Verbal Vomit
I've been having a little bit of a tough time with my man lately. I'm hoping the catharsis of writing might help. Or that my friends and family will tell me I'm a douche and to get over it.
Kelly is an overachiever if there ever was one. He is type A all the way. This makes him very successful. It also makes him somewhat absent.
He is a partner at his law firm. He busts his ass. He has a second career as a manager for a fine artist. He busts his ass. He coaches and plays on two soccer leagues a week. He busts his ass. He has split custody of his two children. He is a devoted father. To say that he is juggling a lot would be an understatement. I am not entirely unsympathetic to the level of energy it takes to sustain all of these endeavors. Sometimes the law work requires late nights and weekends. Sometimes the art work interrupts dinners and vacations. The soccer games take him away one night and one Sunday morning every week. Oh and he gets up to go to his trainer at 6:00am twice weekly.
Most of this I knew about and accepted from the beginning of our relationship. I admire his discipline, his motivation, his absolute dedication to do it all. What I am having a hard time accepting and adapting to is the volume of time his work requires. Yesterday was especially hard.
He jumped out of bed at 6:00am. This is our one day a week we are able to sleep in together until 7:30 or so. He was out of bed and lugging the laptop down the stairs before the sun rose so that he can respond to emails he didn't have a chance to deal with the day prior. I woke up at 7:30. We showered together and had a rushed breakfast. He left at 8:00 for a deposition.
Typically we keep in touch throughout the day by email and text. I'll send him funny little bits of news and web chatter, he'll send me love notes that I'm on his mind. When he is in deposition these cyber and cellular connections cease. Obviously. He's working. I still feel a little sad in my heart to not hear from him. But I understand.
He stayed in touch the best he could with a text at lunch and another around 5:00 letting me know it would be a late night. He had prepared me for this on Sunday, saying this week would be hell. I understood. I had been home sick this week with a flu and was having a major case of cabin fever so I put on my gym clothes and got out of the house. I knew it would be hours before he came home so I took my time lifting weights, sweating out my sickness. I came home and showered, worked for awhile and started dinner. Around 8:00 I received a text that he was on his way home.
At 9:00 he walked through the door. Exhaustion was all over his face. I went to him and held him tight whispering in his ear how happy I was he was home. I was going to take care of him now. I told him to go change, that I would get his dinner ready. I had waited to eat too. I arranged the chicken and vegetables on the plate, made martinis for both of us and set it all on the table. He told me he loved me. He told me I was wonderful. He was beyond grateful. And he was sorry that he's working so much. I told him I'm really trying to understand. And I am.
He talked about what is happening in the world of each of his jobs. I appreciate this. He's told me it is difficult for him to open up about his day because it is so exhausting experiencing it that reliving it through the retelling can be energy sucking. Yet he still makes an effort to share his day, an effort to stay connected. He finishes eating, gets up to put his dishes away. I ask him to stay here with me, that I would like to tell him about mine. Of course, he says and apologizes for getting up.
I launch into a silly story about the movie Marley and Me and how it represented something I am so afraid of and yada yada yada. His phone rings before I get to the point and he leaves the table to see who it is.
"I'm sorry. I have to get this," he says. I am trying to understand.
I clear the table, wash the dishes and wait. The conversation continues and I can feel my frustration creeping in. I go upstairs to put on a jacket and shoes. I want something sweet to eat and our fridge is empty. I grab my purse and stand by the couch. Kelly turns to me, still on the phone.
"Where are you going?" he whispers.
"Pinkberry," I respond. My face is hateful I'm sure.
"I want to come," he says and runs upstairs for his jacket. He is off the phone by the time he comes back.
I get into the car silently. He doesn't ask me to continue my stupid Marley and Me story. I don't even want to anymore. I am, as Kelly would say, butt hurt (a phrase I taught him by the way and I wish I never had!) I am sad that he's been working like a dog, I am sad that I have to share the two hours we have together tonight with his cell phone. I am afraid that this isn't merely a phase but a lifestyle.
That's really the crux of the problem. I think if I could see into the future, if I knew that in a few weeks or even a few months our life would return to "normal" I would be more at peace. At my core, I am afraid that the last year and a half of our life where Kelly put his kids and me first and his work and other responsibilities second was the phase, that this is what life looks like. Once we are given something, having it taken away is ever more painful.
