Tag Archives: marriage

And Still Thankful, November 2018

30 Friday Nov 2018

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My father-in-law is coming over, tomorrow. He’s going to help my husband with some of the little and not-so-little tasks that have been making him insecure, and me rather cross, for the past few months.

I cannot express to you how embarrassed I am, at the thought of someone who lives in his house (desirable location, large and well-decorated, with a garden and several bedrooms, what an estate agent would refer to as, “finished to a very high standard–early viewing recommended” if it went on the market) looking at my house. Don’t tell me he’s family–I know he’s family–I’m still ashamed at just how much is wrong with this place.

I spent 6 years doing a 3-year university degree, around my wonderful, very autistic children, and for what? To still be stuck in this falling-apart house, awake at silly o’clock in the morning, trying to talk myself into not being ashamed of the fact that I can’t study full-time or work at all, whilst caring for my babies properly. Dad (in-law) is going to see this house, and I will figuratively die of shame.

But. But, but, but. Even if he judges me, and my husband, and even the kids, I have no doubt that he will help us. Not with infuriating platitudes or enraging advice; he will help with actual, hands-on, practical assistance.

This is more than can be said of approximately 95% of the people who have seen the inside of my house. What’s even more than that, I imagine he will offer the help more than once, until the house is in a reasonable state. At the very least, after tomorrow, I’m sure we’ll have a toilet that we can flush using the handle, and a drainpipe that actually attaches to the house, again. 

For all these things, I am thankful.

Still Thankful, November 2018

28 Wednesday Nov 2018

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When I wrote my last entry, it was on too little sleep and much too little reflection. There was still more to say–to my husband, and he had more to say to me–and the conversation did not, I assure you, read like my previous blog post.

It did, however, pass.

I love/loathe platitudes, especially biblical ones–they corralled so much of my childhood and adolescence, and their use is always faintly bittersweet at best, and genuinely triggering, at worst–yet I doubt I’ll ever stop using, “This, too, shall pass.” (Not found in the Bible, by the way; I checked; but commonly attributed to King Solomon, and it has a biblical/Abrahamic theism flavour, nonetheless.) I digress.

After the conversation with my husband (which took 24 hours, off and on, as well as a lot of crying from both of us) I feel like we’re on a steadier footing, now. He has to be a bit more grown-up, about living with us; I need to back off a little, and let him find ways he can pull his weight, so to speak, without my constant supervision.

He is delighted that we have a plan in place, now.

I am thankful that the plan was his idea.

I loathe making plans about non-leisure activities–things like housework are just there, why do you need to be reminded they need doing?–and the thought of spending any additional time thinking about housework, grocery shopping, cooking, banking, etc, when I spend 5-10 hours every day engaged in those tasks, plus safeguarding and personal care for the kids… bleurgh.

Hopefully, now, I won’t have to spend 5 hours every day (and often as much as 10 hours) trying to keep on top of things. Hopefully, now, I will have regular, un-nagged-for help; which will allow me to nag less and rest more, and Husband to feel more in control of how/when he pitches in around the house.

The kids will still be autistic. The house will still be too small, really, and not in great repair. But if I’m not constantly fighting a solitary battle to keep the house clean (we don’t often get as far as tidy, but clean I maintain) to keep the kids bathed and fed and comforted, to organise all the household bills etc, I think I will be more kind. Unrelenting (or at least, rarely relenting) kindness goes a long way, towards making cramped/un-ideal living spaces more bearable.

Keep your fingers crossed for us, friends.

Thankful, 22nd November 2018

23 Friday Nov 2018

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I had a fight with my husband, last night. I was nagging him off and on all day (Thanksgiving is hard for me–I live 4,000 miles from my folks, and haven’t shared a traditional Thanksgiving Day meal with anyone in about 15 years) and he finally snapped, and said some ugly things to me.

Nothing I said was remotely close to what he said. I felt like I’d been sucker-punched, and I just didn’t expect that, from him. We’ve been married a little over a year, and to the best of my recollection, this is the first time he’s ever said something so out-of-line, to me. (It’s certainly not something he does regularly–he is not generally a deliberately hurtful person.)

I am thankful that my husband saying something unkind to me, felt like being punched; I am thankful that I was so surprised, shocked even, that it took my breath away. I am thankful to be with someone who usually endures my moodiness and mercurial nature with such inexplicable grace and supportiveness, that I literally cannot believe it at first, when he says something genuinely mean.

