Earlier this summer my husband and I went through a rough spot in our relationship. Rough spot is a gross understatement – we came closer to breaking up than we ever have in our 22 year relationship. The precipitating factors leading up to this rough spot will be described in one of more of my “Building Fiascos” posts. The underlying cause runs much deeper in both of us, and we are working to modify those so they won’t wreak havoc on us in the future.
I’m controlling. I like to know what’s going on around me, and feel like I have input into, and (yes) control over, my surroundings. Surprises aren’t fun, they are just being out of control (let’s face it, you can always pick up on the undercurrent of planning that goes into a surprise…and that means I am not in control) If I feel well balanced, not too stressed, and “in control” then my controlling nature doesn’t get out of hand. If, however, I’m very stressed, and/or external factors over which I have little to no control are impacting my life, I go overboard. Control, control, control - over whatever is around me that I can impact, because I’m overwhelmed by things I can’t impact. I get nit-picky to the extreme. Something being out of place (in my view of the world) is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. If it isn’t “just so” I want to fix it. And in the midst of dealing with this need to CONTROL, my sarcastic, nasty tongue, gets carried away. I can be pretty darned clever, so yes, my comments could be seen as humorous, as long as you aren’t on the receiving end.
In May, we started having water pump problems. The pump problem escalated and became problems with leaks, check valves, broken lines, broken floats, and overflowing tanks. Because of all those problems, there is a large, deep, hole in the expansive clay surrounding our water tanks. There are piles of dirt, being blown around, and seeping into the leaks that were in our tanks. The big hole is right outside our bedroom windows. Every time I open the shades in the morning, there it is, reminding me of the problem. The leaks, valves, lines, etc., were finally completely repaired in mid-September. YES – four full months after the whole mess began, and at about three times the initial cost estimate. But the hole remains. I know it will be filled in and regraded before hard freezes set in, because it has to be. But it is still there, still a reminder (but at least the problems have been fixed).
Anyway, I had plenty of reasons to feel out of control, and plenty of impetus to get nasty. And guess who was on the receiving end of that nasty? My dear husband. He was upset enough over the problems himself – he also felt out of control - and then I had to add to the problem. In hindsight, I was the shrew from Shakespeare, the wicked witch from Oz, everyone’s nightmare wife. But at the time, I was trying to deal with being out of control. I thought I was doing pretty well controlling my controlling nature. WRONG! I essentially broke my husband. He put up with my nonsense for as long as he could, and then he reached zero tolerance, and he cracked. I hurt him so badly - I certainly didn’t mean to, but I did. I was actually surprised and very hurt when he cracked. I didn’t think I had been that bad. But I knew things were extremely bad between us when he couldn’t talk about it – at all.
When my husband gets upset, he closes down. He learned from a not so terrific childhood that things said in anger can never be taken back. The damage is done, period. So he shuts down, and processes, until he can talk about it without lashing out. It’s a good way to approach things, but I always freak out, worry that the end is coming because he isn’t communicating with me. Over the years, he has gotten much better at talking things out sooner (hours rather than days) and I’ve gotten a bit better at dealing with the uncertainty of being closed out (that controlling nature again, darn it). He doesn’t realize (although I’ve told him) that while he is “processing” he is very closed to me. Instead of looking into his beautiful brown eyes and seeing through to his loving soul, it is like looking at a blank, mirrored, wall. That’s painful, but I’ve learned to wait it out, and as I said, the wait has gotten shorter over the years.
This time the “wait” was three weeks. THREE WEEKS. Yes, we were communicating, but superficially. I am used to lots of physical affection – there was none. I am used to lots of verbal affection – there was none. I was crying at least once every day (not in front of him, because that is seen as manipulation) - this from a woman who cries maybe once or twice a year. A few times I cried so hard I wasn’t sure I could stop, but I finally did. I felt empty, I felt like I was dying inside. I started to go through the 5 stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. During that process I finally looked hard at my own behavior, and how it was at least 75% responsible for what happened. I can only be responsible for my own behavior, I wasn’t, and I needed to fix it. What good does it do for me to go for the jugular, the soft underbelly of the one I love? The brief “ah-ha” moment of being in control is so quickly followed by the pain of causing another person pain. Why do I always have to have the last word? How does controlling others help to resolve that external cause of stress?
I started to think before I spoke, and didn’t strike out. I started accepting suggestions. I started to be less nit-picky, less argumentative, and less controlling. Believe me, none of those were easy (that darned hole was still there, the pump, etc., not fixed). My husband noticed. Sometimes I was able to see through his eyes to his soul. And then one night, after almost three weeks of him not telling me he loved me, I went into my office to cry, yet again. It was another long one, but I got it under control, and came into the living room again. After a few minutes, my husband said, “what was that about?” Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I said “do you love me?” He said “of course I love you.” We were on the road to healing.
Our relationship is solid, it weathered this storm. Something we need to remember at our age - every minute spent in anger at each other is a minute we can’t ever recapture, and minutes are becoming precious. So don’t every let it get that bad, nip it in the bud.
A quote I saw just a few days ago that is so very true – “Never take a person’s dignity; it is worth everything to them, and nothing to you.” Frank Barron
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