I Wish I Hadn't Brought You
Twenty-five years ago, I married a man I barely knew under a freezing waterfall in Costa Rica
Note: This piece contains references to domestic abuse, stalking, sexual assault, and suicidal ideation. But as always, the route through darkness leads to light.
Twenty-five years ago today1, my lover and I stood naked under a waterfall in Costa Rica and symbolically washed ourselves clean of the past. Past mistakes, past relationships (crossover there) and past trauma.
It was fucking freezing.
It took courage to put our sun-heated bodies under the chilly stream. But not as much courage as it took me, three years earlier, to execute the secret “flit” that would remove me from my abusive first marriage.
Not as much courage as what I was about to do next: say vows with him, and with the garlands of red ginger I had made in the place of rings, enter into a second marriage. Trusting it would not, like the first, turn out to be a trick.
This wedding, thousands of miles from home, and the celebration meal we shared with eight strangers, had been planned for only two days. Seven days earlier, we didn’t even consider ourselves in “a relationship.” We’d simply been friends with benefits, sexual partners for just eight months.
No doubt to an outside eye, the timeline was suspect. What had happened in the previous eighteen months was insane. But this was my life in 1999/2000.
I was a broke single mother of three.
I was in the middle of a legal battle with my ex, where he was trying (for revenge/to negate maintenance payments) to prove I was an unfit mother and get full custody of kids he didn’t care for (had never so much as changed a nappy; used them as emotional pawns).
I was tailed by a series of men that I suspected my ex had hired as part of his promise that I wouldn’t live very long if I left. He had told me how cheap it was to have me killed, and only a little more to “make it look like an accident”. But no one would believe me, for quite a long time. People who knew me assumed I was paranoid, making it up, and the police (who were similarly sceptical) said “take photos of them”, so I borrowed a camera. It’s not great when everyone thinks you’re losing your mind.
Taking photos of my “tails” turned things around. In one case, as soon as I got my camera out, the man jumped up and ran out of the cafe (where I’d arranged to meet a male friend), and I ended up chasing the bastard across a park. Another jumped into his car and drove off so fast that the driver door was swinging open a hundred yards down the road. I got the registration, rang the police, and they told me it was fake. But they did, at that point, put a panic alarm in my flat.
Twice, my car was tampered with (confirmed by the RAC men who came to fix it), one time when I was due to appear in court.
My car was broken into in the carpark of Ikea and the only thing stolen, making no fucking sense (until much, much later) was my friend’s 6-year-old son’s bookbag.
Police came to see me at the nightclub where I was temping, doing admin, in school hours (great look, in your job, the police are here to see you), to tell me my ex was “a person of interest” on a matter entirely unrelated to my fears for my life.
On Good Friday, my drink was spiked, and I was sexually assaulted. It was going somewhere worse, but through the grit I had learned in the last few years, I escaped by the skin of my teeth.
That same Easter weekend, my ex was arrested at his house in front of our three boys, and they were taken to his sister’s without me being informed of the arrest or where they were until three days later, when he failed to get bail.
And let’s not forget the full-on breakdown where an acquaintance attempted to have me sectioned.2 The friend who gave me sanctuary and refused to comply, later said of this time, “You were a pain in the arse. If you weren’t such a good writer, I’d have driven you to Beachy Head myself.”
Pain in the arse because life was bloody hard right then. Yes, I considered quitting this world. And yes, I found the courage to stay. But you can be sure, I was keeping men at arm’s length.
This woman had needs, though. So, a few months later, I entered into an arrangement with a new friend. What is now termed a “situationship.” The full story of how this turned around in double-quick time was published in August in the New York Times: do read if you haven’t; it’s fun! But in short, I went to Costa Rica for sex with a “no strings” friend and returned two weeks later, married. Given how things had been, I forgive anyone who knew me then for thinking that both of us were crazy. There were plenty, I’m sure, who didn’t expect it to last.
Yet today is our silver wedding anniversary. Neither of us can quite believe we have made it through the intervening years, but we have. We have woven a life together.
Our unplanned waterfall wedding came about because I thought I’d put our casual arrangement under too much pressure and uttered the words, “I wish I hadn’t brought you.”
He said in that moment his whole world collapsed, and he realised he loved me. We talked late into the night, crying, both of us unpeeled of our defences. By the end of the week, we stood under that freezing waterfall, then said some renewable vows.
His silver anniversary gift to me is a hand-painted necklace of a waterfall. On the back, in Spanish:
“Forever glad you brought me.”
A huge shoutout of gratitude to you if you are a paid subscriber. You keep me going. You help me keep faith that what I am doing has value and that I will find my footing in this salary-free existence. This January, paid subscriptions to How to Evolve contributed 100% of my mortgage payment and half of the household’s food bill! Bless you. May your toast be golden and the rainfall bring you flowers.
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I am deep in memoir writing right now: Part 1 complete, the next four parts mapped out with considerable detail and a lot of notes. I am putting my fingers in my ears and saying la-la-la about the state of publishing right now, while remembering I’ve manifested miracles before and can do so again!
I’m writing this on Monday.
Detained, against my will, under the relevant section of the Mental Health Act. “Committed” in old parlance. Luckily, the only friend still in my life at that time gave me sanctuary and refused to agree.
Ros, I think you showed great strength and courage in leaving your ex and not being bullied by him. Choosing yourself and then choosing love with your new husband is a very happy ending. It seems as though your published books are the cherry on top 🍒
Ros, reading your stories always makes me breathe harder. I never know how the story is going to end. I was very completely, partially, perhaps, totally, maybe convinced that he was going to strangle you with his skirt and drown you under the waterfall. The words, "Silver anniversary" was no where in my purview.
You are a good writer. And I am second-handedly thankful for the life you now live.