When our relationship began Kelly wanted to do things differently than he had in the past. He didn't want to spend his life at the office. He wanted to have a healthier work life balance. He wanted to be a more present father, a more connected lover. I wanted all that too. I have some pretty strong opinions about why relationships fall apart and although I realize it can be a variety of reasons, I truly believe that when we fail to nurture them, to feed them, that is when it begins to unravel. I have been accused of having an unhealthy paranoia of this occurring. Maybe. I just think many people exist in their relationships on an unconscious level, not really cognizant of the little ways they are drifting apart until one day they see there is an ocean between themself and their lover. My sensor is on high alert.
But maybe this sensor makes me too saddened by the small stuff. Instead of interpreting one interrupted meal as an indication that my relationship is headed down the shitter, maybe I should have peace that this is merely a bump in the span of a lifetime spent together. Maybe I should have more confidence in what I've found, what we've built and the journey we plan to take together. At what point does a phase become a lifestyle? How long am I patient and understanding? So far, I haven't been very much of either. In fact, instead of making Kelly's life easier during this very difficult time, I've piled on the pressure. How much damage am I doing to my relationship with my frequent hurt feelings about his absence?
I'm not sure how to answer these questions. Last night ended very poorly indeed with me spending part of the night sleeping on the couch before ultimately realizing that was silly and it was cold. In our sleep we moved close together, his body curled into a C against mine, sheltering me. When we woke up we talked but nothing was really accomplished.
I can be more understanding and patient. That is certain. I just wonder at what point am I entitled to want more? If ever.
Kelly is an overachiever if there ever was one. He is type A all the way. This makes him very successful. It also makes him somewhat absent.
He is a partner at his law firm. He busts his ass. He has a second career as a manager for a fine artist. He busts his ass. He coaches and plays on two soccer leagues a week. He busts his ass. He has split custody of his two children. He is a devoted father. To say that he is juggling a lot would be an understatement. I am not entirely unsympathetic to the level of energy it takes to sustain all of these endeavors. Sometimes the law work requires late nights and weekends. Sometimes the art work interrupts dinners and vacations. The soccer games take him away one night and one Sunday morning every week. Oh and he gets up to go to his trainer at 6:00am twice weekly.
Most of this I knew about and accepted from the beginning of our relationship. I admire his discipline, his motivation, his absolute dedication to do it all. What I am having a hard time accepting and adapting to is the volume of time his work requires. Yesterday was especially hard.
He jumped out of bed at 6:00am. This is our one day a week we are able to sleep in together until 7:30 or so. He was out of bed and lugging the laptop down the stairs before the sun rose so that he can respond to emails he didn't have a chance to deal with the day prior. I woke up at 7:30. We showered together and had a rushed breakfast. He left at 8:00 for a deposition.
Typically we keep in touch throughout the day by email and text. I'll send him funny little bits of news and web chatter, he'll send me love notes that I'm on his mind. When he is in deposition these cyber and cellular connections cease. Obviously. He's working. I still feel a little sad in my heart to not hear from him. But I understand.
He stayed in touch the best he could with a text at lunch and another around 5:00 letting me know it would be a late night. He had prepared me for this on Sunday, saying this week would be hell. I understood. I had been home sick this week with a flu and was having a major case of cabin fever so I put on my gym clothes and got out of the house. I knew it would be hours before he came home so I took my time lifting weights, sweating out my sickness. I came home and showered, worked for awhile and started dinner. Around 8:00 I received a text that he was on his way home.
At 9:00 he walked through the door. Exhaustion was all over his face. I went to him and held him tight whispering in his ear how happy I was he was home. I was going to take care of him now. I told him to go change, that I would get his dinner ready. I had waited to eat too. I arranged the chicken and vegetables on the plate, made martinis for both of us and set it all on the table. He told me he loved me. He told me I was wonderful. He was beyond grateful. And he was sorry that he's working so much. I told him I'm really trying to understand. And I am.
He talked about what is happening in the world of each of his jobs. I appreciate this. He's told me it is difficult for him to open up about his day because it is so exhausting experiencing it that reliving it through the retelling can be energy sucking. Yet he still makes an effort to share his day, an effort to stay connected. He finishes eating, gets up to put his dishes away. I ask him to stay here with me, that I would like to tell him about mine. Of course, he says and apologizes for getting up.
