When my therapist — now our therapist — asked William straight up, he answered straight up. And the truth appeared to surprise him as much as anyone.
So when Mel included your name in that email, you felt betrayed?
Yes.
Do you think of the house as your house?
Yes.
Mel, you have to understand this comes from how William was raised. He was taught not to trust.
She helped us understand William's indoctrination was common to those raised in immigrant households. His parents, who had studied hard and traveled far to a new country to work and raise a family, guarded their money with diligence. They were careful not to get cheated, or even to feel cheated.
William's fears came from a solid foundation in his upbringing. His anxiety about not having enough money, for example, will always be with him. He could have ten million dollars in the bank and still worry. This is how he is.
Mel, you have to work on setting boundaries, and William has to learn to loosen his. The love will do this. Time and knowing yourselves will do this, but you both have to do the work. The trust will be earned by both of you.
Back at the house, we contemplated what we knew about ourselves and what we hated about ourselves. William didn't want to be mistrustful of me. I, on the other hand, had cruised through life willy-nilly, trusting anyone out of fear of being alone. Perhaps it made sense that two people wrestling with trust from different perspectives would meet at a low point.
We had work to do. We did therapy cram sessions, three times a week. Between sessions, I sobbed. William listened as I spilled my anxieties.
I can't do this....I'll leave....I don't want halfway...and I can't not be trusted....I'm angry at myself....I should have known better....This was all too risky and I didn't pay attention....This isn’t even your fault....You are who you are and I didn't see it....Just when I finally figured out being alone, I slipped.
William had tears in his eyes.
I get how you feel, he said. But no matter what you decide to do, I'll keep doing my own work and keep learning why I'm like this.
His sorrow made me even sadder, but I still didn't know what to do. Until...I took one more risk.
At our next session, I handed him a piece of paper listing everything I owned and everything he owned. The house, our cars, bank accounts...everything.
For us to go forward, I said, I want the whole enchilada. Half of everything you own. And you can have half of everything I own....It's not as much, I realize, but it's yours. If you can't agree, I won't hold it against you, but neither will I stay.
Finally calm, I waited. I was done crying and berating myself. I felt love and compassion for William, but I'd already proven I could live a meaningful life alone.
William stared at the paper. And stared. Finally, he looked up.
I agree.
Really?
Yes.
I exhaled, almost crumpling in my seat. We got up and hugged each other.
Are you sure?
Yes. Absolutely.
And thus our leap was taken. The start of a leap, in any case. Over time, we learned the full scope of our trust would have to be cultivated bit by bit, slip-up by slip-up.
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