Category: Until Death Do Us Part (and to the Death it will be)

Marital bliss and blues, all wrapped into one relationship.

Exposed

Last night I experienced the really icky feeling of getting busted in the act.

You see, I can be really honest with my friends about what I do, I can relay a story to Bryan from the day, I can even blab about my issues on the internet – but I am still in control of the information flow. You hear what I want you to hear, and see what I want you to see. Even in all my dysfunction, I can come out of a blog post looking as good or as bad as I deem appropriate for the sake of storytelling.

But last night my ugliness was exposed in real time as the kids and I had our evening chat with Bryan over Skype with the web cam. It wasn’t anything huge, really. I simply became impatient with Ruthie over something, and cut the activity off abruptly.

Later, over an IM conversation, Bryan mentioned how sad it made him to see me shut her down so quickly.

I felt like the air had been let out of me.

My first instinct was to be defensive, make excuses, shift the blame, be the victim, accuse him of having NO IDEA what I have to deal with on a daily basis. But instead I stopped. And I wrestled with his words. And I let them sink in.

Honestly, I think God grabbed a hold of my tongue. Or my fingers, rather, since we were typing. When it comes to fight or flight responses, I’m definitely a fighter, and I really wanted to argue with him about what an asshole he was. But like I said, I had the air let out of me, and I could do nothing but ponder his words.

Then I just felt broken and I started crying. I thought about all the shit I’d given Bryan over the last year when all he’s been trying to do is help me. And even though the way he tries to help me is sometimes not very helpful to me, at least he cares enough to try and help, and now he’s even hearing me better when I try to explain why his help isn’t always helpful, and I give him lots of really good sex when his help IS really helpful so he is sure to remember that stuff for the next time (it’s all about association, right?).

I think the clincher came when I really felt validated by him.

After he stated the obvious, I shot back with a really bitchy, “don’t you think I know that?” sort of response. To which he responded, and I quote: “I think you know it, but that you are still learning to know it.”

And that was all I needed to hear for my heart to melt and receive what he had to say.

I don’t like it when he sees me at my ugliest, especially when it involves the kids. I don’t always treat him well when he tries to intervene or calm me down. But last night he was so tender – I guess you could say he spoke my language. Or the planets were aligned. Or the gods were smiling on me. Or whatever.

But despite my ugliness, he still made me feel beautiful.

Ode to a Damn Fine Husband

A friend recently said that all marriages go through a crisis. Sometimes more than one. I can testify to that, as my own marriage has been in crisis for the last year or so. On more than one occasion I made mental preparations for how I would pay the bills if I kicked Bryan out. But God has been gracious to us, and our community has been tenacious in their support of bringing peace to our home, and our marriage has persevered.

I feel more clear headed, and less emotional. When Bryan says or does something that I perceive to be offending, I mention it to him and he clarifies what he meant. What I’ve learned through this is that he doesn’t always realize he’s being an ass, so if I just calm down long enough to tell him how I feel without completely going off on him, he can actually think about it and say something like, “sorry, I was thinking about this and such when I said that, and I didn’t mean it to come out that way.” And I’ll say something like, “oh. Thank you. No problem.” End of discussion, and we’re all happy, and we go have sex.

I needed to take responsibility for my part in our marital deterioration – that I assumed everything Bryan said was to attack me, that I was a victim, when in reality I just needed to make fewer assumptions and not expect him to read my mind. I never cut him any slack. I never allowed him to have an off day.

And just a note on how sexy he is…

Today I played in a softball game over the dinner hour. Bryan left early to go start the coals in the BBQ, but our game went longer than expected. I was preparing myself for him to be irritated, but when I walked in the door tonight he’d made a kick-ass ceasar salad, a strong margarita, and he’d just finished grilling rib-eye stakes to my liking. All I needed to do was sit down and eat.

Also, he’s taken to removing the dramatics out of killing spiders for me. He used to holler at me, “Don’t move!” before he dove in for the kill. And of course I’d freak out. But now? The other day I was lying on one couch, and he was on the other. When suddenly he flew off his couch and pounced on something on the floor next to me. Then he quietly scooped it up and threw it in the trash. My pulse didn’t even fluctuate I felt so safe.

It feels good to not hate anymore. And it feels good to not feel suspicious of everything he says or does. It feels really good to love unconditionally, and assume the best of him, rather than the worst.

Grace Sneaks In … again.

I fear this may be one of those posts where the random passer by will yawn and move on to the next blog. To them it will the boring what-I-did-last-summer type essays. But this post isn’t for the random passer by – it’s for me. Part of why I write is to remember, and the next time I become frustrated with Bryan, or dissatisfied with the way something happens (or doesn’t happen), I want to remember this weekend.

