O
Ophelia23
Guest
8:00.
As I sit here to write this, I hear the church bells from Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary up on the hill. I love how they resound throughout the neighborhood at this time of day. My near 2 year old does not have pants on. I can hear the theme music to Wild Kratts in the other room where my 5 year old is lounging on the couch, likely not wearing her pants either. Who knew that kids live for the opportunity to be pants free? Oh well. I’ve got battles to pick, and this isn’t one of them.
My fried eggs on avocado toast are delicious., especially with a drizzle of Sriracha sauce on top. Even more delicious is the cup of coffee I’m finally getting to enjoy. It’s just the way I like it: heavy cream with a pinch of cinnamon sugar. The bells are done ringing now, but the birds haven’t stopped their morning song. The cat is purring on the top shelf of the tree. The other cat is seething behind the screen door, fantasizing of ways to eliminate her furry feline nemesis. If kitties could think in English, I’m pretty sure she’s thinking “How dare he sleep so soundly when I hate him so much.”
It’s the perfect morning, really. And on this Friday morning, 8:04 am next to steaming coffee and perfectly fried eggs, I can finally admit that my husband is verbally abusive. Woah, what about that perfect morning?! Hold back, cowboy. I’m going somewhere with this.
I always thought of verbal abuse as being called names or told how ugly you are. I’ve always thought of abusive men in rather concrete yet abstract ideas–they must be bad men. Bad people. Mean people. I would never find myself in that kind of relationship because I can differentiate the good from the bad. Right? Although I never sat down and thought to myself, “What defines abuse?” or “What exactly does an abuser look like?”, I’m finding that all of my ill-found conclusions were, well, ill-found. Verbal abuse isn’t defined just by name calling. It’s all about blame. Blame for one’s bad actions, blame for one’s negative feelings, blame blame blame.
“I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t…”
“If you would be a better housekeeper, I wouldn’t loose…”
“I’m sorry you felt that way but if you wouldn’t…”
These are lines I hear all. the. time.
Now what about the kind of man who abuses his wife in this way? Clearly, he’s a bad person. A damaged person. A mean person. …But that notion was totally wrong, too. My husband is not a bad person with a mean spirit who wakes up in the morning and thinks, “How many ways can I just really crush my wife today to make her feel even smaller than yesterday?” Quite the contrary. When we wake in the morning, he looks at me through my messy hair and bleary eyes and the occasional mascara stain and tells me I am beautiful. That he loves me. That he wants me to be happy and to have a good day. And then, when any normal anxiety comes into his path, his will to be loving and kind falls away. This is a real struggle for him. Many things are real struggles for him. Really real struggle.
I’m learning to accept that my husband has deep rooted, real pains that I can not cure. I’m also learning to accept that his ability to meet me emotionally is… well, he doesn’t actually have that ability right now. I try not to think too much of that one. The idea of that being my forever is a bit crushing. But I don’t think that will be my forever. I think that he is going to keep growing and someday, he is going to be present for me in the way I need him to be. But until then, I’ve found that I have a job to do. An actual role in all of this!
Miss Ophelia, what is your role, you ask? Ah ha! I’m happy to answer! I need to be responsible to my husband, not for him. I need to tell him to knock it off when he starts going against me rather than apologizing and trying to defend myself. And more than anything, I need to do what I can to remain happy, contented, faithful and loving. This is the best thing that I can do for him–do for me. So I’ve overcome my deep rooted fear of going to the gym, that was step one. 7 pounds down, and I’ve learned that sweating out my negative feelings feels WAY better than holding them in. Step two, I’ve being going out to lunch with friends, and even got a sitter so I could just take my own self out to lunch. That’s HUGE!
And, step three: when I would normally be chasing the girls around with pants and washing breakfast dishes, I’m going to let them keep watching Wild Kratts until these eggs and avocado are gone. Well, who am I kidding. Those eggs are long gone, and they were freaking delicious. Now, on to this coffee…
May the God of love and mercy be with us through our storms. If we call to Him, he will awake and declare, “Be quiet. Be still.”
