I used to draw a lot. I found that over the years I have done less and less, and the more I discovered the dark plot points of the marriage I thought was a beautiful work of fate, the more I realize why so much of me began to get buried.
It would resurface, bouts of artistic fancy. And I’m equally strong willed and oblivious, so it’s kinda hard to quash my spirit. I’m naturally pretty confident and bold despite my anxieties.
Still, I finally know why I wasn’t drawing. Snippets of the comments and criticisms and endless amounts of his self loathing after seeing me working on a piece, I stopped doing it as much, or tried to do it when he wasn’t paying attention. My sketches just became something he would behave bitterly and annoyed about because I could draw and he could not. He’d praise me in front of others then get hopelessly drunk and emotional and yell about how it must be nice to be me and why the hell wasn’t I making any money at it. Then tell me it was all just copying other things and that I wasn’t an artist anyway. He said that last bit so often, I’ve even repeated it to others. I love to draw. I sell pieces now and then, but ultimately, I don’t want my drawings to be something I have to force for pay. Where career choices are, I’d rather write. Can’t I keep one thing for myself and not sell out to the worship of the Dollar Bill?
Ultimately, I didn’t even see it as something I wasn’t doing because he was oppressive; it was merely a way I showed my love… not flaunting something that he got so upset about. Why would you do things that make your best friend feel bad? You don’t. The terrible truth, however, is that he gets so upset over everything. I cannot be responsible for his emotions, and I’m finally learning – in my thirties – that we can only be responsible for our own behavior, not our spouse’s feelings.
So, back at my parents house, I’ve been building a garden and raising my daughter. I’ve been rediscovering the beautiful embrace of my Heavenly Father’s love, something I’ve been struggling to do since my husband decided that he wasn’t really a believer anymore and decided that Judas Iscariot was actually the ultimate hero of the bible. And I’ve been revisiting my sketchbook, almost weekly now, instead of yearly. In it, I am soothed.
