I firmly believe in this theory, much to my children's chagrin - I quote it often. It is far better to dwell on the good, and forget the bad, especially when dealing with one's character. We are all human, after all.
Over time, when people are discussing their spouses, I have become rather mute. This is telling, since I otherwise have a lot to say.
I haven't written about any good in our relationship simply because there hasn't been any, I have no material to use. Although there is a slew of bad - I may have to dredge up some past bad highlights to fill some pages. Like the time I limped in the house after running a marathon and he was angry with me for closing the door too loudly. Congratulations to you, too, asshole.
There are some key moments of growth that are being missed in this partnership. He can't celebrate or be happy for me at any cost, so there are no throwback moments of tenderness to share. He would probably say the same of me, frankly. One bad turn deserves another, and it is hard for me to get excited about him winning a soccer game when I think of his reaction to my marathon.
And a vicious circle is formed. He complains that I do not support him or appreciate him. I point out he fails in those same areas in our mirror image. He is disappointed I don't tell him things. I point out it is to save either me or my friends or acquaintances from the ridicule and criticism that is sure to follow. And so on, and so on. In our case, the term marriage is simply an idiom for a cat that chases its tail, ceaselessly.
Yet I will continue to rack my brain for something positive to write. Could it be construed as positive that he "let" me fly back home recently when two of my family members were hit with bad news? (I hate to use the word "let", like I need permission. But I kind of did.)
That he "let" me go was extremely positive in his eyes, and he made no bones about it. However in my experience he grimaced when I told him I needed to go home to see my family - not because of the bad news, but because it meant inconveniencing him for a long weekend. It would mean having to coach in a soccer tournament and look after our kids. It was the first time I have returned home on short notice in fifteen years, and it would have been so nice to hear the words, "You go and be with your family, I'll take care of everything on this end; don't worry about a thing."
(Instead, he then proceeded to growl about the cost (do you REALLY need to go?), so I booked it on points, although it took almost two days to accomplish that. He was unhappy that I would be missing a holiday dinner with our children, and very unhappy he would have to find someone else to go to the hockey game with in my absence, and finally, extremely unhappy to ask his parents to pick the kids up from school.)
But then sympathy has never been his thing. This is the man who, when my father died and I called to tell him the devastating news, said something along the lines of "I'm so sorry, but I've really got to run." In his defense, I was incoherent in my grief. Or so I told myself. I came really close to ending our relationship that day, and smack myself now.
"Really, there is NOTHING good?" my friends ask, incredulous. Pretty much, I reply. There used to be, a long time ago, but those memories are evaporating quicker each day, and being replaced by a long list of reasons to NOT be married.
Oh wait.
The other morning, at 6 am, he tenderly shook my shoulder and asked in a voice I haven't heard in a long time, if I could please drive him in to work, his car was in the shop and he had an early meeting. I was dazed and confused by this voice that I hadn't heard speak to me in that manner in so long. It was as if I was still dreaming. Had a truce been signed in my slumber? I stumbled through the darkness and into my clothes, but haven't heard that tone again since.
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