8 I Said No to Spying

The divorce had just become final. You’d think that might bring some sense of stability, or at least closure. You'd think.

The papers were signed, but nothing settled. Plans clashed. Promises contradicted. Systems imploded. He missed scheduled responsibilities. Quietly, without explanation. Just another dropped ball I had to catch without complaint.

I didn’t even find out through him. That was becoming a theme.

Then came Mother’s Day weekend, which was supposed to be mine. He tried to make plans with others anyway, like the court order didn’t exist. Like boundaries were suggestions. And when I enforced it, he cast me as unreasonable. Inconvenient. The villain. Again.

He offered fun plans and then used the old “Never mind, Mom said no.”

It was subtle but strategic. And it worked. I could feel the tension ripple back.

That’s how these things metastasize. Quietly and relationally, until the real damage is invisible but everywhere. That’s how manipulation works when it’s done with a smile. It turns boundaries into inconveniences and paints enforcement as aggression. It lets someone else carry the guilt while the instigator slips away clean.

He eventually moved in with relatives. We were all trying to hold it together, but some posts and messages painted a different picture: “I’m not crazy. Just confused.”

Same, sweetheart. Same.

I’d signed a new lease and couldn’t take the dogs with me. His relatives didn’t want them in their house either. Somehow it came up that the dogs might be put down. That wasn’t ever the plan, at least not one I was aware of. But in the chaos, it became a fear. In the end, he kept the dogs. Unsurprisingly, the emotional rollercoaster had already hit full speed. The cracks kept growing.

I tried to hold steady. To not let them see just how off-balance everything really was.

Someone, caught in the storm, started sharing updates. Nothing big, just bits and pieces, probably trying to understand their world. It wasn’t betrayal or malicious. It was the system twisting their loyalties. It was confused loyalty, shaped by the pressure of living in two different worlds.

But I shut it down. Gently but clearly. “That’s his business,” I said. Because it was. Because I refuse to treat my loved ones like informants, even if I was being treated that way.

He and some of his relatives seemed to be fishing for updates about me by asking others questions that felt less like casual curiosity and more like intel-gathering. It wasn’t just inappropriate, it was invasive.

Adults should know better than to draw young minds into adult dynamics, especially during a high-conflict transition. That kind of emotional triangulation is corrosive. It teaches people that love means picking sides, reporting back, managing adult emotions just to stay connected. It tells them safety is conditional on loyalty.

I wouldn’t participate in it. I couldn’t. No one should have to choose one over another, or feel like they need to monitor one to stay close to the other.

That’s not love. That’s a trap.

One weekend no one could find him. Someone texted him late at night, scared because someone else was messing with their tent on a trip. He didn’t respond. That night, they weren’t just alone. They were unprotected. And they knew it.

I remember praying. I didn’t even know what to ask for. I just said: “God, this is hard. Help me find the strength. Help me find guidance.”

I met up with a group of friends one weekend and someone asked me to dance. I said no, I don’t dance. And I don’t. He was persistent, and I remember thinking, Absolutely not, self. Don’t even think about letting anyone else into the chaos. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Honestly, I didn’t think I had the emotional capacity to connect.

We danced, and something in me just let go. My head rested on his chest, and for the first time in a long time, I felt still. Quiet. Present. Safe.

He didn’t try to fix me or prove anything. He just made space. He listened without judgment. He stood beside me in the chaos, not above it.

We began spending time together. I didn’t want to let everyone know right away. Too much was already happening.

After so much distortion and blame, his presence was a recalibration. It reminded me of what connection is supposed to feel like. It should be peaceful, not performative. Real, not reactive.

At one point, I had a minor health issue. That was how everyone found out about this new person. Not what I wanted at all, but it happened.

That was the month all facades really started to crack. But the real collapse was still coming.

And I had already made one thing clear: I would not teach my children to spy to survive.

This is my personal account and reflection.