In My Red High Heels: Dating Disaster to Happily Ever After

By AnnMarie Priest

After getting married at eighteen and subsequently divorced at forty-one, AnnMarie found herself thrust into a tumultuous dating world filled with embarrassment and occasional tragedy. Embracing her singlehood, she adopted the practice of journaling after each date as a form of self-imposed therapy. These

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manuscripts, LLC
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889267379

Book preview

The End Takes a Long Time

I became a mom at nineteen. Looking down at the precious baby with soft, pink skin wrapped tightly in a receiving blanket, I repeated it’s going to be all right, it’s going to be all right, it’s going to be all right for hours. I had put myself in this situation. I thought I wanted it—something for myself. However, it came at a price when I married someone who didn’t want to be married. I didn’t know if I even wanted to be married, and I’d given up college. I only knew I didn’t want the alternative of being home with my abusive father.

Jerry had been my friend in high school and, later, my boyfriend. He made me feel safe. Deep down, I wanted people to believe high school sweethearts could get married and live happily ever after. I’m not sure how others could believe that, though, when I wasn’t sure it was true.

The day after giving birth, Dr. Connor entered my room. Good morning, AnnMarie. Are we ready to head home?

The thought of leaving the hospital terrified me.

At first, I said, Yes, I think I am. My heart was in my throat the moment I said it. I was not ready to go home. I was afraid. I mean, I honestly don’t think I am. I don’t know what to do. Tears began streaming down my face.

Oh dear, you are going to be fine. You are a smart girl; I know you have been reading everything you can to prepare for this. But let me see. He paused, looking through my chart. How about we schedule you for a few more breastfeeding coaching sessions this afternoon and tomorrow? He looked at me with a smile. That will give you another day to mentally prepare for going home. How is that?

Thank you, Dr. Connor. I breathed a sigh of relief.

One more day. I was grateful. The sun glistened on the lake outside my window so brightly, and as I watched, I had to close my eyes. Eighteen years won’t be that long. I’ll only be thirty-seven—still young, isn’t it? I’ll still have time to have the life I want. I’ll have time to find someone who will really love me.

For the first three years, Jerry was still a wild, partying, irresponsible boy. I was alone much of the time with our baby. He would disappear for hours on end, sometime days. I didn’t want to be married but thought I was doing the right thing. As the years passed and Jerry got a better job, he became more responsible and, occasionally, I would have a glimmer of hope that we could make it work. Of course, by then, like many young women, I had become a completely different person. I had different ideas about the world, what my goals were, and how I wanted to live my life. We eventually bought a house, with help from my aunt and uncle, and settled into a nice neighborhood. For the first time, we had friends as a couple. I enjoyed that aspect of being married. I had people to talk to about world events, commonalities, and the future. Jerry took on extra hours at work because we needed the money, and consciously or unconsciously, it was a way of escaping the responsibility of our family and the house—and me.

We fought about having a second baby. I didn’t want any more children. I had raised my siblings as a teen. My little sister Suzy, who was only six when I got married, had become like a daughter to me, and now I’d spent my early twenties caring for our daughter. Jerry didn’t want Sawyer to be an only child. I didn’t either, really. But I did like the feeling of it being just me and her against the world. Having another baby just seemed like such an enormous amount for me to take on. I knew the responsibility would fall on me, but I felt guilty not wanting to give Sawyer a sibling. She deserved that. By the end of summer that year, I had conceded and was pregnant.

Before the birth of our second child, I was determined to develop some skills and find a job. If I could make enough money to contribute, then I could have help taking care of the kids. I took night classes at a business school and finished with an accounting certificate. With the help of a family friend, I was able to land a job at the Forest Service as a payroll clerk. One of Jerry’s aunts offered to watch Sawyer during the day for a reduced rate. I was feeling proud that I was starting to build a life for myself.

I loved my job. Everyone complimented me on my ability to pick up concepts and skills so quickly. Soon I was taking on more responsibility and helping with purchasing and contracting. The comradery of my coworkers made the time there so meaningful. They became like family to me. One woman, in particular, became a big sister to me. Deidre was my sounding board and confidant. During my pregnancy, we jokingly called her my doula. She and the rest of my Forest Service family helped me get excited for and celebrate the arrival of my second daughter, Dakota.

After Dakota’s birth, things at home became more stressful. The cost of everything doubled, and our income dwindled. My paycheck only covered daycare costs, and working became a bone of contention with Jerry. When Dakota was three months old, we learned our new precious baby had allergies. I quickly put myself on a restrictive diet and nursed her exclusively. Jerry’s aunt was afraid to care for a baby with allergies, and all the daycares I interviewed wouldn’t take on the responsibility either. Besides, Dakota needed me, her mama, so I resigned from my job that had become a refuge to me.

I spent the next six years making Sawyer and Dakota the center of life. I loved my home. My neighbors became like family to me and the girls, and I constantly had a new project in the fire. I treated being home like I would a job. I kept a schedule, planned activities, and took responsibility for the cooking, cleaning, and all the yard and house maintenance. I became content in my home and with the girls.

Jerry retreated into his work and his after-work activities. He would call it choir practice; however, there was no singing in what he was doing. I’m just having a few beers with the guys, he would say. Just blowing off some steam! An hour or two after work would have been okay. Often, he would go missing for hours, arriving home in the middle of the night. Occasionally, I would insist we go to therapy or a marriage retreat through the church. If only Jerry and I could have a better marriage, I thought. To appease me and stop me from talking about wanting out of our marriage, he agreed to go.

In our early thirties, we attended a Marriage Encounter weekend retreat. I remember being hopeful about it. The weekend was almost magical. We really connected. We talked to one another, we made love, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of hope.

