I woke up to an email from my husband telling me our marriage was over. Then, he emptied our joint b

Celebrated Individual
2023-02-20T12:45:00Z

The following is an adapted excerpt from Ann Peck's book "Smiling on the Outside: Secrets, Sex, Shame and the Search for Self-Love." 

His email arrived five hours earlier, and I was still feeling numb. I kept playing the words over and over in my mind. "I know in my heart our marriage is over. I hope we can do this quickly and without lawyers." 

He wanted a divorce.

When the initial shock had worn off enough, I called him. "What happens next?" I asked, trying to hold back the tears. Simply saying the words out loud made everything real.  

"Well, Ann, we'll need to figure out how to divide things so we both have enough to live on." I burst into tears. I didn't want to be divorced again.

Although I'd been telling him for years, I felt I'd lost myself and needed to find myself again; now, I was terrified of doing it alone. I was even more afraid of not doing it at all.  

I wanted to feel good enough 

We'd been on the phone for half an hour when we started arguing again. He said he had sent the email to get my attention, but he didn't want a divorce. And knowing what I wanted to hear, he told me he didn't need other people and only wanted me. 

If only I could believe him this time — that he wanted me. Only me. And that we could finally stop bringing other people into our relationship and bedroom. I wanted to feel as though I was enough for him. 

But as he talked, the tears flowed, and my gut screamed. Everything felt tight. He'd said that same line a million times before, and I'd always believed him. Then, the second I'd finally relax, everything would blow up. He'd push to experiment with other people again, and I'd agree. It always ended the same way, with the cycle repeating over and over. 

This time, I didn't believe I'd survive another cycle.

After 90 emotional minutes on the phone, I was exhausted and on the verge of giving in. Through the throbbing of my head and my gut in terrible knots, I felt my body ready to collapse. And yet, the words that came out of my mouth were not, "I believe you," but rather, "I can't do this anymore. I'll have to talk to you later."

But later never came. 

He took all our money

Instead, I spent most of the evening on the phone with a girlfriend. I told her everything and read her drafts of the email to my husband I had spent hours composing. She asked me about money and encouraged me to transfer half our joint funds into my account. I assured her there was no need, as he said he wanted to take care of things without lawyers, and I trusted he would care for the kids and me while we finalized things. After midnight, we finally hung up, and I clicked send on the email to my husband. Exhausted and emotionally spent, I collapsed into bed.

I woke up the following day with a deep foreboding. I catapulted out of bed and ran breathlessly to my desk. My mind was racing faster than my fingers could move across the keyboard. Once logged in, it was confirmed. 

The bank accounts were sitting at zero. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were all gone.

I sat numbly in my chair, experiencing firsthand what I'd always known and feared. Like the women before me, my husband had shut me out and cut me off. He'd used his money to control us, to show his love or disdain. Punishment for not doing what he wanted, when he wanted, in the way he wanted. I'd asked him early on in our relationship, "How do you close off your emotions for someone you love so deeply?"

"When I'm done, I'm done!"

Even before our Valentine's Day wedding, I'd always known he could shut me out with minimal provocation. I knew and made many decisions during our relationship to avoid disappointing or angering him. I'd altered my body more than once and done things that made me feel ashamed of myself to keep him happy. My husband knew the two things I feared more than anything in the world were being unloved and not having security. He used that knowledge to pull me along.

And I had allowed it.

I stared at the account screens, showing zero balances; the things I had feared most were now a reality, and I couldn't breathe.

Before I knew what was happening, I found myself huddled under my desk, with my legs at my chest, rocking back and forth as the room went dark.

In the aftermath, I realized that it wasn't really about fear of losing love and financial security but instead fear of my inability to handle those things if they happened.

I discovered I had the strength to handle both.

This article is an adapted excerpt from Ann Peck's book "Smiling on the Outside: Secrets, Sex, Shame and the Search for Self-Love,"  published by Curvy World Media.

Ann Peck is an award-winning author of three books, freelance writer, and columnist whose articles appear in Business Insider, Entrepreneur Magazine, HuffPost, Connecticut Post, and more than 30 other publications. She is a member of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists (NSNC) and the Society of Professional Journalists. Ann also serves as an Ambassador with NSNC and a mentor for youth journalists and adoptee writers. Connect with her on social media @IamAnnPeck or at AnnPeck.com.

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