The scene plays out over and over. Every day. Sometimes several times a day. I detect a cranky tone in my husband’s voice. Guilt washes over me, makes my chest ache, presses down until I feel sad and cranky and defensive. Immediately.
What is he complaining about? Who knows. Traffic, our son dragging his feet in the morning, bad service at lunch. And somehow, because I am a crazy person because I’m the only other adult in our household, because I’m his friend, because I’m his wife, because I’ve felt this way as long as I can remember, I feel responsible. I feel that if he is not happy at any given time, I’ve done something to fuck that up.
I know how crazy that sounds. When I write it down, it just looks awful. I’m not a submissive person, I’m not particularly dutiful. I don’t have old-fashioned views of marriage and relationships.
I can’t say why this happens. I’m sure psychological theories abound. I can only say that I’m trying, and I have to keep trying harder to stop reacting this way.
He’s getting to the point where he feels like he can’t talk about his day to day aches and pains because I might end up getting sad or defensive over something that has nothing to do with me. And if it does have something to do with me? Then man, my head might explode.
I’ve tangled myself up to the point that I rarely ask for the things I need (even simple things like help around the house in the evenings) because I dread the guilt-spiral that might occur if my husband isn’t chipper and excited about doing chores or taking over kid-care or something. (I know that’s ridiculous too. Very few people get excited about the prospect of doing some dishes.)
The worst is when I put off asking for help or the things I need because I don’t want to deal with the guilt, and instead I just get more and more frustrated until my voice hits some sort of psychotic banshee level when I finally ask. And really, who wants to hear CAN YOU JUST PUT YOUR LAUNDRY AWAY ONCE EVER YOU ARE RUINING MY LIIIIIIIIFE.
***
It bleeds over into my friendships too, and onto the Internet—though not to such a severe extent.
And I know I’m not the only one who does this. I read someone complaining about some sort of Internet behavior like too many retweets, posts that complain too much, posts about certain topics, swearing too much, ignoring someone, giving someone too much attention, people who _______.
You name it.
And oh, this sounds so self-absorbed but the first thing I think is oh shit was that me followed by shit, this person hates me and then maybe some spiral of well I did that because of this and here are my defensive explanations and then my cereal has turned to mush or I’m late on a deadline because I’ve been obsessing over IMAGINARY INTERACTIONS ON THE INTERNET.
Lame.
***
I have to write this down to stare it in the face and remind myself that this is my responsibility. No one can “fix” this but me. No one can look it in the eye and say NO but me. Maybe I’ll have to repeat it over and over like a mantra. Maybe I’ll just have to keep it in my pocket. Maybe it’ll help me catch my breath when the hurt starts to squeeze me like a big ugly snake.
It isn’t always my fault.
It isn’t my fault.
I can’t make everybody happy. People will be sad sometimes, people will be cranky sometimes. People need to complain sometimes. I need to let it go.
(I really need Dori following me around giving me nuggets of fishy wisdom.)
***
These past few weeks have been difficult for me. At the end of the day, I end up in a state of mind where I just want to be enveloped in a big hug and told I’m doing a good job. My vulnerable, needy and self-conscious inner little girl with big pink plastic glasses and braces feels unattractive and lonely and worthless. Truly.
We carry ourselves forever.
It’s okay to want validation, but I don’t need validation.
(I’m gonna keep telling myself that.)
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