Tag: Motivation

(Some names have been changed to protect their identity. Mature subject matter. Read at your discretion. 18+)

The week before I found the condoms in Rosie’s storage unit, I overheard him talking with someone in the bathroom. The door was closed. With that said, you can always tell a man who is physically attracted to a woman. Makes no difference if the exchange is in person or over the phone. It’s the “lets get it on” voice.

Rosie’s voice was quiet, deep, sexier, and more deliberate. He was speaking in a way to keep me oblivious. He thought I was sleeping at the time. Rosie was getting himself ready on a Thursday night for his weekend away at his mother’s.

My heart sank when I heard his voice. I couldn’t exactly make out what he was saying. Nevertheless, I knew instantly. Rosie was definitely talking to a woman.

“Was it Wendy or was it with Carla?” I thought. What I did catch was it was a breadcrumb for me to pay closer attention to.

I had a flash memory of when I found his shaved pubic hair in the toilet the weekend before the bathroom phone call. Rosie forgot to flush them down the toilet that friday before going away for the weekend. That memory was fresh in my mind. I didn’t tell him I found his short and curlies. I was definitely thinking about it. I clocked the interesting turn of events and stored it inside my mind. That breadcrumb was a breadcrumb most certainly worth noting. Not enough to say anything, as I had to use the toilet more than once. I wasn’t about to fish his body hair out of the toilet for proof of Rosie’s potential cheating ways. Talking about it with Rosie would have only given him an opportunity to confuse my mind even more. I am smart enough to know that evidence seals the deal. I had none, so quiet I went.

“How dare you accuse me of this! You assume the worst of me”. Rosie used this line on more than one occasion.

I also instantly remembered a woman named Carla calling him a few months before I had seen his pubic hairs. Rosie was so friendly with her to the point that he labeled her cell number with her name on his phone. When I asked him about Carla, Rosie told me that she was someone needing his help with her domestic life.

My first thought was, “you’re full of shit”. I responded with, “seriously? Does Carla need your help with her domestic life? You must be joking?”.

I probably said that to Rosie in a rather sarcastic way too. Rosie then explained to me further that he knew someone who could help her. He was the liaison between the two.

“Legal stuff can be ugly as you know”, Rosie reminded.

I did most of Rosie’s legal stuff on his behalf back then. Rosie used his chip to cash in on my empathy. He bought himself a little bit of time. My divine team let him think he got away with it. Nope, condoms can fly!

Rosie even had the nerve to come up with that lie off the cuff whilst his mother was sitting in the same room with us. She may not understand english too well. He still knew what he was doing. Rosie was being shady in front of his own mom. I quietly coward inside myself. I didn’t fully believe him. What could I do? The only proof I had was a phone call.

I knew I had to develop an escape plan after seeing those condoms. I knew we were over. I say an escape plan, and a silent one at that, because that man scared the shit out of me when he got angry. Rosie’s intense dark brown eyes with furled eyebrows shook me. He would clench his jaw and then stare straight into my soul. Rosie would then deflect all blame onto me or gaslight me into thinking I was wrong.

Rosie was pissed that I went for a walk after finding the condoms. I left the box in the middle of his queen size bed with four of the condoms laid out individually. One for each colour like a symbolic rainbow of a colorful and flourishing sex life. They were his lucky charms. What pissed him off was that his son, Jean, saw them, or had the potential to. With Rosie’s ability to lie at the drop of a hat, I am certain he fluffed off the experience for his son by coming up with some off the cuff excuse. Just like he did in front of his own mother when it came to Carla.

When I returned from my walk, Rosie and I got into a big verbal fight about his cheating. We were in Rosie’s bedroom while his son and daughter were in the living room. Rosie was furious that I had chosen to leave the condoms out. He was furious that I was making a scene by raising my voice in the bedroom. Rosie didn’t want his children to overhear us. I could respect that so I decided to go for another long walk to decompress.

I have a difficult time being in aggressive energy for too long. It scares me. My body often reacts uncontrollably. Spasms and cramp in my legs and feet occur. With that strongly in my mind, I made an exit to calm myself down.

On my walk that night in the frigid Canadian March winter, I was pissed with a shattered heart. I was lost in thought. I was determined to do the right thing. I had to fix my life. I thought about the fact that I wasn’t working when I was living with Rosie. I don’t speak french, which is the primary language spoken in Montreal, Quebec. There is english in the city of Montreal. With that said, the province of Quebec is a french speaking province for the most part. The language barrier coupled with some physical restraints made it a real challenge to work outside the home there. Instead of working outside the home, I helped Rosie inside the home with parenting his children, keeping the apartment clean, and running errands for him. I  had written most of Rosie’s correspondence in his work, legal matters, as well as his family services battles. I was a non-paid private servant being held on a false promise of love. Ew, what a thought. It’s true. That’s when I realized I was a desperate people pleaser. I had to figure that shit out.

