I was once married to a nice, funny, kind-hearted guy. He’d help a stranger in a wheelchair cross a busy intersection. He once stayed by the side of a frightened elderly man who fell outside a restaurant. He made people laugh like a comedian in a stand-up club. Together, we made a sport-loving, athletic, fun-oriented family that loved tennis, bike rides, and walks on the beach.
Outside, he was a great dad. Inside was another story. I never knew which version of him would walk in the door after work. If it was a good day, I was safe. If not, I’d get out of the way and prepare myself for a dramatic, chaotic, and over-reactive stranger — and the rages that scared our kids into the fetal position under their covers.
Most jobs didn’t last long. It was always someone else’s fault. The boss was a jerk. The company didn’t know what they were doing. He knew a better way. As much as I begged him, he wouldn’t agree to get the help we needed to save our marriage. After years of begging, it was finally over.