I think it was the embarrassment that did it; the realization that I was once again groveling for his love and attention that made me finally snap. And that’s when the mad came. And I decided to wrap it around me like a warm blanket and snuggle in.
I had agreed to try “dating.” I don’t know why. We’ve already dated. Nearly ten years ago. And we fell in love and we got married and immediately decided to quit communicating. (Look at us, the poster couple for what not to do.)
We can’t exactly go back in time and, quite frankly, I’m no longer interested in dating. But I agreed because he’s my husband and the vows I took BEFORE GOD are important to me.
It was a disaster. He seemed perfectly comfortable. I felt terribly awkward. The longer we sat there, the more I began to resent him. Was I supposed to try to impress him? Convince him that I was worthy of his love and of being his wife?
And then there was this conversation:
Him: I don’t want you to put your life on hold for me while I figure out what I want.
Me: Well, I can’t exactly sign a year-long lease if there’s still a chance we might work things out.
Him: Sure you can.
Shame washed over me. Because I had hoped for the best. I had even (sigh) gotten my hair cut. And when he said, “you didn’t have to do that for me” I lied and said I didn’t.
And even though I promised my girlfriends I would NOT HAVE SEX WITH MY HUSBAND, I couldn’t resist shaving and wearing, ahem, very nice undergarments. Because, damn it, it’s a girl’s right to be prepared JUST IN CASE.
And as I was thinking of this and feeling pitiful, it suddenly hit me. I deserve better.
There are things I wish I had done differently. I wish I had put him first more often than I did. I wish I had taken more of an interest in the things that were important to him.
But the fact is, I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. I’ve done nothing for which I felt a need to hide or apologize. I haven’t lied or had relationships with other men.
And you know something else? I wish he had put me first more often. I wish he had taken more of an interest in the things that were important to me. I’m not the only one with room for improvement.
He likes to remind me that I’m always the one to leave him. He says one (one of too many to count) of the reasons he hesitates getting back together is because he doesn’t want to go through that again.
Me. Leaving him.
And all I can say to that is, for once, it’d be nice to not have a reason to go.
Anyway. Mad? It’s a lot better than feeling sad.