I am thankful that my husband, who had work at 6 a.m. this morning, refused to go to sleep when I left the bedroom around midnight (I was far too agitated to go to bed myself) before we at least tried to talk it through. “Never let the sun go down on your anger,” and all that jazz… it worked. When we went to sleep, neither of us was angry with the other, anymore.

I am thankful that my marriage is made up of 2 people who, despite being personally very sensitive (some might say overly so) are also capable of putting aside those feelings, to extend empathy and understanding to each other. I am thankful that every time we have an argument, we make up, and usually learn something about how to improve our marriage or household or both, during the making-up discussion.

In lighter news, I am thankful for coffee, since I’ve had about an hour’s sleep, and the kids are at the dentist’s office later today… seriously. I have so much to be thankful for, and I am. I hope you have at least as much to be thankful for as me, and I hope you’re in the right place to be able to feel and experience how lucky/fortunate/blessed you are.

Why I’m Grateful for My Husband, 1

05 Saturday May 2018

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I started my period, today.

I wasn’t really expecting to; I was rather expecting *not* to start it, for another 9 months or so, if you catch my drift.

As I have 2 children from my previous marriage, and my husband only has my kids, there was temptation to spread some blame around… the temptation was made worse, not better, by the fact that I know fine well I’m nearly 10 years older than my husband; if one of us has faulty plumbing, it could well be me. My Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) got diagnosed more than 12 years ago, when I was struggling to get pregnant in my early 20s, and they said I had suspected endometriosis at the time, as well as ovaries covered with tiny cysts. But lo, I became pregnant before I could be checked for endo, and had 2 kids, and to be honest, I thought I was done with the whole birthing children thing, so I let them take me off their waiting lists and such-like… no further tests needed.

And then all the things happened that sometimes do, and I got divorced and re-partnered, and had a stint of polyamory (I’ll never know whether that would’ve worked out, if I hadn’t gotten too attached to someone who treated me like shit once he realised I wasn’t going to break my original partner’s heart just to please him)… and eventually, I wound up being left, falling in love with my best friend, and (in a sad turn of events) leaving my original partner in the end anyway.

That’s my first reason to be grateful: someone who knew me a little through mutual friends, acquaintances, and some pretty hardcore frenemies, had one half hour conversation with me, followed by one all-night conversation with me (yes, a literal conversation: don’t be like “treated me like shit” guy and accuse me of the other) and chucked out all the rubbish he’d maybe assumed, and got to know me as I am.

Then, while I was at my very lowest (weeks after my stepdad’s suicide, in the middle of my university dissertation, and during the portion of my relationship with “treats-like-shit” where he’d escalated it to physical abuse and was actually kind of scary to be around) my best friend started coming over and sleeping on the couch opposite me (we each had a couch, we slept not touching, except for sometimes holding hands). I felt safe for the first time in months; I felt understood and genuinely liked for the first time in years, or maybe ever.

And ditto for him, on that last part of the above sentence.

My second reason to be grateful is that he believed me, when I said I wanted to be with him forever, even if it was platonically… I didn’t care if we never slept together, aside from the literal sense of it–I wanted him nearby, where I could hug him and talk to him every day, and he wanted the same thing. When it evolved into my helping him overcome some sexual hang-ups, I was thrilled. When–some months thereafter–it became a genuine, reciprocal, sexual and romantic relationship (after he’d moved in with me) it ruined all my other romances and potential romances… we hurt one person, and I’m sorry, but he actively wanted to share me, and I wanted to stop being shared. It is possible to be spread too thin… and I am grateful my now-husband understood that.

The third reason I have to be grateful (and all I’ve got time for; it’s canny early/late, depending how you look at it) is that, after several months of being absurdly in love (including a whirlwind engagement and wedding) we felt secure enough to stop using my family planning app to avoid pregnancy, and start using it to increase my chances of pregnancy. I’m still taking my temperature (almost) daily, with a super-sensitive thermometer, and I still know within 24-48 hours of when I’ll be ovulating, menstruating, when my PMS might start, etc… and every time I start my period, after thinking maybe this month I won’t–when I’m irritable and bitchy and then dissolve into pointless tears–my husband listens to me, holds me if I need it and gives me space if I need that, and just generally puts up with my shit (and remember, I’m not THAT far out of an abusive relationship… I’ve still got quite some emotional baggage, to be dealing with) every time all that happens, I’m more grateful than ever, for my husband.

