The Ultimatum?

It all seemed very clear a few days ago. I was starting to visualize life on my own. It has a lot of appeal. I've never lived alone, aside from a few months of separation twenty years ago. I think I could manage it now.

Things had calmed down after the note exchange. Not much warmth, but civility was present. Maybe the storm was passing. When she returned from her therapy Tuesday, things began to take a new shape. She announced that she wanted to attend my session on Thursday, in order to grill my counselor about what kind of goals we're working on, what path I'm being led down. She believes my counselor should be acting as a mother figure, warning me of the dangers of my decisions, reminding me how much my family is being ripped apart by my actions. I emailed my counselor to ask if we could work the wife into my session. I'm glad the email wasn't read before my appointment, so the wife didn't go. I had a lot to talk about without having to be a referee.

We're now planning on attending the next session together. My counselor is fine with it, and gave us each an inventory to fill out on our marital dynamic. My wife looked it over and couldn't fathom why the info would be needed. In her mind, this is not a couples session, but a pointed discussion about the Leslie problem. She doesn't want to hear any input from MY counselor.

She remains extremely pissed off at me. She keeps talking about all the little things that I've changed in my appearance that she has "allowed." Have I mentioned how upsetting I find the concept of being allowed to change? Yeah, I thought so. She is actually starting to seem more angry, like the more she thinks about this, the bigger the betrayal of her trust.

The funny thing about this whole thing is that, on Wednesday, I realized that I hadn't felt like crying since I shaved my legs. It seems like I've been on the cusp of breaking down every day for two months. The hair comes off, the tension is gone. That's all the proof I need to know this was the right thing for me to do.

But Thursday and Friday, with the renewed enmity between the missus and me, I feel the pressure returning. I feel the tears welling up in me again. I am so conflicted. Finally getting the hair off my legs has been liberating physically and emotionally. I feel so much closer to being myself, being comfortable in my skin. But how can I take that road if it means leaving my family behind? The wife's mind games are starting to get to me, I think. What a stupid trade: my wife and kids in exchange for the opportunity to look good in pantyhose. Who wouldn't choose the latter, right? I still might, but defending my choice is going to make me look like a selfish ass.

How do you tell someone you've lived with a quarter century that the freedom to wear a dress and makeup when you want trumps the future that she had envisioned? She doesn't realize how close I am to calling her bluff. She has had it suggested by her counselor that she is enabling me, that she shouldn't have allowed me to pluck my eyebrows or shave my back. I will not go back to where I started. If there is no budging her from this threat, I see no recourse but to choose life as Leslie, over life in the box. I hope it doesn't come to that, but I see firm resolve in her eyes. She's reached her limit.

So have I.