Chapter Five
Agreeing to Differ
“Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.” — Eleanor Roosevelt
“WALK AWAY when something doesn’t feel right, if you stay, you DESERVE what happens to you.” — Family Heirloom
My Man and I had different ways of processing differences. I blew up and laid it all out on the table. Granted, this is often not attractive (!) nor does it rarely work when trying to communicate with a man who withdrew and clammed up.
I wanted a verbal exchange and couldn’t get it with someone who refused to participate. Well, of course he refused! He found these debates to be total “no win” situations.
Even during our upsets, however, I recognized a greatness of spirit in my spouse. Although he promoted the beliefs of his parents, he was at least open to listen to other people’s opinions. That was not totally true for me, since my sense of boundary was compressed by his mother’s dominance.
She was demanding as well as strongly opinionated. I was posturing as a saint and martyr, unwilling to understand that my new husband had spent most of his work life in the last decades away from his parents. He now felt a great need to be close—not only to spend time, but to be available for them during the later years of their lives.
What was wrong with me? The therapist had explained that I could not confront my spouse head on. She suggested that I ask for a time that was amenable to discuss concerns and upsets.
Of course she was correct, but we never seemed to be able to find those spare moments for such discussions to occur. My husband worked long hours and was trailed home by a phone that never seemed to stop ringing.
I made my own bed, I kept saying to myself whenever I went into one of these rages.
Things improved somewhat when the alcoholic stepson moved out of our home and into his girlfriend’s apartment, but this was short-lived. I had never experienced life with a person who was a black hole of energy and whose drama had him taking over all of the life energy of those sharing his space—from his waking moments to his departure or sleep time. The drunken parties continued whenever Dad wasn’t around.
Here’s another thing that was getting to me:
My husband would tell me about all the younger women at work who were not only good-looking but also women of depth and integrity.
“If I were younger and hadn’t met you,” he’d say, “I’d be at (her) door as a suitor; she’s quite something!”
He had no idea how much those comments hurt me, and when I expressed my upset to him rather than holding onto that feeling without saying anything—the feeling of being “less than,” he was surprised.
I was still insecure and forgot to take note that it was his comfort with me that allowed this freedom of expression.
Be Careful What You Ask For A long time ago I’d actually placed a wish in the universe for a large and connected family. They would be gracious, loving and magnanimous, I dreamed, and they would accept each family member just as they were without trying to “fix” them.
The universe answered my wish, and added me to the list. Was I an accepting, non-judgmental, magnanimous, gracious and loving person, especially when “others” did not fold the towels the way I did, or make lasagna the only way their (own) children would eat it?
The Suturing Begins
If I pretend to observe myself as a character in a movie, I feel great compassion not only for me but also for all the other characters I’ve brought into my life who’ve had to put up with me or try to figure me out.
I am an all-or-nothing kind of person, reminding me of Darth Vadar’s line from Star Wars: “The Force is Strong with this One.” Life isn’t a straight line that must be followed, but I certainly tried to make it into one during that first year of marriage.
After my first response of playing martyr only made me feel worse without accomplishing anything, I decided I needed to release any perceptions I may have about what an ideal marriage is supposed to look and feel like. Had I totally forgotten that only a few decades ago, love and marriage with the same person were non-existent?
Throughout most of history, marriages had nothing to do with love. They were carefully arranged contracts between two families of the same class, bloodline or title. A daughter was a business asset and baby maker to preserve the family name. A son was a stud and future head of the company when the patriarch passed away.
Was that so terrible? Maybe I needed to take a second look at the real meaning of choice and free will. I found myself admiring those brides of the past and longing for some of their perseverance.
If I weren’t experiencing such heartache, I could laugh the way I used to whenever I got myself into these “told you so” predicaments. But this wasn’t funny. I wanted this marriage to last.
A year had gone by since that dreadful honeymoon. At least now I could ask myself: “What am I choosing NOT to know consciously?”
And then… there it was! Right in broad daylight, just waiting for me to return from a visit with my daughters and grandsons; they are now living in my former house, a property I own. During the visit my daughters had suggested that I get my husband to agree to cutting the losses in the house he’d bought, but was our home. Then the two of us could return to my house and former lifestyle.
During the year of marriage, I’d gone through sixty thousand dollars of my savings, inheritance, and stocks to help My Man keep his dream—this house and this job— alive. They knew I was concerned about my financial state.
My Man had bought the house and the paperwork was finalized before he proposed to me. Before marriage while touring the new house, I met the former owner, a woman. My husband had already told me that he’d placed her on his Wish List after meeting her on an internet match site (!). Upon meeting, however, this woman decided they weren’t compatible. My husband had explained to me that she’d told him she preferred big, muscular men. He certainly did not fit that description.
Half a year into our marriage, my husband and I were working outside and a visitor of the neighbors came over to chat for a bit. He let us know that he’d been engaged to the Wish List Former Home Owner, had lived with her and designed and created the upgrades and addition to the house.
I stared at the man and tried to recreate him as someone who was “big and buff.” Unfortunately, he could have been the twin of my spouse. My Man was visibly shaken.
