I bitch about him a lot here. I’ve made him a monster as I work through all of this.
I usually come here when I can’t see something clear, when he’s pissed me off, when the other woman has pissed me off.. I come here to figure shit out and vent.
But there is another side.
We went out last night to hear a band. This singer always makes me smile, he’s very good, plays all covers and a ton of Bob Marley. I’m a huge Marley fan.
It was a nice night. At one point, a somewhat intoxicated woman pulled me onto the dance floor during Greg’s rendition of Margaritaville, I did not want to dance, but did it anyway, laughing the whole time. I looked over at him at one point and he had a genuine smile watching me dance. When she left she hugged me and told me I made her happy, her uncle had passed that morning and she tried to pull so many people onto the floor to dance, and I was the only one who went. She said, “I just needed to smile.”
You just never know what someone is going through. Maybe I needed that silly dance myself.
On the way home, I was quiet. I just wanted to leave thoughts of the affair alone for one night, but they were rolling through my head. It’s been a rough 2 years.
But he’s holding strong through this storm. He hasn’t left. I wonder if reversed, if I would have by now. He’s not giving up and I have not been easy to live with.
The ride home is quiet. He reaches for my hand in the dark. When he needs to shift, he puts my hand on the gear shift, puts his hand over mine, shifts, and then goes back to holding my hand. He never lets go.
He opens my doors. He brings me little things. Recently, I made a post on FB about liking a banana candy… he just randomly walked up the other day, said hold out your hand. I did and he put a handful of the candy in my hand, kissed me on the forehead and went on his way.
He holds my hand constantly. No matter where we are going, or what we are going through, he has my hand.
We never really held hands before the affair. Not like now. It’s like he doesn’t want to let me go. I have to see this. He doesn’t say much, but he does things like that. Maybe I should stop wanting to hear words so much and open my eyes instead.
He sings to me every morning when he comes into the kitchen for coffee. A silly little song that has a version of my name in it that only my grandparents and him call me. He uses that version in a sweet, endearing way, it makes me smile. If he’s up before me, he will wrap me in a hug as I come into the kitchen.
He doesn’t really say anything, I need to start seeing, instead of listening for the words I want to hear. He’s never been a talker. Why do I expect him to be different now?
He works so hard for us. Long hours, sometimes 7 days a week. His job is hard on him, hard on the body, stressful. But he never complains. He just does.
I have not been easy to live with these past two years. I feel bipolar most of the time. He never knows what version of me he’s going to get, he knows I have one foot in leaving, one foot in staying. He knows. That can’t be easy on him either.
I’m not excusing anything he’s done. But there are days the fog clears, and I see him. I see he doesn’t know how to deal with me. I see his shame, his own hurt. Oh, the shame weighs heavy on him.
Is he handling all of this “correctly”? No. He’s still stuck in trickle truth shame. He would rather stick his head in the sand, instead of facing this head on.
But I see his hand on mine in the dash lights, I see he hasn’t let go of me.
I’m holding his hand too… I haven’t let go either.