Yesterday was not good.
I mentioned that here.
Last night.
I climb into bed just filled with regret and sadness and emotion . . . all fragile and insane and needy.
All the fuck out of control.
Yay.
What I want is for Mark to roll over and wrap himself around me. To hold me tightly. To help me be small and still. To control me . . . and in so doing, help me to take back a little control for myself.
No way Mark is going to do that.
Sigh.
He never knows how to deal with me when I get like this, so he is tentative. Which is smart, because honestly? I am not all that predictable. What works with me one time pisses me all the fuck off the next time. I have literally smacked his hands away from my body when he has guessed wrong in the past.
So he waits for me to take the lead.
Lovely and occasionally disappointing, that.
Anyway.
So he is over on his side of the bed.
The space between us is larger than it appears.
I don’t want to have to apologize, but I want to be forgiven.
I stare at the ceiling and ache with loneliness. Separateness.
Fuck this.
I will be the one to move.
And then I am on top of him. Greedy. Pressing my body to his, pulling my knees up against his sides, wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. The feeling of his skin against mine is lovely, and I press myself hard against him. I want to feel connected to him. I want to be part of him. I want him.
Perhaps there will be sex, but that’s not what this moment is about.
I just want to not feel separate.
Sigh.
You know those moments when you realize just an instant too late that you have miscalculated?
Those are not my favorite moments.
And this is not one of my favorite moments, because I am suddenly aware that he is not in this moment with me. He is having a moment of his own. A moment in which I perhaps owe some apologies for the day we have had together. A moment in which he is asserting a little bit of rejecting power. A moment in which he holds himself apart, even as I kiss his neck and run a finger along his cheek.
I kiss his neck again, “You OK, babe?”
And he says, his voice brusque and dismissive as he shifts awkwardly beneath me, “Yeah, I’m just uncomfortable. You’re making me all uncomfortable.”
Well, alrighty then.
I roll away.
And now the space between us in this bed is cavernous.
I will not be reaching across it again.
Instead I stare at the wall in the dark and let silent tears flow.
Fuck.
Some time passes.
A lengthy enough period of time that I believe he has fallen asleep.
So I am surprised to hear his voice, soft in the dark . . .
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Sigh.
Sometimes in a marriage? There are moments in which you must decide.
You must make a choice. And the choice you make?
Will determine everything.
So I take a moment before I respond to Mark’s soft words.
I want so badly in this moment to shift the blame to him, to make his last bit of rejection everything instead of just the last thing.
What I want to say is, “Yes, you so fucking did mean to make me cry. You so fucking did. We had a bad day, and you are pissed at me and you so fucking did mean to make me cry. Fuck you.”
But what I actually say instead is this . . .
Through tears . . .
“Babe, I had a really bad day and I am sorry. I know it was bad. And I know that the badness is still here with us in this bed, but I just wanted you to hold me. I just wanted you to hold me tight because I love you. I wanted you to want to hold me tight. So now, I am sad.”
And he says, “Oh.”
And then he rolls over and wraps himself around me. Holds me tightly. Helps me be small and still. Controls me . . . and in so doing, helps me to take back a little control for myself.
I have been married a long time.
Sometimes in a marriage, there are moments in which you choose.
Choosing well makes all the difference.
I find.
May all of your choices be made as well.
Thanks, you.
When I was younger, I often made the other choice.
A need for drama and a refusal to accept responsibility.
I am more of a grown-up now.
Much better.
I’ve been following you since you launched and simply adore all that is Pretty All True. I skim the comments on occasion, when I have the time of course, and knew there would be a perfect time to comment. This response of yours – the perfect time. I couldn’t have said it better myself. A younger me – all about the need for drama. Sometimes . . . on occasion, I long to go back to that place, however, being grown up is all sparkly and responsible and better and on a day like today when I want to scream to the drama gods, I read your post. Thank for the reminder!
By the way, this girl . . . once a Michigander too and I’ve been meaning to ask. West side or east side . . . damn, where is that visual of a finger pointing to your other hand when you need it?
You have been with me since the beginning? That is awesome.
How did you find Pretty All True, if you don’t mind my asking?
Not too many readers back then.
That is way awesome!
I am glad that you chose to step forward and comment here today. Glad that we have finally gotten a chance to say hello. And connect.
I lived on the West side of Michigan. Twin Lakes/Whitehall/Montague area.
Where did you live?
The beginning . . . is, March-ish in my head, but close to your beginning I suppose.
I have a co-worker who always says “pretty all true” when referring to near truths. I know, crazy right? I live in the south and people say crazy things down here. Anyway, I Googled “pretty all true”, to see what we could drum up to give them a hard time and the search results listed your blog, so I clicked. I’ve been hooked ever since. Google is all brilliant like that in my world!
I was a West side girl too, from the Belding/Greenville area, just outside Grand Rapids. Spent a lot of time at the lake as a kid. I graduated undergrad from Central and one of my freshman roomies was from Montague, cool girl.
Glad we could connect too. Love, love, love the blog, so I’ll be around for awhile!
I love Google and the random connections it makes.
Love that.
When I started writing this blog, I used “Pretty All True” as a title because I thought it would give me an out. In case people got all pissed off at what I was writing.
But then it turned out I wasn’t interested in writing fiction. At all.
So now the name of my blog is more confrontational.
I always read it in my mind as Pretty All Fucking True.
Snort!
And the West side of Michigan?
So fucking gorgeous.
But the snow and the cold?
I do not miss that. At all.
Later, you!
Saying “I get this” sounds so trivial and silly after everything you wrote. But I do. I get this. I get those moments where you just want to be held and want to be forgiven without asking for it. I also get not giving that forgiveness so easily. I’ve been both people in your story.