On that evening brisk walk, I thought about where I was at in my life. “What the fuck am I doing? Why did I stay with someone who cheated on his fiance with me? What would make me think I would be any different? What am I trying to prove? That I am not a child called “It”?”

After about forty-five minutes of me walking in the cold, I developed severe cramps in my calf, feet and toes. That was my cue to head back to Rosie’s place.

My body used to cramp at the onset of any sort of chill or over exertion. Sometimes my body still does. Rosie knew that. He had to rescue me from the outside cold on more than one occasion. Rosie had to pick me up in his car, carry me up three flights or stairs, then into his apartment during several cramp attacks. Rosie would then place me into a bathtub full of steaming hot water. Rosie knew that was what was needed to get the excruciating pain to subside.

When the cramp kicked into my toes, I headed back to the six unit apartment building Rosie and I lived in.

When I arrived at the front entrance of the building, I buzzed to be let upstairs. They weren’t home. Rosie took his kids to McDonald’s for dinner. He decided to lock me out. I know Rosie locked me out because I went around back to use the sliding glass door up on the third floor. That door was also locked. Rosie didn’t bother to have a key made for me. I had no way in. I was in agony. My toes were curled in every way, inside my boots.

I went back to the front of the building and sat on the front steps. Hoping another tenant would arrive home. No such luck. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t really think straight. I called my daughter, Olivia. When Liv answered, I immediately spewed my guts out to her. I told her about the condoms, about Wendy and Carla, about the eroneous lies he told, everything. I told her his temper scared the shit out of me and how he often found some way or another to make me the bad guy.

Liv was naturally upset. With that said, she was focused on providing me with heat to help get rid of my physical pain. Liv gets cramp too so she knows the pain. Liv witnessed me in crippling states many times throughout her life. With that, she sent me a few dollars through an e-transfer so that I could go to the local coffee shop to warm up. I didn’t have two cents to my name. I still don’t presently either. That’s going to change. I know this. It’s inevitable.

The coffee shop was about a twenty minutes walk from the apartment. It took me a little longer with cramped feet. Liv stayed on the phone with me the entire time. She listened to me spew my guts whilst also coming up with a game plan to get me back home to New Brunswick.

After sitting inside with warm coffee for about thirty minutes, and cramp subsided, I decided to walk back to the apartment. The evening turned to night by this point and much colder. On the walk back both of my feet cramped up. The pain was unbearable. Thank goodness Rosie and his kids were back home when I had buzzed to be let up that second time.

Liv was able to secure a ride for me from her step-dad to come back to her. The long drive back to New Brunswick from Quebec with my ex husband was going to be awkward and interesting to say the least. That’s what I was thinking at the time anyway. I was desperate and relieved by the solution. Driving with Bill was perfectly fine by me.

All I had to do was call Liv. She took care of the rest. I thank God for both my daughters everyday. I would be living on the streets, God knows where, if I wasn’t blessed to have Liv in my life.

Liv still keeps a roof over my head to this day. All the while, earning a little over minimum wage to get us by. I offer help to her by way of caring for her babies when she is at work, asleep, or when she is out and about doing other things.

Anyway, I digress.

The questions I asked myself on that cold wintery walk stayed with me from then on in. They sparked an inner journey. A rabbit hole that took me to a dark place with many doors to open and revisit. Why am I not loveable?, was the biggest question for me at that time. Not realizing what I was actually asking myself and anyone who would listen was, “why don’t I love myself?”.

I felt like a woman blindfolded. Moving aimlessly in the pits of hell to find a glimmer of light to pull herself out. At least I knew where to start.

It starts with being a child who cried a lot. Supposedly I drove my mother nuts with my high demands for attention after my father immigrated to Canada. My brother, my mother, and myself were all still in England when my mother coined me “It”.

When I was a teenager, my mother would crack jokes with my friends and say “when her father got home I would tell him to take It out and drown It. She would never stop crying.” Then she would laugh at me.

That memory then jumped to her saying to me on several occasions “take a long walk off of a short pier”.

That’s the same thing as saying “go kill yourself”.

A pattern started to emerge the deeper I went into my mind. This rabbit hole is freaking painful. I had to venture down it. The reasons for my failed marriages, fake friendships, and constant need for outside validation had to come from somewhere. I had to venture into the labyrinth in my mind to uncover the patterns. There were so many doors to choose from. That’s exactly what I did from the moment of me seeing those condoms. I opened one door and revisited one painful memory at a time.

I then realized that I am a cycle breaker helping cycle breakers break their cycles. One painful memory at a time. Yay me!