(Confronting content ahead)
One evening about eight years ago:
I pretend to share dinner with my husband on our deck. The air between us is loaded with the conversation we are about to have. I drag my eyes from my untouched food up in his direction and ask:
‘Why can’t you just let me go? Haven’t I suffered enough?’
He explodes:
‘How can you be so selfish? I’d be explaining to our children why you left us for the rest of my life.’
The tiny bit of energy I have left coalesces into a red-hot ball of anger
‘Don’t you dare call me selfish after everything I have been through. Ever! I wouldn’t be leaving you. I’d be doing you all a favour.’
Thought Food 