Easily, today's happy moment was spending an hour or so with my sister, P, while L danced. On the one hand, we only had an hour, but somehow that made it more fun because it was like speed talking. We had to get right down to the business of what's really going on in each other's lives, and it was amazing how much ground we could cover in that short time. I love P. She is such a blessing to me.
T and I had a misunderstanding this morning which put a cloud over the day. I texted him and apologized for what I considered my part in the tiff, but apparently the apology wasn't quite to his liking. Whatever. He didn't answer my phone call tonight and hasn't come home. Typical. I'm sure we just won't talk about it again and it will go away. :-[
But today I our monthly e-mail came from our pastor and his wife. In it they talked about a book called How We Love, by Milan and Kay Yurkovich. T and I are very cynical about marriage self-help books and all that psycho-babble, and T is especially annoyed by suggestions that he needs to drudge up and wallow in childhood history to "cure" himself. And this book is exactly that, but I really think it is exactly what we need.
It's the first marriage book I have ever looked at that I think could actually help us. It talks about how the way we love intimately is imprinted on us as children, by the way our primary caregivers defined it for us, and we carry that into our marriage. I've known for a long time that both of us are somehow emotionally disconnected from each other. That's one reason I blog. I can tell you all things that T just can't hear. First of all, he's not interested; secondly, he doesn't have the attention span for it. Thirdly, and most significantly, hearing anything emotional from me makes him extremely uncomfortable. He turns mean fast. I learned early not to ever go there.
So I've adjusted. I love him, but I absolutely do not expect him to meet any emotional needs of mine. He is not a part of that part of my life. We talk about day to day stuff, happenings, people, the kids, things we're both very engaged in. But we don't touch emotionally at all.
I have to recognize too that this is a two way street, and I am not a part of his emotional life either. Who's fault is that? Is it mine that I don't reach out to him in that way? Am I closed off? Or is he to afraid to let me in? Definitely the latter, but probably the former too.
What it means is that we hurt each other without understanding why or how. Actually, I have detached myself emotionally enough that he doesn't hurt me very much. I have no expectations from him. So when things happen like this morning, or tonight when he just doesn't come home, I am annoyed, but have a very objective, pragmatic view of it. I have responsibility to do what I can to fix it because I want the marriage to hold together, but it doesn't hurt me emotionally. It more annoys me that he's off pouting and hurt, but doesn't have the courage or maturity to talk about it openly, tell me what he needs from me, forgive me if I've hurt him. I am always playing a guessing game: how much is he truly hurting because I hurt him, and how much is he playing a power game and being a spoiled little boy who didn't get his way and wasn't willing to listen to another perspective? (Listening has never been his strong suit.)
Tomorrow is our 23rd wedding anniversary. We've never done anniversary gifts, but last night I made a special trip down to Barnes and Noble to grab their last copy of this book. I began reading it and I know it could help. If we could even have one discussion about feelings when it comes to each other, it would be revolutionary for us. I'll give the book to him tomorrow. It will probably go over like a lead balloon, but I have to try.
I think T is full of anger toward me that I don't love him the way he wants to be loved. He has no concept that he doesn't love me, and the idea of sharing exactly what me loving him is supposed to look like -- well, I'm just supposed to know and if I loved him I would do it, so since I don't do it right, I must not love him at all.
Sadly, I have a suspicion that his idea of me loving him is nothing more sophisticated than torrid sex two or three times a day, that I would live in a continual state of burning desire for him. And that I would hang on every word he utters as divinely inspired.
So if history is any indicator, even giving him the book is likely to be rewarded with anger. He will tell me that we've gone over this and over this for 23 years and it's never helped so he won't talk about it any more -- when really going over it and over it has only ever meant that he glares at me and tells me I don't love him.
The other day we discussed the fact that our wedding anniversary was coming up, and I said I was proud to have made it 23 years. It was a happy thought. He said, what does that have to do with anything? Divorce is wrong and we will just never go there. We won't go there because we made a commitment before God [insert, "no matter how miserable I am with you."] Great. Thank you, T.
Yeah, that is all it boils down to. In his world, me loving him means I want sex with him always. Great sex. Hot sex. Porn film worthy. If ever I don't want sex, I don't love him, and by now he's pretty well cemented the idea in his mind and holds it against me indefinitely that I don't love him. No care I can give him, no matter what I say, do, or sacrifice for him, nothing will convince him I love him. He's a martyr.
The idea that sex could be impelled by emotional connection is anathema to him. Sex is emotional connection and he won't hear anything else.
It's hopeless.
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