Sweat & Sparkle

A commenter on another post asked how my stepdaughter’s birthday dinner went over the weekend. Let’s talk about that.

It’s no secret that my husband’s ex-wife (aptly nicknamed Psycho here) has insisted on making things as difficult, contentious, and unnecessarily combative as she possibly can, for nearly two decades. I have zero patience for her lust for drama and conflict, so I dread occasions when we have to spend time with her in person, because she will gladly ruin one of the children’s events to pat herself on the back for being tasteless.

This past weekend, my husband and I met my older stepdaughter and her fiancé for their birthday dinner, since their birthdays are just days apart. Psycho and my younger stepdaughter were also there.

I realized something at that dinner this past weekend. Sitting next to my husband, holding his hand, chatting with my stepdaughter’s fiancé about football…I was actually relaxed. Not uncomfortable. Not tense. Just calm.

I keep writing about growth and true happiness, but until that moment, I didn’t realize how much things have changed within me. When we walked up to the table and were instantly greeted with a sour frown from Psycho and then a string of her deafening complaints about the time, the wait, and lord knows what else because I tuned it out, the truth finally clicked for me, loud and clear.

That woman is a miserable soul. And she always will be. For whatever reason, she refuses to change. She wants to be unhappy, and she yearns to make everyone around her as unhappy as she is.

I used to feel animosity for her. But looking at her this past weekend, I couldn’t help but see the ravages of her moldered soul: frown lines slashed into her sagging face; deadened, empty eyes; her forsaken lack of light or heart or joy.

Some people can’t be saved. They don’t want to be. They cling to their bitterness and spite, because that’s all they have. They desperately claw at others to drag them down to their level, and they rage when people are happy anyway. That is exactly what was happening that evening at dinner, what has been happening for years and years, and I understood it crystal clear for the first time. My tension melted away in that moment, because suddenly I fully and absolutely knew.

She has never hated me. Or my husband. She hates that we are happy. She hates that despite all her attempts to destroy our relationship, we are still very much in love, devoted to each other, building our lives and our future together.

And she is…nothing. She hates that, too.

Psycho bristled at that table, endlessly complaining and gossiping as always, trying her damnedest to bring everyone down with her. But it didn’t work. My husband joked around. My stepdaughters teased each other. My stepdaughter’s fiancé joined in with his own quiet humor. And my husband and I held hands and enjoyed the evening, because we were together.

A burden was heaved off of my shoulders that night. Of course I always knew that Psycho is a joyless creature, but wholly comprehending her foulness, her infatuation with me, her bitterness, and planting the entire responsibility for that onto her shoulders where it belonged, was a welcome relief for me.

Instead of dread, I felt nothing. It just is what it is. She is what she is. Ultimately, insignificant.

I went home that night feeling light. Peaceful. Loved.

Psycho went home that night exactly as she arrived. Hate-filled. Jealous. Fake. Desperate. Failed. Tolerated, not loved. Echoing emptiness.

I am a firm believer that what lies inside will reflect on your outside. For some people, that is beautiful. For others…it is tragic.

For me? I know I still have a long way to go. But the night of that dinner was a significant road marker, signaling how far I have already traveled. And for that, I am grateful and inspired. When I have seen up close and personal what refusing to grow does to a person, then every single step away from that is glorious progress.