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I was married to my own child for 21 years. I thought I was marrying my high school sweetheart, but I was actually becoming his mother.
I was forever telling him to do things. Pick up this. Put away that. For a few years, he had a chore chart. Mowed the lawn? GOLD STAR FOR YOU! Took out the trash without being told? You’ve earned your full allowance. I would ask him to do things. He would either tell me I wasn’t his mother or that he moved out of his parent’s house for a reason.
I think the reason was so he could be mothered by someone else.
Me.
When we decided to have kids, I expected to take on the primary responsibility for caring for them. The clothing, feeding, appointments, and household needs always fell to me — both for him and the four children we’d eventually have together. He never made a dental or doctor appointment. He didn’t wash clothes or scrub anything or cook meals. If a child was sick, he never attended to them. He was never vomited on. He didn’t change diapers. He was never the “go to” parent if there was a broken bone or a broken heart. He never paid a bill or made a phone call when the washing machine or dishwasher broke.
When we got divorced, he didn’t even know how to write a check.
This isn’t the only reason we got divorced, but it certainly contributed to it. Twenty one years is a long time to care for anyone, most people but even take care of their kids that long. But to care for an adult fully capable of caring for themselves? That’s a really long time. It’s a long time to have to ask someone to take out the trash. It’s a lot of swallowed anger and pent-up resentment.