I launch into a silly story about the movie Marley and Me and how it represented something I am so afraid of and yada yada yada. His phone rings before I get to the point and he leaves the table to see who it is.
"I'm sorry. I have to get this," he says. I am trying to understand.
I clear the table, wash the dishes and wait. The conversation continues and I can feel my frustration creeping in. I go upstairs to put on a jacket and shoes. I want something sweet to eat and our fridge is empty. I grab my purse and stand by the couch. Kelly turns to me, still on the phone.
"Where are you going?" he whispers.
"Pinkberry," I respond. My face is hateful I'm sure.
"I want to come," he says and runs upstairs for his jacket. He is off the phone by the time he comes back.
I get into the car silently. He doesn't ask me to continue my stupid Marley and Me story. I don't even want to anymore. I am, as Kelly would say, butt hurt (a phrase I taught him by the way and I wish I never had!) I am sad that he's been working like a dog, I am sad that I have to share the two hours we have together tonight with his cell phone. I am afraid that this isn't merely a phase but a lifestyle.
That's really the crux of the problem. I think if I could see into the future, if I knew that in a few weeks or even a few months our life would return to "normal" I would be more at peace. At my core, I am afraid that the last year and a half of our life where Kelly put his kids and me first and his work and other responsibilities second was the phase, that this is what life looks like. Once we are given something, having it taken away is ever more painful.
When our relationship began Kelly wanted to do things differently than he had in the past. He didn't want to spend his life at the office. He wanted to have a healthier work life balance. He wanted to be a more present father, a more connected lover. I wanted all that too. I have some pretty strong opinions about why relationships fall apart and although I realize it can be a variety of reasons, I truly believe that when we fail to nurture them, to feed them, that is when it begins to unravel. I have been accused of having an unhealthy paranoia of this occurring. Maybe. I just think many people exist in their relationships on an unconscious level, not really cognizant of the little ways they are drifting apart until one day they see there is an ocean between themself and their lover. My sensor is on high alert.
But maybe this sensor makes me too saddened by the small stuff. Instead of interpreting one interrupted meal as an indication that my relationship is headed down the shitter, maybe I should have peace that this is merely a bump in the span of a lifetime spent together. Maybe I should have more confidence in what I've found, what we've built and the journey we plan to take together. At what point does a phase become a lifestyle? How long am I patient and understanding? So far, I haven't been very much of either. In fact, instead of making Kelly's life easier during this very difficult time, I've piled on the pressure. How much damage am I doing to my relationship with my frequent hurt feelings about his absence?
I'm not sure how to answer these questions. Last night ended very poorly indeed with me spending part of the night sleeping on the couch before ultimately realizing that was silly and it was cold. In our sleep we moved close together, his body curled into a C against mine, sheltering me. When we woke up we talked but nothing was really accomplished.
I can be more understanding and patient. That is certain. I just wonder at what point am I entitled to want more? If ever.
When I started reading, I was going to tell you how patient you are with his scheduling. Jeff works from 4am to 3pm and I get pissy if he gets home much past 4pm.
ReplyDeleteHmm, some people might tell you to involve yourself with projects, volunteering, etc. But then you become that couple who is uber busy.
You are totally entitled to more. I don't think you are being a DB if you were to ask to be bumped up on the list of priorities. You are that important and you are worth it, love.
I think my response is entirely too long for a blog comment. I'm sending it to your meghanamber email in a bit.
ReplyDeleteCall me if you want to talk! And remember the quote "This too shall pass."
ReplyDeleteYou say that for over a year Kelly has been good about trying to balance his life and that he warned you this week would suck. Give him the benefit of the doubt. If after this week things are the same, gently ask if he knows how much longer his schedule will be like this. My hubby is an uber-perfectionist, too. Once he starts a project he can't focus on anything except that project and it has caused many arguments. Sometimes I have to remind him (we're kinda past the gentle reminder stage) that he needs to make his family his first priority.
ReplyDeleteYou and the kids need to be Kelly's first priority, but in a life as demanding as his, I think there needs to be some flexibility from time to time. If the second week sucks, move in to week 3 and if it's more of the same, spend more time at your place and less at his. Let him know that you understand his schedule is exhausting and demanding right now, so you're going to give him some space so he can take care of business. If it's been a month and there's no improvement then it's definitely time to demand more. I hope it doesn't come to that point...