You're Not Pretty Enough by Tress Jennifer

Author:Tress, Jennifer [Tress, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

So let’s take a moment and recap: I was raised by some pretty cool, loving parents who validated and supported me and encouraged my independence. This produced many wonderful things, like The Sex Papers. And moxie. Which led to me meeting Jon Bon Jovi. Even the weird stuff, like some of the experiences with my stepfather or violence on campus, built character. They are what made or reinforced that side of my personality that is all pluck and courage and I will be heard.

But at twenty-six, I was reeling. I just didn’t know it at the time.

I was recently divorced. My ex-husband Leo and I had both contributed to the downfall of our marriage, but then he had an affair. Throughout our seven-year tenure, we weren’t very good at communicating about the relationship. In the early years, when we were happy, talking about our relationship seemed irrelevant unless it was to express our glee. When we were unhappy—soon after we married—that lack of communication foretold our unraveling.

Throughout the divorce process and for months after, I’d blow off the topic if friends or family asked how I was feeling. I thought I was doing myself a favor by not dwelling on it, by “moving on.” And I thought I was doing them a favor by not burdening them with the sadness of another marriage gone wrong.

“Great!” I’d say. “Couldn’t be better,” and that’s usually all I had to convey to nudge the questioner to the next topic. But the truth was I could have been better.

I was angry.

Angry over the death of a future vision, which included being a happily married mom at an early age so I’d have the energy—and a partner—to manage both career and personal life. Sure, I was still young and had opportunities to meet people, but after my divorce I wouldn’t easily commit myself to someone else. I didn’t see the point.

Angry with Leo, who was so cavalier and never wanted to discuss anything difficult. My mom provided some consolation: “You know, Leo might not ever experience the real lows in life,” she said, “but he also won’t experience the real highs.” As a last-ditch effort to try and save our marriage, Leo had arranged a trip to Las Vegas where upon entry we were lulled into a no time for talk; too many lights and noises and cocktails to drink trance. Unless me sniping, “You fucked another woman!” at him every five minutes and him replying, “Come on, we’re here for fun—let’s go hit the slots,” qualified as talk.

And I was angry with myself for ignoring the red flags and marrying someone I knew in that little place in the back of my mind where I locked away the “bad feelings” that he was not right for me. That he could do me in. I left him when I could see that staying in the marriage would diminish the fight in me.

The day we left the courtroom—divorce papers in hand—he said, “Let’s go have breakfast.

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