I have tried, I really have, to stick to my self imposed rules. For the most part I think I've succeeded, I even added one or two little extra ones so sure was I that I was on top of things. I was optimistic, enthusiastic and absolutely determined to make this work. I felt much better about myself since I started making more effort with my appearance. Its only been little changes but I have found some of my old confidence, some of the old spark. It wasn't part of the plan but it seems to have had an effect on him too. The more effort I put into the way I looked the more effort he put in. Instead of spending his days in the paint covered, ripped jeans and slobby sweatshirts he wears in his studio (he took up painting to help him recover from his last stroke) he would change out of them to go to the shops or eat a meal with me. Around the house too, there are changes. He hasn't really mentioned the extra effort I've made, or commented on how tidy everywhere looks now but if he uses a plate after I've gone to bed he'll wash it instead of leaving it for me to find in the morning and dirty clothes now always find their way into the laundry basket. Little things, simple things that let me know he's noticed and appreciates the change.
I should have followed up on these things, built on the progress. I should have made it more of a challenge for me, should have added a few rules that were harder to stick to maybe? Instead I rested on my laurels, enjoying the sense of achievement and building up these little changes in my head to mean more than they really did.
And so the universe knocked me on my ass and reminded me there is a long, long way to go.
The last couple of months have been difficult in many ways. On top of all the usual financial and health issues there have been ups and downs that have taken us on a wild roller coaster of emotions. We live a long way from our families in a beautiful part of the country that we love, but when things happen to our children or our parents we feel the pain of being so far away and have the stress of a long journey and the extra financial pressure that involves. Its a trip we've needed to make THREE times in the last couple of months.
The latest was for a tragedy no one could have predicted or prevented and it almost tore our family apart.
I love my step-children dearly, if they hurt I hurt, so maybe I forget sometimes that they are not my own and that the pain my husband feels may run deeper, be more acute. I tried my best to be his rock, so he could be a rock for them, but there were times when my own pain swallowed me whole and I crumbled. That was OK, I'm only human, but there were also times when I snapped and didn't think how much my words could hurt. There was a moment, a moment when he needed me most, that by my words and actions he felt he was alone, that even I was against him. It was only a moment, a few harsh words spoken at the wrong time, but the damage has been done.
It isn't talked about. We laugh and smile again now it is all over and push the feelings from that moment under the rug. I know I let him down. He knows he hurt me with the things he said in return.
He won't accept an apology or give one. That is his way. If I meant it when I said it then don't apologise. And I did mean it. It needed to be said. But I know now the way I went about it was all wrong, and I AM sorry for the hurt I caused him, and the lack of tack I displayed and the lack of respect I showed. We cannot talk about it without the anger and the tears resurfacing and so it is ignored. But it's still there, festering. The air has not been cleared.
And that is how I know we still have a long way to go. There was a time when this would have been dealt with, swiftly and surely. And we would have moved on. There was a time when I would have received a spanking for this. I would have known that at the time and I would have been waiting for it. It would have come once we were home and I would have welcomed it. It would have been hard. It would have been one of the few times he really meant it rather than a fun reminder. He would have pulled me across his knee without any hesitation and there would have been no mercy. He would have told me clearly exactly why I was getting it, would have spelt out how he felt and why he was so disappointed in me. But I would have had a chance to explain myself (not make excuses) and tell him how it had made me feel too. I would have been sore and I would have cried, not from the pain but because of the disappointment in his eyes. But then he would have held me, tightly as if he'd die if he let go, and I'd feel his strength and his love as he stroked my hair and calmed me, and I'd feel safe and secure and all would be right in our world.
For a long time I have missed having domestic discipline in our lives, but now I think (perhaps for the first time) I truly understand why.
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