If I go back to my choices, my behavior, what else do I need to examine? This holiday season I had a conversation with one of my sisters. I asked her how I got to the point where I was living with someone who exhibited no social skills, said inappropriate things, forbade anyone to walk into our bedroom or bathroom, didn't work, didn't do his share around the house, and managed to continue to engage in the behavior that had been most destructive to our relationship. How did I manage to continue living with a person I couldn't trust? Where did I agree to strange little rules? And at what point do the strange little rules become a drastically changed lifestyle? A lifestyle that feels uncomfortable?
Is it okay for a person to be finicky? Is it part of respecting and accepting your spouse for who they are? I don't know. Is it okay to accede to demands like not letting anyone see our bathroom? That one's not too bad as a stand-alone. But that's where it gets tricky. First there's one request, then another and another, until finally one day you wake up and you're living with a pile of quirky rules. It happened to me twice now and I need to find a way to ferret out the part in me that allows herself to get into that place. Then I need to change.
My sister coined the term 'incremental compromise'. The pile of rules grows slowly. A rule, then a demand, then an 'agreement. Let this go on for years, and then you're living a life you don't feel you bargained for. I woke up one day, and it looked way too much like my first marriage. I couldn't do certain things. I didn't feel comfortable inviting my friends to the house. The rules didn't really make sense to me. The first 'rules' were okay. The hard part was saying, 'Stop! This is too much'. At what point did I move from accepting my spouse's requests to living a life I didn't want?
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Dad (continued)
My family gets together at my my sister's home in Idaho for Christmas. She doesn't live in that home but hopes to someday. It's huge and accommodates all of us and our families. In 2008, since Dad had moved in with us, we felt it wouldn't be right to go to Idaho. Dad was still under 24-hour care with Carmi. He was getting better. He no longer had a catheter and the pressure in his head was lower. There was more clarity in this thinking. The time he had been at our house had been comfortable. He had been sweet, vulnerable and appreciative----very appreciative---of all we had done for him. I marveled at how well the transition had been. The Christmas of '08 we opted to stay at home. We didn't feel it was right to go have Christmas in Idaho and leave Dad at home with a caregiver. We also didn't think Dad would live much longer and that this Christmas would be his last. I didn't want the memory of my dad spending his last Christmas alone with a caregiver and no family.
Long about March, Dad was doing quite well. He no longer needed 24-hour care, he was more lucid, his balance was better, he was stronger. But an odd thing happened: he started to get critical. I couldn't dream of ever maintaining the clean house he always had. My home is slightly cluttered and all my desks, no matter where they are----are full of papers. (What in the world am I supposed to do with them all?) Dad was starting to say things about my clutter. He was also getting curious to the point of being nosy. "Where are you going?" "When will you be back?" "Where is Bill?" "Who's going to be here for dinner?" "What's for dinner every night this week?" "That computer has been on the counter all week. Where does it belong?" and so on---all thinly veiled criticisms of our life, our inferior cleanliness, and his desire to know every single thing. The need to plan dinners for the week was not something I could tolerate. It's not a boarding house. It's not a restaurant either. Food will be cooked and it will be set on the table for whoever happens to be there that evening. Dad got to the point where he was trying to keep track of Bill. One day he said, "I'm not tattling but Bill left this morning and was gone all day." I said,"You're tattling Dad." His constant need to know where we were, how long we were going to be home, and what we were doing got oppressive. I started having feelings of wanting to avoid Dad. I'm almost 60 years old; I don't want to be reporting to anybody, especially my father.
This was the beginning of a deterioration of the father/daughter relationship I had once so greatly cherished.
Long about March, Dad was doing quite well. He no longer needed 24-hour care, he was more lucid, his balance was better, he was stronger. But an odd thing happened: he started to get critical. I couldn't dream of ever maintaining the clean house he always had. My home is slightly cluttered and all my desks, no matter where they are----are full of papers. (What in the world am I supposed to do with them all?) Dad was starting to say things about my clutter. He was also getting curious to the point of being nosy. "Where are you going?" "When will you be back?" "Where is Bill?" "Who's going to be here for dinner?" "What's for dinner every night this week?" "That computer has been on the counter all week. Where does it belong?" and so on---all thinly veiled criticisms of our life, our inferior cleanliness, and his desire to know every single thing. The need to plan dinners for the week was not something I could tolerate. It's not a boarding house. It's not a restaurant either. Food will be cooked and it will be set on the table for whoever happens to be there that evening. Dad got to the point where he was trying to keep track of Bill. One day he said, "I'm not tattling but Bill left this morning and was gone all day." I said,"You're tattling Dad." His constant need to know where we were, how long we were going to be home, and what we were doing got oppressive. I started having feelings of wanting to avoid Dad. I'm almost 60 years old; I don't want to be reporting to anybody, especially my father.
