Partners of Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde Personality Types Need to Be Believed.

Being Told Your Truth isn’t True is One of Life’s Most Painful Experiences.

This is for those of you who have people in your life who act one way behind closed doors, and another in public…

I know trust is a big issue for many people. Some learn early on that people cannot be trusted, usually because their family cannot be trusted. A child’s brain math says: If I can’t trust my family, I can’t trust people. Of course, that’s how it works. Although my family was a complete abomination in every way, I did grow up thinking I could trust them, because I was blind and idealized them as children often do, when, if I had had clear vision, they would have been put in the toilet bowl of my processing, and flushed down forever, preventing hundreds of future injuries to come. However, because my reality was flawed, I ended up trusting people in my early adulthood. I didn’t learn about my family’s rampant lying and corruption until later, which was a huge shock and adjustment to how I saw my life and the world. But I began life sincerely dedicated to being good, honest, and truthful. Going outside of this personal edict caused me so much guilt that I couldn’t bear it, so I remained that person all these years, all the way up until now. I didn’t realize that people manipulate others until I was in my 40s. I know I was naive, but it never occurred to me to devise a scheme to get others to do things for me; what you see is what you get. Yet, I have hundreds of stories where I was not believed when telling the truth, and I have come to think it is one of life’s most frustrating, lonely, and painful experiences.

The first time I remember being called a liar was in a 5th-grade PE class. The coach pulled me to the sidelines for cussing. She said I said, “Shit.” I did not say shit, I said, shoot, as in, “Aw shoot, meaning, darn it. Although I curse like an aging sailor now, I was a fervent anti-cusser then. I was enraged that she took me out of the game for something I didn’t do.

I was wrongly accused of stealing candy out of a cabinmate’s bunk when I was in sixth grade. The cabin held a kangaroo court and found me guilty.

And, one of my favorites, I had the fantastic opportunity to attend the Kennedy Center Honors gala in Washington, D.C. in the 90s because my sister, Ruth, ever the political ass-kisser, was on the board. She invited two super-wealthy girlfriends from her hometown of Tampa, and one needed a date, so Ruth asked me to accompany her.

On the way, Ruth’s husband warned me that the other woman, who was attending with her husband, was known as the biggest bitch in Tampa. I’ve already written about how my sister would sell her soul to the devil to have access to privileged people, and this was just another example.

While minding my business after the performances, I sat on the marble steps alone in the world-famous celebrity-filled lobby, 10 feet away from Stevie Wonder, and watched him play piano and sing. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Lost in the moment, I felt a mouth approach my ear. “Why did you marry a Mexican man?” the woman said. “I’ll bet you like ni**ers, too.” I turned and saw the biggest bitch in Tampa, braces on her teeth, and gave her a dirty look, waving her off. She persisted. I got up and moved, and she chased after me, chin jutted out, sinister look on her face, taunting me for loving people of color — it was beyond the pale, and I have never experienced anything like it. Finally, I turned around, her face was right up in mine, and I said, “Leave me alone you racist rich bitch.” The story that was told to my sister was about the ugly thing I said, not the things her friend had done before that. I explained my side to my sister, and she believed her friend; as a result, I was not invited to special events again, and our relationship returned to its customary chill. Whatever. When it comes to my family, they have always given the other person in a tiff with me the benefit of the doubt.

What the hell, though? How could I ever get someone to believe me? Why did my family always doubt what I said was true? I always told them the truth. When would anyone ever understand how much being truthful meant to me? I’ve often wondered about this… I do have a silly personality, frequently acting ridiculously. But I have a serious side, too. Did my silliness cause me to lose all credibility? The absolute frustration of being mischaracterized, perceived as untruthful, as someone or something you are not, is a plague in our culture today. Even the legitimate, hardworking, fact-hunting media sources today are accused of fabricating and lying daily by people who don’t like the truths they read. People often create their own false reality about others, places, and things, and once they decide you’re a certain way, you will always be perceived that way, which is another reason why life can be so difficult for all of us.