Realizing his ego was bruised, we talked about it and to my surprise, he rationalized that the gal was experiencing the onset of MS (What happened to the menopause script, I wondered.) He said he felt she didn’t want to impose her needs and those of her sons on him. He convinced himself (and wanted me to know this) that she’d taken the “high road” in rejecting his interest.
So much drama for my wee mind to absorb.
The other good part about all this was the fact that even though this Wish List Lady did not want a romantic liaison, she did have a piece of land with a lovely home to sell. Perfect! The housing marketing was already starting to slump and my husband’s credit had been badly beaten up by former wives. The house was in an expensive area and needed much repair, but unquestionably it was a good buy. So, the agreement developed for the sale to be concluded in the contract for deed format. My spouse could be powerful in his creations!
When I shared my sadness with my daughters—not understanding my own power of creation—lovingly they suggested I come “home” for a break. Driving the two and a half hours back to my spouse, I knew I could not go on pretending… but there was something that kept eluding me. Some data. What could I not permit myself to see?
My husband was glad to see me when I returned, and our conversation appeared to be going the same route. While visiting my family, I’d thrown out some possibilities to him like my returning to my house. He could then get roommates to meet his financial needs. Or he could let the house go back in the contract for deed and get an apartment in the city of his work, 50 miles away. However, I knew the house, land, and prestige of the location were of great importance to him.
I had to tell him that I simply could not make enough in any job to equal the portion of bill that had fallen to me.
One final option appeared to me and I shared this. He could return to his former job that required constant travel. The company would have been more than happy to take him back and the pay was almost fifty percent more than what he was currently making.
I was part way into this exchange of real information and goals when impulsively I decided to go all the way. I asked my husband if he missed the kind of love he’d known with women where he ached… where these women took his breath away… where his heart sang and his very being tingled.
I waited, holding my breath.
“No,” he said. “Whenever I let my heart go like that in the past where I couldn’t get enough of a love, it didn’t work out, materially.”
So there it was, lying like a flopping fish out of water. He’d never loved me as I’d wanted to be loved.
“OK,” I sobbed in the bathtub. “I can accept that.”
But what else was I not seeing? There was something more…
Yes.
I came out of the bath dripping water and tears and told my spouse that I loved him and that because I had wanted the love that he’d showered on his past partners, I’d thought his goodness and mine would bring it into fruition. Just like the scenes from the movies Jerry Maguire and The Mirror Has Two Faces, I also knew that I’d chosen to close my eyes and hope.
Unrealistically… irrationally… choosing to NOT SEE what was right in front of me all the time.
Welcome Back, God!
Once again as in so many times of my life, music and literature spoke to me and delivered what I needed to hear. Suddenly while watching the musical, “The Wiz,” a light went on. “Believe what you feel—believe that there’s a reason to be…” I listened to the lyrics and something clicked inside.
Over time I have come to deeply love my mother and father-in-law and accept them for who they are. I’m proud to report that the “mother” part of this phrase has finally melted into “mom.”
My husband has changed into a more mature person, more aware of the nuances between me as his friend and me as his wife. As I have begun to take me as I am, he has also found a new level of “liking me as I am.” Isn’t it interesting that when we decide to change ourselves instead of trying to change others, we end up having a positive influence on everyone around us!
All my life I’ve had a close relationship with God. I’ve also come to understand that we are responsible for our actions. Many belief systems declare that God and spirituality are not a good match but I’ve never encountered that conflict. Maybe that’s because my perception of God is different from a Being who is a fearsome authority figure, dictating our every move. That perception certainly would not be in sync with the belief that we create our own reality.
In the Thief in the Night “Prophecy” saga, Gabrielle says to the young hero, “There is a plan, get used to it.” This statement feels right to me because it supports my feeling that like a benevolent parent, God has a reason for giving us certain experiences, just as we have a reason for bringing these experiences into our lives. It’s a two way dialogue, not a one-way dictum.
The most difficult task for me has been to “listen” and let go of my own need to “be in control.” At times I can be unintentionally arrogant and I suspect when I entered this marriage I demonstrated that arrogance in the presence of my husband’s family.
Once I let go and let God and my understanding of choice return to my life, my reality shifted and I started to feel that love I was looking for. In what seemed almost one instant to the next, life became joyful again. I awoke each morning asking what grand moments this day would hold for me. How could I contribute to the goodness all around?
Instead of asking negative questions, I shifted my context to expect good. Louise Hay is right: “The thoughts we think and the words we speak create our experiences.” Life and the universe really do have the answers.
We have to accept ourselves “just as we are.” I had not felt love for myself in a long time; I’d altered my own projection of myself without realizing it, thinking I needed to do this in order to accommodate my new husband. I had also drifted from my ideas of spirituality simply because my new family did not accept those beliefs.
Will I ever have the romance I’m looking for? Yes, but it may come in the form of an entirely different kind of friendship—if I really want it badly enough. Love truly is a remarkable vibration of energy. With it, one can move forward with ease, and transform any obstacle into an opportunity for growth. Change is always possible.
The last song in the “Wiz” says it all: “From the moment you try, if you believe in yourself, have wisdom, heart, and courage to laugh; this will carry you, your whole life through.”
P.S. I am now a red head… change of ideas is a lot like hair color. There exists freedom to maneuver.