This was the beginning of a deterioration of the father/daughter relationship I had once so greatly cherished.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
It Ain't Just a River
I was saying that I felt some relief when my husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Why would I have such a feeling? It doesn't feel good to feel that. I had underlying guilt. That I felt that was understandable for someone who knew the details of my life with him. It still didn't take away the gnawing sense of guilt. Human but not humane.
So, if it was understandable, was it okay? Given the totality of our years together and the ongoing betrayals, was it okay? I can forgive if behavior stops. Remorse, repentance, sincere apologies go a long way with me. I can forgive. I can forget (believe it or not). Despite my steel-trap memory, I can do that. But when the behavior keeps returning, I can't. I used to love it when Bill went into his depressions because all the things he did during his manic episodes that I said he shouldn't do, he would agree with me and apologize for. But in time he would do them again. And the cycle would repeat itself. My thinking, and this is where my religion worked against me, was that if I showed enough love, if I modeled the right behavior, if I acted as my faith tells me I need to act, then he would 'get it'. He would see how his behavior, his lack of ethics, his low morals, were hurting the two people he loved most. And he would act in love, through love, with love, and stop being an Asshole. A huge asshole. But I was an asshole to think that way. I should have either accepted what I had or thrown in the towel years ago. To have stayed on as I did was not right. It only changed temporarily. He wasn't capable of acting out of love consistently. He isn't hard-wired that way.
This was a topic in my counseling this week and it is where the title of this entry comes in. If I had come to my senses, if I had opened my eyes and finally said to myself, "This is not going to get any better than it is. I don't like this. I'm outta here!" I would have been making the best choice for me. Maybe it would have been the best choice for Laura too. To have believed he could change through love and my examples was an exercise in futility. I was in denial. It ain't just a river in Egypt, it's also flowing through my brain. In this time of reflection, this time of getting my thought patterns onto a healthier track, I have got to think of denial and the part it plays in my life. Am I unable to see when something is a loser? Can I get to the point where I see when something is just not ever going to be right? I denied what was really Bill and then, instead of realizing what was, I deflected his nasty comments to me and detached from him------while all the while playing the role of the loving wife. My bad. Can't do that again. Can't near that point again. It will be interesting to see how I deal with any instincts I have towards denial.
So, if it was understandable, was it okay? Given the totality of our years together and the ongoing betrayals, was it okay? I can forgive if behavior stops. Remorse, repentance, sincere apologies go a long way with me. I can forgive. I can forget (believe it or not). Despite my steel-trap memory, I can do that. But when the behavior keeps returning, I can't. I used to love it when Bill went into his depressions because all the things he did during his manic episodes that I said he shouldn't do, he would agree with me and apologize for. But in time he would do them again. And the cycle would repeat itself. My thinking, and this is where my religion worked against me, was that if I showed enough love, if I modeled the right behavior, if I acted as my faith tells me I need to act, then he would 'get it'. He would see how his behavior, his lack of ethics, his low morals, were hurting the two people he loved most. And he would act in love, through love, with love, and stop being an Asshole. A huge asshole. But I was an asshole to think that way. I should have either accepted what I had or thrown in the towel years ago. To have stayed on as I did was not right. It only changed temporarily. He wasn't capable of acting out of love consistently. He isn't hard-wired that way.
This was a topic in my counseling this week and it is where the title of this entry comes in. If I had come to my senses, if I had opened my eyes and finally said to myself, "This is not going to get any better than it is. I don't like this. I'm outta here!" I would have been making the best choice for me. Maybe it would have been the best choice for Laura too. To have believed he could change through love and my examples was an exercise in futility. I was in denial. It ain't just a river in Egypt, it's also flowing through my brain. In this time of reflection, this time of getting my thought patterns onto a healthier track, I have got to think of denial and the part it plays in my life. Am I unable to see when something is a loser? Can I get to the point where I see when something is just not ever going to be right? I denied what was really Bill and then, instead of realizing what was, I deflected his nasty comments to me and detached from him------while all the while playing the role of the loving wife. My bad. Can't do that again. Can't near that point again. It will be interesting to see how I deal with any instincts I have towards denial.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
New Year
The new year began, and it seems to be barreling ahead without me. Am I lost in the dust? I don't know. I seem to have everything under control. My lesson plans are written, the classroom is fairly clean, my little sunglasses breakers are staying after school to help me every day, I have my paperwork done. Or do I? I get this weird feeling that there's something important I've forgotten. Today we took down the Christmas decorations, and now the house looks oddly bare as if it were crying out for some ornamentation. I'll miss the color the various holiday accessories brought.