I love what you do with words, by the way.
I am always me in this story.
Mark tends not to fuck things up.
Which is both annoying and brilliant.
And thank you.
OMG… your marriage sounds so much like mine. We are going on 13 years and my husband is still trying to figure out how to deal with my mood swings and erratic behavior. I know I am incredibly difficult to live with and I’m always amazed he still loves me and puts up with me. I absolutely hate admitting when I’m wrong and I hate it even more admitting that I really need him sometimes.
Mark and I have been together for 24 years. Married for 20.
I have learned to be a grown-up, but those lessons have been difficult.
I have learned to speak the things I need. To not hold insane anger within that Mark is not able to read my mind. To apologize when the blame is mine.
I have learned.
Difficult lessons, those.
The amazing lesson I learned is to be able to say, this is what I need.
Also saying I’m sorry. But not too much.
I’m a crier, I cry all the time and I’m trying to learn how not to apologize for it. I have an amazing friend that is helping me.
Lucky me, all these amazing women. (you included, very much. I’m learning from you too!)
I am not a crier.
I hate crying.
But when I get overwhelmed by emotion? I am swept away.
And I cry.
I do not apologize for my tears.
They are usually helpful, in that they signal a final letting go.
A willingness to deal with emotions.
But I don’t cry often.
Wow. I know this feeling exactly. Were we sisters in another life perhaps?
Perhaps.
That is a lovely thought.
Hello, you!
God love the tug of war. Push you away, pull you back. Every now and then, I feel just a bit bad for the guys. It is so fleeting, though, that it is hard to react from it. ;-)
I love that he wasn’t asleep and made it across the gap. I also love that you didn’t let the night end without that hug you needed.
Yes.
Thank you so very much.
And last night?
Made all the difference in our today.
All the difference.
I am not always great at the give and take in marriage but I am one lucky wife. I try to “choose well” in those crucial moments but sometimes my pride gets in the way. My husband is a patient man. But he is lucky too…cuz he’s got me!
P.S. I love that you’re normal…ish ;)
I am all kinds of normal over here.
I do like to paint myself as competent most of the time.
I am competent most of the time.
But I have bad days. Everyone has bad days.
And I own them.
They are part of me as well.
I am proud of you, kid…
so very fucking proud of you.
Love you
Thank you.
Love you as well.
Are all women like that? Unpredictable? Sometimes I think that my husband is afraid of me. This exact story happens to us a lot. And not only when I am cranky, but when I am happy or when we are having sex. Because sometimes I want it hard and for him to dominate me and other times all soft and cuddly. Sometimes I want a lot of foreplay and sometimes none. And OMG, of course it would kill me to tell him exactly what I want. And of course, he almost always guesses wrong. And it makes me mad! Right now I can be rational and analyse my behavior but when I am in the moment…my poor husband, I would have killed me a few times over if I had to live with me. At least I feed him well.
When I am happy?
I am not a quiet person about what I want in the bedroom.
Not even.
Hee hee!
I have tears in my eyes as I read this.
It is so easy to choose that other path; to see the other as an enemy instead of a partner, to fiercely protect your ownership of your anger and pain. To take misunderstanding and turn it into war.
And every time you get through these treacherous stormy waters instead of breaking apart on the rocks, it makes your partnership that much stronger, more resilient, more able to handle whatever life flings at you next.
After the nightmare that was so often your childhood it is amazing and wonderful that you have found and forged such a strong, stable marriage; and created the loving family that you so resoundingly deserve.
It is so easy to choose the other path.
So easy and so familiar.
And so every time I choose the better more mature path? It is a conscious choice. A turning my back on my first thoughts and desires.
And every time I choose well?
I am amazed at the loveliness of what follows.
But even so, the next time?
My first thought, my first inclination . . . will be wrong.
Sigh.
Love you, babe.
I am reader rarely a commenter but I had to leave a comment on this one.
I have only been married for three years but there are times; nights, days or moments when the space between us can seem unfathomable. Given there is a one year old in the mix I would say normal but still a gaping hole that makes me so vulnerable. Yet there is something so real about your story, my story, our story that reminds me that this why I am married. 99% of the time, he knows what I need. He doesn’t need me to spell it out and when the space gets so huge, he finds a way to narrow the gap and to bring us back to one. Thanks for an amazing post!
Mark is awesome even though he does not always understand me.
And even when I am being hideous?
He will reach out a hand.
Speak soft words.
Light me a path back to us.
I am very lucky.
Thank you.
I want to be all profound and speak of lessons and choices and all that jazz…but all that I can think is to say thank you. Thank you for being so open with us.
Sigh.
Sometimes I am more vulnerable than other times.
You caught me on a soft day.
Thank you.
You are way wise.
That old addage, “Never go to bed angry” is something that is SO VERY important.
I love the way just being held is never *just* being held. During the times like the one you’ve described here (so beautifully, I might add) there are so many silent things being said. The ability to have these moments is something to be cherished. Not all couples can say things to each other without talking. We are some lucky women.
What a beautiful story. I do love me some happy endings!
A secret, though?
I have gone to bed angry.
Because sometimes I am just not able to get things under control.
And Mark?
Mark goes to sleep.
So I sometimes go to bed angry.
But I wake up aware that there are still things to fix.
And then I fix them.
And yes . . . Mark’s embrace?
Speaks volumes.
Happy sighs.
We are lucky, you and I.
please don’t throw up when I say this: your stories about your marriage, all full of honesty and love and flaws and forgiveness, make me want that for myself one day.
aaaand then I threw up.
Silly you.
Not throwing up is required.
Marriage is fabulous.
Way fabulous.
Just two regular people, committed to making it work.
And that is fabulous indeed.
This? I understand. You did good.
Thanks, you.