As I sit here to write this, I hear the church bells from Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary up on the hill. I love how they resound throughout the neighborhood at this time of day. My near 2 year old does not have pants on. I can hear the theme music to Wild Kratts in the other room where my 5 year old is lounging on the couch, likely not wearing her pants either. Who knew that kids live for the opportunity to be pants free? Oh well. I’ve got battles to pick, and this isn’t one of them.
My fried eggs on avocado toast are delicious., especially with a drizzle of Sriracha sauce on top. Even more delicious is the cup of coffee I’m finally getting to enjoy. It’s just the way I like it: heavy cream with a pinch of cinnamon sugar. The bells are done ringing now, but the birds haven’t stopped their morning song. The cat is purring on the top shelf of the tree. The other cat is seething behind the screen door, fantasizing of ways to eliminate her furry feline nemesis. If kitties could think in English, I’m pretty sure she’s thinking “How dare he sleep so soundly when I hate him so much.”
It’s the perfect morning, really. And on this Friday morning, 8:04 am next to steaming coffee and perfectly fried eggs, I can finally admit that my husband is verbally abusive. Woah, what about that perfect morning?! Hold back, cowboy. I’m going somewhere with this.
I always thought of verbal abuse as being called names or told how ugly you are. I’ve always thought of abusive men in rather concrete yet abstract ideas–they must be bad men. Bad people. Mean people. I would never find myself in that kind of relationship because I can differentiate the good from the bad. Right? Although I never sat down and thought to myself, “What defines abuse?” or “What exactly does an abuser look like?”, I’m finding that all of my ill-found conclusions were, well, ill-found. Verbal abuse isn’t defined just by name calling. It’s all about blame. Blame for one’s bad actions, blame for one’s negative feelings, blame blame blame.
“I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t…”
“If you would be a better housekeeper, I wouldn’t loose…”
“I’m sorry you felt that way but if you wouldn’t…”
These are lines I hear all. the. time.
Now what about the kind of man who abuses his wife in this way? Clearly, he’s a bad person. A damaged person. A mean person. …But that notion was totally wrong, too. My husband is not a bad person with a mean spirit who wakes up in the morning and thinks, “How many ways can I just really crush my wife today to make her feel even smaller than yesterday?” Quite the contrary. When we wake in the morning, he looks at me through my messy hair and bleary eyes and the occasional mascara stain and tells me I am beautiful. That he loves me. That he wants me to be happy and to have a good day. And then, when any normal anxiety comes into his path, his will to be loving and kind falls away. This is a real struggle for him. Many things are real struggles for him. Really real struggle.
I’m learning to accept that my husband has deep rooted, real pains that I can not cure. I’m also learning to accept that his ability to meet me emotionally is… well, he doesn’t actually have that ability right now. I try not to think too much of that one. The idea of that being my forever is a bit crushing. But I don’t think that will be my forever. I think that he is going to keep growing and someday, he is going to be present for me in the way I need him to be. But until then, I’ve found that I have a job to do. An actual role in all of this!
Miss Ophelia, what is your role, you ask? Ah ha! I’m happy to answer! I need to be responsible to my husband, not for him. I need to tell him to knock it off when he starts going against me rather than apologizing and trying to defend myself. And more than anything, I need to do what I can to remain happy, contented, faithful and loving. This is the best thing that I can do for him–do for me. So I’ve overcome my deep rooted fear of going to the gym, that was step one. 7 pounds down, and I’ve learned that sweating out my negative feelings feels WAY better than holding them in. Step two, I’ve being going out to lunch with friends, and even got a sitter so I could just take my own self out to lunch. That’s HUGE!
And, step three: when I would normally be chasing the girls around with pants and washing breakfast dishes, I’m going to let them keep watching Wild Kratts until these eggs and avocado are gone. Well, who am I kidding. Those eggs are long gone, and they were freaking delicious. Now, on to this coffee…
May the God of love and mercy be with us through our storms. If we call to Him, he will awake and declare, “Be quiet. Be still.”