#1:
I was ruminating over 2010. I was barely scratching the surface. I ran out of energy right before I got to the part where I was going to write what I did wrong. This is very hard for me. I don't like to admit my shortcomings. Will it overwhelm me to do that? Will I shrivel in shame if I dare to write it in this blog?
It was, okay here I go being brutally honest, a relief when Bill was diagnosed with cancer. It had been such a tough marriage and I was so tired of his poor money management, the way he was beginning to treat my father, his sloppiness, his bad behavior, his betrayals. The cancer was a signal to me that this would end in the foreseeable future. I didn't want to admit that to myself. How could a woman be almost glad that her husband was given this death sentence?
But I felt that I wanted to be with him through it all. I had made a commitment to him, I still loved him in many ways, we had always been good company, and I knew I was the only person in his life at that time. He was relying heavily on me to be his rock. I thought that with the limited time we had, I would stay by his side while his time on this earth ended. I wasn't looking forward to watching him die; I didn't even want to see him in pain. But we had been together 26 years, and I am a loyal person.
#2:
I resented him. I resented the gambling, the bipolar mood swings, the way he copped out of the Bar Exam God-knows-how-many times, didn't help support our family,gambled away his inheritance, had stolen money from me, embarrassed me socially and with my family, the holidays he had ruined, the way his word was no good, the two-faced way he disciplined our daughter. I would have been able to 'forgive and forget' if he had just stopped. If I had been more true to myself, what would have done about these betrayals? My resentments?
#3:
I was seeking support from outside our home. I was readying myself for his death. I was gathering people to support me. Is that bad? I don't know. But somehow I was drifting away from him. Part of it was a coping mechanism for me to 'ready' myself for his death. Part of it was wanting to push myself away from him because he was being unkind to my father after he was the one who had invited my dad to live with us. But I was feeling separate from him. And he felt it. And I felt bad that he felt it. It seemed like a phenomenon over which I couldn't get any control.
#1:
I was ruminating over 2010. I was barely scratching the surface. I ran out of energy right before I got to the part where I was going to write what I did wrong. This is very hard for me. I don't like to admit my shortcomings. Will it overwhelm me to do that? Will I shrivel in shame if I dare to write it in this blog?
It was, okay here I go being brutally honest, a relief when Bill was diagnosed with cancer. It had been such a tough marriage and I was so tired of his poor money management, the way he was beginning to treat my father, his sloppiness, his bad behavior, his betrayals. The cancer was a signal to me that this would end in the foreseeable future. I didn't want to admit that to myself. How could a woman be almost glad that her husband was given this death sentence?
But I felt that I wanted to be with him through it all. I had made a commitment to him, I still loved him in many ways, we had always been good company, and I knew I was the only person in his life at that time. He was relying heavily on me to be his rock. I thought that with the limited time we had, I would stay by his side while his time on this earth ended. I wasn't looking forward to watching him die; I didn't even want to see him in pain. But we had been together 26 years, and I am a loyal person.
#2:
I resented him. I resented the gambling, the bipolar mood swings, the way he copped out of the Bar Exam God-knows-how-many times, didn't help support our family,gambled away his inheritance, had stolen money from me, embarrassed me socially and with my family, the holidays he had ruined, the way his word was no good, the two-faced way he disciplined our daughter. I would have been able to 'forgive and forget' if he had just stopped. If I had been more true to myself, what would have done about these betrayals? My resentments?
#3:
I was seeking support from outside our home. I was readying myself for his death. I was gathering people to support me. Is that bad? I don't know. But somehow I was drifting away from him. Part of it was a coping mechanism for me to 'ready' myself for his death. Part of it was wanting to push myself away from him because he was being unkind to my father after he was the one who had invited my dad to live with us. But I was feeling separate from him. And he felt it. And I felt bad that he felt it. It seemed like a phenomenon over which I couldn't get any control.
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