Thursday Prompt

The Day I Apologized to my Ex-Husband for Messing up His Life

Was not one I looked forward to and here’s why:

It’s about time you apologized for f-ing up my life!

The apology — or amends — that I was calling my former husband to make was long overdue. Burning with guilt and shame did not make it any easier to pick up that phone to set up a time for what I imagined would be an interrogation.

So were you really with Blanche, like you said, or with Beto?

Is how I imagined the session would go, like a deposition on Drag Net.

His outburst confirmed in my mind that my worst fears were about to come true. He did want to grill me, leaving no stone of my eighteen-month acting out spree unturned.

No wonder my hand shook even more as I hung up from that call.

Let me back up a bit and set the stage.

I didn’t really want to do this apology thing. I knew it would be hellish. Now it felt like it would be way beyond hellish. But not only was it the right thing to do, but I was working a twelve-step program around my sex and love addiction.

If I wanted any peace from the guilt and angst I felt for those long months of cheating on my husband, it was required. I knew that. Or at least, I needed that to be true. I needed that sense of relief.

Cause guilt and its twin flame, shame are no fun. They eat us up from the inside out.

The way they explain it in the program, guilt is about what we did.

All those times I lied about sleeping over at Blanche’s. All those times I came stumbling home after the bars closed, and I’d had a quickie. All those times I stayed with lovers in cheap or fancy motel rooms in ‘Frisco — racking up our credit card bill.

Shame, on the other hand, is about who or what we are — a slut, a home-wrecker, a liar, cheater, low-class b-word. Damaged goods. Unworthy loser. Etc.

Many of us in twelve-step programs like Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous and Overeaters Anonymous were sexually and/or physically abused as children. Myself included. We started life out with little to no self-esteem. Then we grew up and acted the part.

Ninth Step Promise

But the promise of the program’s ninth step is that making amends for our behaviors (guilt) also helps us heal our shame. I was eager not so much to do that, but to have done it, as you can imagine.

So we set the date. I drove to his studio apartment in the Richmond hills with a lump in my throat and knots in my stomach.

Expecting to be nervous and tongue-tied, I prepared a little crib sheet I tucked in my purse. I left my purse open, so I could glance down and see this outline.

Like I had a talk prepared. That part didn’t worry me.

It was the Q & A I anticipated after the talk. The grilling, like I said. At that time, I believed my husband deserved to have any and every question he asked answered. I also feared he would want the gory details.

There were so many gory details I couldn’t keep them all straight. If he asked me how many lovers, I would only be able to venture a guesstimate. Twelve? (One for each step, right?)

But please don’t ask their names, cause I sure as heck don’t remember all of them. I do know Mario was the first, and Ricardo was the last. The in-betweens get murky.

After the curtest of greetings, I sat awkwardly across from him with my purse at my right hip. I gave my little spiel, held my breath, and waited.

My ex got up and went over to his bed. He reached for a photo from his bedside table to show me — a picture of himself as a nine-year-old boy, face full of awe and delight.

This is my inner child.

He told me about a men’s healing circle he was in. They were working on their wounded — in his case — abandoned inner children. Turns out he had a pattern of picking women who abandoned him. Like me as well as his first wife.

He was acting out an old script — ending up with women who mirrored his mother’s actions. He shared how he used to sit on the front steps, waiting for his mom to come home from wherever she was — out there the whole time she was gone — even with Dad and four siblings inside.

He felt alone and unsafe without her.

We were together for nine years, and I did not know this. By this time, we both were in tears. There was nothing to do but hug. Dare I say, the most significant, healing hug in our entire relationship occurred after we divorced.

Sometimes, it be’s like that.

Sometimes the moment you most dread arrives full of grace, blessed by angels. Sometimes your willingness to be uncomfortable — one of this week’s words — is rewarded with a sense of lightness and freedom you never ever dreamed possible.

Sometimes you drudge up a hill only to fly down a mountain singing hallelujahs to a tune you didn’t know you could carry.

So does Step Nine live up to its promise? All I can say is, from my experience, you betcha!

P.S. You don’t have to be an addict or in a program to use it! It’s free to all!

Merci beaucoup, 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊., for this week’s fantastique prompts!

Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Stay in touch!