“Why You So Obsessed with Me?”
Choosing Peace Over Participation
I always expect that things will be appealed. But it doesn’t change the way I feel when I see it. It hovers over me like a dark cloud. I dread it.
A few weeks ago, he filed the seventh appeal, the third just this year, all have been initiated by my ex. At this point, I’ve come to expect that every order, every motion, every decision will be challenged in some way. Still, the sight of that notice always makes my stomach churn.
Standing on the Record
An appeal drags on for over a year, sometimes longer. Out of all of them, I’ve only responded to one, the first, because it was mostly financial. Since then, he’s appealed, I believe, over twenty orders. Only one thing has gotten turned: the tax issue. I lost the ability to claim either of my children because my former attorney missed key arguments about shared costs like activities and school fees. I choose not to fight it; it wasn’t worth it. It would have cost more in attorney’s fees than it was worth in deductions.
I plan on filing a notice with the Court of Appeals stating that I will not be responding to this appeal and that I am standing on the record. It’s what’s best for my sanity. There’s nothing left to say that hasn’t already been said; by me, by the judges, or in the hundreds of pleadings already in the file. Responding again would be a huge waste of time, and more importantly, of my emotional and mental capacity. The only thing left now is to wait until it’s decided.
The craziest part of this whole thing is that he’s appealing what he believes to be “corrupt” or “biased” judges. He’s not even fighting me anymore; he’s fighting the system itself. Yet somehow, he still wants me to keep fighting too. It makes no sense. He’s not complaining about me; he’s complaining about losing. It’s like watching a child who had his toys taken away—whining, blaming, refusing to see that all of this is his own doing. Every bit of it, even from the very beginning, the divorce itself.
Sometimes I think his wife needs to know. Because if it were me on the other side, I’d want to understand that my husband was truly obsessed with someone else. It doesn’t matter whether it’s negative or positive energy—it’s still an obsession. It’s absurd, and honestly, I don’t even know what to say about it anymore. If she can’t see that, I genuinely feel for her. Living alongside that kind of obsession must be confusing and painful, and I hope one day she understands the truth for what it is.
At first, every new appeal, motion for reconsideration, or objection got under my skin, like a bad rash I just couldn’t get rid of. I’d lose sleep, my chest would tighten, and I’d feel like I was drowning in anxiety. It wasn’t just the paperwork; it was the message behind it: You’re still not free. Each one felt like a reminder that no matter how many times the court ruled, he would find another way to pull me back in. I’d check the court docket constantly, waiting for the next blow, convinced I had to be ready for anything.
Reclaiming My Peace
Now, I see it differently. I’m rewiring my brain that I don’t have to jump every time a filing appears. I don’t have to panic. I don’t have to waste another ounce of peace trying to explain myself to a system that already knows the truth. There’s power in not responding, because silence, in this context, means freedom. It means I’m no longer participating in the game he keeps trying to play.
The Toll of Litigation
What people don’t understand about high-conflict litigation is that it’s not just court dates; it’s living under constant surveillance by paper. Every filing is like a knock on the door you didn’t invite, and every motion carries the weight of old trauma. It chips away at your mental health, your sense of stability, and even your ability to plan for the future. It’s an invisible prison made of deadlines, transcripts, and pleadings that never seem to stop.
Standing on the record isn’t just a legal decision—it’s symbolic. It’s me saying, I’m done. I’m choosing peace over participation. I’m choosing silence over reaction. Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is simply stop showing up to the fight.
A few weeks ago, the song “Obsessed” by Mariah Carey popped into my head, and the lyrics couldn’t be more accurate:
“You’re delusional, you’re delusional
Boy, you’re losing your mind
It’s confusing, yo, you’re confused, you know
Why you wasting your time?
Got you all fired up with your Napoleon complex
See right through you like you’re bathing in Windex
Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
Boy, why you so obsessed with me?”
It’s almost laughable... if it weren’t so exhausting. Because this is what it feels like: someone so fixated on control that they’ll burn time, money, and sanity just to keep me tied to them through any means, including the legal system.
This type of obsession isn’t romantic; it’s about power, ego, and the inability to let go.
Finding Freedom Again
Since getting the order for judicial relief and deciding that I’m not going to move forward with responding to this latest appeal, I’ve felt an almost complete sense of relief. It’s not one hundred percent yet, but it’s close. I’m sure my friends will feel it too; they’ve been so supportive through every setback, and soon they won’t have to hear about this constant chaos much longer. It will be a relief for us all. The only thing that still lingers is the financial piece, the one last thread that ties me to all of this. But even that feels lighter now, because my husband and I are working hard to fix it. And for the first time in a long time, I believe that we will.
For the first time in years, I’m not reacting, I’m releasing. The fight isn’t mine anymore, and I finally understand that walking away isn’t weakness. It’s freedom.
I’m learning how to find myself again, the me not defined by court dates or constant defense. This freedom is new, but I’m embracing it. I hope my children feel it too, that they sense the quiet after the storm and find their own peace within it. One day, I hope they can forgive me for whatever part I played in all of this, and know that every decision I made was for their protection and healing, and mine.