotting and was hospitalized due to contractions after another night of being berated. Matt stayed quiet the rest of the pregnancy. My dog died. I went into labor three weeks early.
On the way to the hospital Matt started accusing me of thinking of my ex-husband. Between contractions I assured him that Tyler was the last thing on my mind, and hadn't been for a very, very long time. We were, after all, 5 years divorced, hadn't spoken in years and I was pretty focused on the baby trying to emerge from my uterus.
I labored for 21 hours, my daughter was born and perfect, although small at 6 lbs 1 oz. The baby was taken to the nursery for some work and I was taken to my recovery room. Matt brought a pizza and some champagne and oj for mimosas, and then started demanding that I listen to the voicemails he was getting, asking me if I could hear God in the background. He told me he had gotten a call from his brother and his brother told him he would never amount to anything as a father. I tend to believe this happened. Matt became increasingly agitated. I suggested that he go home, get a shower and some rest. I was learning to nurse and he was prowling around like an angry tiger. He left and returned several hours later, unwashed and wild-eyed. After a few minutes in the room, he became exhausted, and asked me to rest on the window seat so he could get some sleep. And that's where the nurse found us at 4 am, me asleep n the window seat and he in my bed. I was less than 24 hours out from delivering.
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