I would rather you disappear, into the bedroom, into your cavern, into your safe place than be around us whilst complaining about every little noise, sound, action or energy.
Your negativity, your huffing and deep breathing every time the kids are too active for your liking.
Thank you for joining us for dinner but, now that your moment to share the same space with us is done, now that your anxieties are rocketing again, now that you realize you can’t handle being around us for longer than 30 minutes, you can go.
Take your wine, walk up the stairs, shut the door and hide away.
I understand.
Suppertime can be stressful.
The mess.
The noises.
The smells.
The questions & stories from the kids.
All exhausting for you, I’m sure.
But what about me?
The mess of the kitchen after supper. Having to contend with the kids, their stories, their fights, their lunches, their bedtime ‘routines’ (which never seem to work out the way I hope).
While you lay there, in your darkened space, alone, watching your paranormal conspiracies, under your weighted blanket, while I contend with our family, having dealt with them all day, I don’t complain out loud. Sure, I bitch about it internally, gritting my teeth, smiling, nodding, saying ‘yes, dear?’ in a patient, calm tone, but I don’t tell you my frustrations.
Why not?
Simply, it’ll only make you feel worse about how you’ve acted through the day.
If I said, “could you put away the 5 loads of laundry I’ve washed & folded? Or, could you please help clean the kitchen after eating the supper I made? Or, "could you empty the dishwasher, please?" or “I need to go lie down for a couple hours, since I’ve been up with the kids since 700” it only makes things worse for you. It makes you feel guilty.
Then you turn it on me.
“If you’re feeling that way, tell me…” but when I do, you don’t like hearing it.
“When you tell me everything you’ve done today (or all weekend) with the kids, it makes me feel bad...I wish I could’ve gone with you / done that with you, etc”. Like, somehow, it’s my fault for not being even more of a dick by forcing you to engage with the outside world.
Want more?
February, alone, you shut down 22 out of 29 days. That gave me seven days (none consecutive) with you, the real you...yet those were the days you needed time to recover...taking time to regain your strength, your energy...away from us.
March is starting off the same way.
I don’t talk to you often, when you’re in those moods, for the simple reason that I don’t have time to deal or handle your chaos within. I’m too busy handling the chaos external. The kids, their needs, their schedules, things that need to get done, places we need to go, things that need to happen.
Opportunities to think of myself, to satisfy my own needs, independent of the family, to remove myself from the chaos, occurs on the rarest of days.
I’m too busy trying to maintain control of the world around me to worry about myself.
I have schedules written on the whiteboard, calendars in my phone, lists on pieces of paper and on my phone....not lists of things I would like to do but things that NEED to get done for the sake of our family.
I’m torn between two words these days: Sacrifice vs Resignation.
Am I sacrificing my life, my time, my energy for the sake of others, to ensure their happiness, their opportunity to thrive and live happily?
Or…
Have I resigned myself to the reality that everything I do is for the sake of others and that little time will be given to me so I might as well accept it now, move on, and make the best of my situation?
I don't have an answer.
My wife won’t go to the grocery store.
Laundry isn’t fun.
Making supper? She’d rather stay at work until the food's ready.
Cleaning the kitchen? No chance...again, the smells, the mess, the gross food...
So it’s left to me.
I do it because you can't, won't or don't.
In A Few Good Men, Jack Nicholson railed that he has "neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the very blanket of freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just say ‘thank you’ and went on your way.”
On days when she’s in the darkness, something often happens: when she surfaces, she trumps my word. I say to the kids, “No, you can’t have cheesies before supper” but, as happened today, in front of the kids, said “Oh, they can have some...supper won’t be ready for a little while.” then proceeded to leave the room to watch another show on her phone...leaving me to be the asshole.
What she didn’t recognize or care to know is that the kids had just finished a big ass bowl of popcorn while watching the Angry Birds Movie. That was their treat. Cheesies, popcorn and a movie...all so I could empty the dishwasher, load it, get supper ready, make their lunches for school tomorrow, do some laundry and call my mom.
And now, she’s gone again.
Disappeared.
Poof!
Leaving me to handle the cleanup, the dishes, the showers, the bedtime ritual, putting away their laundry (with their help, I must say)...
I wish I had some magical powers to make her PMDD go away. But I can’t.
I cannot control it, I cannot control her.
I trust her. Or tell myself to trust her.
I trust she’s making the best decisions for herself, that she’s not just using her disorder as an escape from family time, work, chores or commitments.
I have to trust that she’s being true to me. But it’s hard.
Her moods are worsening and, to talk to her about it afterwards just ‘brings up the bad feelings’ and makes her feel worse...meaning she doesn’t want to talk about it at all. Leaving me to blindly walk through every day wondering which incarnation of my wife will appear when I wake…
With every passing day, I’m becoming more and more conscious of my posture, my breathing, my tone, my volume. I’m more aware of how I present myself because, honestly, I’m aging at a rate that worries me. I see it in my face. There’s no light, no smile, no happy lines. I’m looking haggard, tired, down.
Handling everything on a daily basis is exhausting. It takes its toll. I remind myself to take a deep breath before speaking when I’m feeling overwhelmed. Breathe in through the nose, hold for four, exhale through the mouth...then talk. Music is on in the house. Constantly. I need it. Music keeps me centered and focused. It really does soothe the savage beast within. But, seriously, I feel it’s not enough. There’s still something missing.
We don’t talk much anymore. She falls asleep on the couch. Date nights? That’s funny. (e.g., I expressed my ‘heightened state of arousal’ on a daily basis for 7 days in a row...nothing came from it…’there was no joy in Mudville, mighty Casey struck out’. She said, ‘well, just keep trying…’ - but it’s become a chore...just another thing I need to think about doing after doing everything else.) And, for the record, we had date night once in February. Superbowl Weekend. That's how I remember.
I feel the tension in my shoulders, in my jaw, in my lower back. I see the tension in my face, in my writing, in my thoughts and dreams. But I cannot worry about myself. I’m too busy worrying about everyone else. It's become a habit. I don't allow myself to think of my needs because, in my mind, it's selfish.
I’ve resigned myself to the reality that I’m sacrificing myself for others. And I don’t know how I feel about it...then again, I don’t have much time to think about it...so...