A couple months ago I was ready to leave him, but something snapped and we made it safely through the maze together. While on our blissful vacation in Portland, I asked him Did he really think we were getting better, or was there just nothing to fight about recently? I was waiting for the other shoe to drop because it was difficult to believe such a transformation could have taken place.
My theory was tested a few days after we returned when he said something that upset me, I sulked and lashed out at him, and I began having those thoughts flip through my mind: See? He’ll never change! And you? You’re a basket case who’s falling apart. No one understands your pain.
Bryan left for a meeting, then returned and we sat silently on the couch watching t.v. He wore his stressed out, defeated countenance, and I donned my stubborn, righteous resolve. We were together, but far apart.
When he stood up to go to bed I panicked. After experiencing the intimacy and comfort of the past few weeks, after remembering what it’s like to have humor and sass between us again, I loathed the idea of returning to another season of silence and bitterness.
So I spoke. “Wait! I don’t want to go to bed like this. I have something to say.”
I pulverized the voices in my mind and launched into an explanation of why I lashed out, of why his comment hurt me, that it had little to do with the actual comment but more to do with how it represented my fear of the past and the future and all that happens in between.
Relief washed over him and changed his countenance. He thanked me. We talked. We kissed. He went to bed. My head did not explode. The universe remained intact.
And I realized the answer to my question: Yes, we are getting better.