I was married to a man who’s parents had both died of alcoholism and who wouldn’t drink for fear of becoming an alcoholic. He had lived through things as a child that would cause me to cry when he told me the stories, but he didn’t react to the telling at all. Just like I didn’t react when I told my own stories.  Like my own Dad, he was an angry man. I believe today that he coped with the fear of losing what he felt he needed to be ok, in ways that were different from mine, but  were equally dysfunctional. He also numbed his feelings, he also manipulated – by being big and loud to get what he wanted. That wouldn’t have worked for me so my way was sneakier, less obvious, but the motivation was the same.  One night when my daughter was four, my husband came home from work, ate dinner and then went out to his home office over the garage to work on his side business. He would frequently spend evenings there chatting with friends or tinkering with computers. This was a normal occurrence, but I wasn’t happy about it and I wanted him…