As I mentioned, one of the most painful human experiences is telling the absolute truth about something and being doubted by the listener. And why should the listener believe us? Yes, we have all been duped by fools who mislead and don’t tell the truth, but one bad apple should not spoil the whole bunch, people. I hope that if you’ve known someone for a while and have never known them to be dishonest or corrupt, and you’ve seen the evidence that supports their integrity, and what they say pans out to be true, they will earn your complete trust at some point. But that hasn’t been true in my life, and not being believed almost killed me back in the day. Cue the music …

The one that almost killed me. I married Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

In a former life, I was married to a high-maintenance US Congressman from Texas who turned out to be diabolical and abusive, the ultimate Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. This is the third-generation Mexican American with whom the snob from Tampa took issue. He was so Mexican that he couldn’t speak Spanish, and he didn’t like Mexican food, and described himself as white. Whatever he was, I didn’t care. The reason I hung out with the man was that he was the most hilarious, charming, and charismatic person I have ever known, and yet he could turn from that into someone who had more rules, demands, and expectations than an NBA sports contract. He had rigid and unrealistic ideas of how I and my children should behave and constantly gave me a hard time about all of it. I was in Mr. Hyde’s doghouse 90 percent of the time, while my children were in it 100 percent of the time. It was an abusive relationship in every way. My clearest memories are of him having sudden mood swings followed by explosions, temper tantrums, bulging eyes, a rageful facial expression, and aggressive body language. I called them eruptions, as in volcanoes, because that’s what it was like.

How did I end up in such a twisted situation that would turn my life around in a downward spiral between 1997 and 2002?

A friend wanted to fix us up. After my divorce from my kid’s dad, it seemed every dating situation I had had fizzled within a short time. My friend invited me to a political fundraiser in his honor so that I could take a look. There he was, 13 years older than I was; he looked like a skinny old man, stiff and formal in a suit. I said no to going out. She persisted for months, though, because we were each single, fun, left-leaning, and griping to her about how we couldn’t meet anyone to go out with. At her urging, he and I became friends, and before long, we were attending events together. Eventually, I began to see him in a different light — a romantic one. In public, he seemed to know everyone in San Antonio, and everyone loved him. He was a district court judge who hadn’t been opposed in years, as both Republican and Democratic lawyers regarded him as intelligent, fair, and kind. He was thoughtful, a gentleman, and extremely fun with my children, who adored him, and I became smitten, unknowingly falling in love with Dr. Jekyll, without any knowledge of Mr. Hyde.

Mr. Hyde showed up a few times while we were dating exclusively, showing some potential raw spots, but it was a level 2 fiend rather than the level 10 I would see after we married. We married in May 1998, while he was running for Congress to succeed his father, who had held the seat for 37 years. Charlie was so beloved by people that it seemed sure he would win, and he did, in November 1998. I told myself that as a US Congressman, his fiendish part of his personality would have to be set aside, but it wasn’t, and he only increased the frequency and intensity of his Mr. Hyde eruptions.

The thing is, he had managed his public image perfectly for decades, his public persona was that of a hilarious, charismatic, beloved judge, later Congressman, and no one would believe he was a complete dick behind closed doors. I thought I was marrying the hilarious, charismatic guy, but marriage and stepchildren revealed a part of his personality that I hadn’t seen before. Before marriage, he could see me as a separate entity, but as a wife, he saw me and my children as reflections of him. He said anything we did could ruin him and his career; therefore, he began trying to control us tightly. Criticism, tantrums, and unhinged rage were regular occurrences, often over trivial things that would have never bothered anyone. One of his biggest tantrums came when he was in California at a political fundraiser, and I had some girlfriends over to the house in San Antonio to sit by the pool. I didn’t answer when he called that night, and when he reached me the next day on the phone, he came in for the kill.

“How dare you have fun while I am working!” he screamed. “You should be reading books!”

“Reading books?” I laughed. “So I should live as a bereaved widow in mourning when the Congressman is out of town?”

After something like that, he wouldn’t speak to me for weeks, occasionally moving into his cousin’s house.

I was also criticized and threatened for going to graduate school.

“If you don’t drop out of grad school, I am going to divorce you,” he said. “I already don’t see you enough as it is.”

You can imagine that I wasn’t going to have any of his outrageous control and demands, and the death of our disastrous marriage was simply a matter of time. I kept the secret of his abusiveness for the sake of his career. If I messed with that, I feared literally that he would murder me, or have me killed. Nothing was more important to him than being a United States Congressman. Also, as a budding relationship guru in graduate school, often appearing on talk radio, TV, and as a writer in a local newspaper, a rocky marriage wouldn’t look good on my resume.

He was so unkind to my children after we married that I still can barely forgive myself for subjecting them to it for as long as I did, so after what seemed like a long time of roasting in hell, we separated in 2001 and divorced in 2002. Before, during, and after our divorce, he told everyone he could that my children and I were crazy, we had made him miserable, and because he had spent years gaining positive regard and credibility in the public eye, people believed every word he said. Even people I had known and been close to for years. His family turned their backs on us overnight. I lost all of my closest friends who were like family, I couldn’t find work, most of my biological family washed their hands of me after he called them and controlled the narrative, and as usual, they believed him and weren’t loyal. I couldn’t even find a lawyer in town willing to represent me against the Congressman, while he had a team of lawyers representing him on a pro bono basis.