I just wouldn’t mind a reason to be grateful that looked like (a smaller, plumper, arguably cuter version of) my husband, is all… and I sure wouldn’t mind giving him another tangible reason to be grateful for me.

Husband Poems, 1

19 Tuesday Dec 2017

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I have written a poem about myself, from the perspective of my husband, who is not plagued with insomnia (unlike yours truly). Enjoy, or not:

Last night, I had a little nap;
Still clothed, I took to bed.
My head was resting in her lap,
Because it was nice, she said.

Confused, I woke at dawn today
The duvet tucked around me,
My naked form was snugly wrapped,
Security abounding.

My clothes were folded neatly, near
My wallet, watch, and keys;
I half-recall her whispers, small,
As she tidied them for me.

A smell of her wafts to my nose,
When I idly lift my hand.
Ylang ylang and jasmine flow
As I start to understand.

She bid me: rest, go take a break,
Then into bed she crept–
To throw her arm about my waist,
And hold me while I slept.

He likes it, anyway. And I’m glad I’m doing something productive, if I’ve got to have insomnia.

Getting Married Soon

15 Sunday Oct 2017

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So. As I believe I have indicated in my previous post, I’ll be getting married soon.

VERY SOON.

(On Halloween. This year.)

It will be the 4th year in a row that I’ve spent Halloween with my soon-to-be-husband, but only the 2nd one since we met properly. Please, allow me to explain.

In real life, I have 2 speeds: 1, anxiety-ridden-and-hiding-inside-my-house, and 2, party-girl-making-sexual-innuendos-and-drinking-too-much. The 2nd is a mask, to hide the 1st… but I’ve been pretending to be that girl for so long, I have, Nathaniel Hawthorne-style, forgotten which me is the real one. Or at least, I had. Last year, at Halloween, just before things got *really* shit, I let a nice boy see a little underneath the mask… we had a lovely chat, but nothing came of it.

Then, in March of this year, we saw each other on a night out, and by the end of the first hour, we were inseparable. We talked about everything: our shared religious upbringing, our similar thoughts on God/His potential existence, the state of the cosmos, socialism vs capitalism (I realise one is a form of government and the other an economic system, but let’s be serious, they don’t really mix well, now do they) the kind of books we like, the nature of love, the way we saw ourselves… I mean, we didn’t really leave anything unsaid… then he walked me home and we carried on talking until 9 in the morning.

Then he went home, and I sent him a message before I went to sleep. He replied, more or less instantly. I replied when I woke up. A few days later, we were at the wedding of 2 of our friends, and we more or less rinsed-and-repeated–it was officially morning before we stopped talking at the reception.

Who am I kidding. We *never* stopped talking, from that first night in March. I hope we never will.

And now, 7 months in, give or take, and he’s done me the incredible honour of letting me be his first serious relationship; he’s changed jobs, moved across the country to be with me, become integral to my kids’ routines, proposed, and we’re getting married in a couple of weeks. A COUPLE OF WEEKS.

The heck of it is, it actually feels like I’ve been waiting too long, to be with him. I mean, I’m in my 30s already–what if I only live another 50 years? That’s just not enough time to love him, and be loved by him.

For the first time in about a decade, I’m praying there’s an afterlife, just so I can kiss his face when we both get there… for the longest time in I don’t know when, I have no desire to send myself into that afterlife.

I keep saying I’m a born-again romantic, and it’s true–all the things I’d stopped believing in, I can at least hope for, now. And the one thing I always really wanted–unconditional love, from someone who wants the same from me–I’ve finally got. It’s not a cure for chronic depression and anxiety, of course it’s not… but it is, finally, after years of wishing, someone to share the load: a Peeta Mellark to my Katniss Everdeen, a Samwise Gamgee to my Frodo Baggins, a Perrin Aybara to my Faile Bashere, all rolled into one.

As an adult, I have never felt such joy, nor such peace. I didn’t think those emotions could be experienced, in an adult life… turns out, all it takes is finding your soulmate. Easy as  😉

I wish you all luck in finding yours  ❤