The Letter I Want To Write To The ExWife
You are not new. Your grief in losing your marriage is not new. Your anger inspires a yawn. Your lies, an eyeroll and a shake of the head. And then we move on. We have supper. We sing. We dance. We hug and kiss and play fetch with the dog. Unbothered.
What you do has a name. Parental Alienation.
I see you. I see what your tactics. Your children don’t see. At least not yet. And they may never see your actions for what they are. They may carry excuses for you until their last breath as very old people some day long after you are gone, and after years of wondering why they have struggled so much to be happy or simply themselves. They may believe your lies forever. They may blame dad forever.
But I see you. I see what you do. So does their father. So does extended family and anyone in the community who is more interested in truth than in drama. We see you as you are. Pitifuly bitter, clawing at any invented opportunity to carve distance between a father and his children, to corrode at your children’s self value.
How sad. How very sad. There is not much to be done. If only I could show you how little you matter in my home, how your daughter’s face hardens as her visit with us comes to a close and she considers what new manipulation awaits at her home with you. If only you could see how you age yourself and age your children. How sad. If only you could see how much you cripple their joy when you demand only joy and love be accepted when given by you alone.
Maybe you already see. Maybe it brings you joy to know you cripple your children. Maybe you wish them to remain in that emotional pit you have created forever.
Would I be surprised? No.
How sad. How boring. How incredibly predictable. Even in your grief and your loneliness masked by fancy vacations and money spending, you have proven to be entirely unoriginal. You are a rerun of a show nobody watches anymore.
What you do has a name...Parental Alienation.
I’m not afraid. I am prepared. I am realistic.
But my oh my, how sad. This is all so sad. I laugh instead of cry, because you actually think you are clever, new, and vibrant in your abuse.