With so much rejection and mischaracterization, I reached the bottom of what was humanly tolerable, lost my health, and became severely depressed. I had once been a thick-skinned person, but all of my emotional skin had been torn, and I was left unable to protect myself. I wondered if there was any fairness in the world, and I almost lost faith in humankind, or perhaps I did lose faith for a while. I received the message loud and clear that, like Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky, the powerful and influential person can set the narrative and escape unscathed, despite their many crimes, sins, and flaws. What hurt me the most was that no one believed my story, and everyone believed his. All I could hope for was that, in time, people would see the truth, that others would speak out about him, instead of joining all the many women he had dated over the years who kept their mouths shut. Whatever, I learned pretty quickly I was on my own in this world. The raw feeling of having no one to lean on, no backup system, to get myself together, and create an entirely new life was all I could do, and it took time for me to be able to do that.

There is so much more to our story that should be told, and I may tell it one day. I learned many life lessons during my years with a politician, where I had the opportunity to interact with influential people, including spouses of Congresspeople, who often complained about how their spouses were absolute gems in public and horse turds at home. More life lessons can be gleaned from an experience like that than from 1000 self-help or philosophy books.

I had to hit rock bottom to be forced to remake myself into a healthier me. It was either to pick myself up from my momentary loss of hope in humanity, or to get up and do something else. The one thing I can say about it today is that I learned to stand absolutely on my own in strength, taking good care of myself, and finding, gathering, and trusting only a few hand-selected people who would never hurt me, will always be loyal, and offer me a sense of safety I can count on. They and only they get to see the unprotected me, sharing thoughts, ideas, hopes, dreams, and vulnerable feelings. I must add that, though I gained much wisdom and compassion from life’s disappointments and the suffering that resulted, I still harbor an inner sadness at the way people are. I am working on acceptance.

Since those days over 20 years ago, people rarely discuss the Congressman with me anymore. I do hear rumors that may or may not offer the vindication I always hoped for. I knew he left me for a woman named Belinda, but I didn’t realize that he was a serial cheater throughout our marriage. He and Belinda married and divorced. He married again after that and divorced. He was forced by the Democratic party to leave Congress in 2013 so new blood could take his place (I know that must have killed him, I hear he cried). I was also told by a very reliable source that he has now come out as gay, though I haven’t been able to get any confirmation from anyone else on that, and I do value truth and facts. If he has come out as gay, it would answer a lot of questions, but knowing the nature of abusive partners, it would only mean his poisonous quiver is now aimed at males, and not females.

We’re a culture of skeptics and non-believers.

When clients tell me that no one has witnessed the awfulness of their spouse firsthand but them, I believe them, I can’t express how important it is to validate another person’s experience.

But proof is good, and it isn’t uncommon for me to ask them to tape encounters so that they can show it to at least someone, or have it as leverage if needed. I know how much people need others to believe them when they are married to a Dr. Jekyll who maintains a charming public image while revealing the true nature of who they are in Mr. Hyde form behind closed doors. It’s a brain f**k.

I am amazed at the people who are so in control of their public image that they can maintain being a phony wonderful person for so long. It must take so much energy. Every day, ordinary conmen and women fool the masses, and often, their innocent victims get played like a piano, at least for a while. But I don’t believe the bad always win. I will always think that those of us dedicated to being the real deal, who value facts, truth, evidence, and being impeccable with our word, are the winners. Surely it accounts for something.

Important News:

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Becky Whetstone, Ph.D., is a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in Arkansas and Texas* and is known as America’s Marriage Crisis Manager®.

She is a former features writer and columnist for the San Antonio Express-News and is the author of “I (Think) I Want Out: What To Do When One Of You Wants Out,” published by HCI Books, distributed by Simon and Schuster.

She has worked with thousands of couples to save their marriages. She can also work with you as a life coach — she is a licensed therapist in Texas and Arkansas. She also has a YouTube Channel called Marriage Crisis Manager, where she talks about relationships. She has a private telehealth practice as a therapist and life coach via Zoom.

Becky is looking for individuals who are thinking about divorce, people who are cheating, and couples in crisis, or people with amazing personal marriage crisis stories to tell, to appear on her video podcast. For information, contact Becky.

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