Following the retreat, we were supposed to continue the journaling to each other we’d started to keep the communication open and to focus on our marriage above all else. As I re-read these shared exchanges below, it still makes me sad—sad I wanted him to change so badly and, even though I think he wanted to change as well, it just wasn’t going to be.

To my love Jerry,

I feel very nervous about continuing our journaling here at home. On our marriage retreat weekend, we were together twenty-four hours a day for three days straight. We held hands all day, talked so intimately, and made love. It was just us—working on us. Today, as the hours passed, I became more stressed. I felt like I was being pushed to the bottom of your list. Here we are rushing to get this done in your last twenty minutes home. But I felt happy that you didn’t say, Forget it. This is so important to me—for us! Even if we only have a little time, it is time. We need to take advantage of whatever we have. You mean so much to me. I wish we could be holding hands every day, talking, touching, and making love. I love you and will miss you so much when you go to work tonight. —A

He wrote:

My darling,

I feel that it will be important to continue our journaling at home. We will have to find the time to be together as the summer months get crazy. It has been a good lesson in love and commitment. I know we will only build on and become a happier couple. I felt a huge sense of accomplishment from this weekend together, and it opened up so much hidden emotion for you. It has always been there. I needed to express myself to bring it up. The feeling I get when I think about how happy I have made you is like the time I surprised you with a new wedding ring on your thirtieth birthday. That night was a seven-eight on the scale. This weekend was definitely a ten! You are my ten in life.

Love,

Me

Three days later:

Dearest love,

Well, the week has gotten away from us. This is your third extra shift in a row. We knew this week was going to be rough. And it is! I feel very sad tonight. As if even though we have realized our love for one another is still there, found the secrets to keeping it alive, and yet...we will let life take over and dictate our fate. Cheryl from Marriage Encounter called tonight to see how things are going. I told her we had been on a downward spiral since Monday but still hopeful and optimistic. Did I tell her the truth? I want to be positive. Actually, I just want to lay in bed with you, holding each other and block out the rest of the world. I miss making love. You were so sweet this past weekend, so caring, so wonderful. I truly fell back in love with you. I don’t want to lose that. I feel as if I walked down a long hallway to a closed door, and now the hallway is getting longer and the doorway farther away. I don’t feel hopeless, just frustrated. I want to make some sort of connection with you tomorrow evening. I know the weekend will be stressful with you working double shifts, and we will need each other to get through in one piece. I do love you. —A

He wrote:

Honey,

What a week. Too much work. You definitely were handling it better than you used to. It definitely helps us. I know that it is hard on us. You made Easter so special for me and the girls (like always). I love spending time with you and the girls. When I was at work, all I could think about was how much I missed being away from you all. I wonder if it is worth it sometimes. We are accommodating each other more, which is strengthening our relationship. But we have to keep things realistic. Some weeks are going to be crazy.Love,

Me

Five days later:

My dearest,

I feel we are slipping into old habits. We swore we were going to make time for us. Even though we have changed our attitudes toward each other and are closer to one another, I can see how easy it will become to slip into old habits. I can already feel myself getting resentful about not having time to talk or to have sex. I feel sad about these things. I feel like fighting for us. But you have to be there to fight with me. Our love is like that house plant that needs to be watered, or it will die.

I am not saying that things haven’t been better because they have. I’m just saying that we both know that if we don’t work hard every day, putting us first, we know where we will end up.I love you so much, and I want to continue to love you the way you want and need to be loved.

Always,

He wrote:

1. I don’t like it when I am trying to do something for you or do something to help out, and you always feel that you need to be involved. You don’t see it as my trying to help.

2. I don’t like to hear you complain about your weight every day.

3. You take a lot of what I say seriously, and you end up mad at what I say when I don’t mean to upset you. I can’t even joke around with you.

4. I have a hard time looking at magazines or hearing ideas for more projects around the house because we don’t have the money for them.

I do love how you take care of me and make certain occasions special. You are very creative and have made our house beautiful. Everybody recognizes your talents. You are so giving and caring for me (when you are not wanting to divorce me). I can always count on you for anything.

That was the last time either of us journaled to each other. I was so angry at that last message to me. Journaling was supposed to be a way for us to connect. Instead, it was turning into a way to vent frustration. After reconnecting at the retreat and seeing how good it could be, I couldn’t stand the thought of going back.

Within weeks, everything reverted to the way it had always been. I got more resentful and hostile as the days went by. Jerry started to come home later and later after work. Stopping to drink with his buddies became a regular habit, and our time working on our marriage became nonexistent. It took me another eight years to finally ask for a divorce. I learned later what I had been doing is bargaining with myself. If he does X, then it will be better. If I give him an ultimatum, then surely he will realize the error of his ways.

I always wondered what would be the absolute straw that would break us. It turns out, it was me. When I turned thirty-seven, a little voice inside me reminded me of a promise I had made to myself nineteen years earlier. Now, Sawyer was headed to college. I had gotten her where I had not been able to go. I was proud of what she had been able to accomplish. As it turned out, I had unconsciously been working up to my freedom for several years as well. I had gotten a decent paying job at a professional association, my confidence was better, and as the girls grew older, I had built my own life. A life that included our third daughter, Mia.

Mia was born six years after Dakota. I was lonely, the big girls had started school, Jerry was never around, and I selfishly wanted a baby for myself. I was focused on our family. Jerry was going through a huge change in careers and was barely able to take one day off to bring me home from the hospital when Mia was born. It was okay though. I had wished for this baby, and she was mine. Sawyer and Dakota were excited too. They were amazing little helpers. I was happier than I had been in years.

As Mia grew up, she became a voracious reader. Each night she would retreat into the