On Friday night we had dinner with a few friends, then after they left and the kids were in bed we went downstairs to watch some t.v. As usual, Bryan fell asleep after thirty seconds. But an hour later he woke up with a second wind and we stayed up until 2am watching episodes of Entourage on HBO’s On Demand.

If you know Bryan, you know he’s more of an up-at-5am guy than a bed-at-2am guy. In fact, currently his head is thrown back on the couch and his mouth is gaping open, snoring. This is the second time he’s attempted to watch the same episode of Deadwood on HBO and fell asleep. At 9:30pm.

But Friday night, and again on Saturday night, we flirted, I giggled, we made out, we… well, you know. But it was FUN, and light-hearted, and SPONTANEOUS. And on Sunday night we got a babysitter and had Mai Tai’s in a hilarious tiki bar in Bellevue where we talked. And we listened to each other. And we trusted, just a little bit.

Despite any successes or failures in our household projects this weekend (we had both), it was one of the best weekends I’ve ever had, and I was reminded of the poem Bryan wrote me during one of his first weeks traveling to Palo Alto. The way we loved each other this weekend was another way I’ve seen Grace Sneak In to our relationship.

Grace sneaks in
——————–

Every hour, on the hour
I think of you and
All that we are building together
In the midst of
Screaming children
The barking dog
Spilling milk
And I think to myself
These dents are adding up in
The way that hugging you
Tightly in our kitchen
(amidst those stressful moments)
Adds up to a something that
Is bigger than both you and I
Like those times when,
Seemingly undone,
We hug,
Only to find
Ruthie climbing to join us
In a third way

This is how Grace sneaks in

More Thoughts on Perspective

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Last week a friend of mine, who is my age with small children, was diagnosed with cancer. She had surgery yesterday to remove the tumor.

In several weeks another friend will be giving birth to a baby girl whose heart is broken, and it is still unclear what the future holds for her.

In my denial, I often let the weight of tragedy roll off my back. A friend once said that things often don’t seem real to her because she doesn’t let them be real, and I have found myself dealing with grief in this way.

But lately I’ve been letting the seriousness of these things sink in, and I’ve tried to imagine myself in similar situations. When I do this, and when I think about my friends struggling with life and death questions, I wonder what the hell am I doing arguing with my husband about the laundry?

Yeah, I know the argument isn’t really ABOUT laundry. And I know it’s not exactly healthy to compare and prioritize importance of the problems we all struggle with, because as I stated the other day, God gives us the juice to deal with our own issues. But in light of cancer and broken hearts, I’m finding myself more willing to humble myself and let go of my need to be validated by another human being.

Through prayer, scripture, and a really great therapist, I’m learning to find my validation and worth in Christ – and what’s more important, I’m learning to do this without leaving my husband in the dust. In finding myself through Christ, I’m finding it easier to love Bryan despite his own bumpy and imperfect journey.

This week I was studying about Love, because I know I do not love Bryan and Ruthie in the way God would have me. I love them selfishly, and only when they give me what I want. But 1 Corinthians 13 says…

Love is…
Patient
Kind
Truthful
Protecting
Trusting
Hopeful
Persevering
unfailing

Love is NOT…
Envious
Boastful
Self-important
Rude
Self-seeking
Easily angered
Holder of grudges
Delighter in evil

I am shamed by how much of my love falls into the latter category. But I am thankful for this process, for all the junk being emptied from my cluttered closet. God is purging the junk that has made my mind an unordered mess, and he’s reordering my priorities.

Set up, UPSET, reset – guess where we are in the plot cycle?

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I have mixed feelings about writing this post. Part of me wants to wear the mask depicting our lovely weekend family getaway and avoid writing about the shitty attitude I have right now, because my shitty attitude doesn’t make me look very good. But it’s what’s on my mind so you, the Internet, get to walk through it with me.

We had a great week at the ocean. There were parts of it that were relaxing – the parts when both kids were out cold and I read an entire book. The rest of it was a bit overwhelming – mostly because Ruthie is continuing to test limits and blatantly disobey.

What upsets me most, though, is that out of all the fun stuff that happened – INCLUDING the friends that drove all the way down from Seattle FOR THE DAY – I’m fixating on all the frustrating battles with Ruthie, and on the one sentence Bryan spoke to me at breakfast this morning which hurt my feelings and caused us to drive four hours home in silence.

That one sentence sent me into a spiral of doubt during the whole drive home. All I could think about was the façade of happiness I must have been wearing the last few months, while all the while our disappointment with and mistrust of one another was only a few unguarded words away.

His comment stung because there were only two ways for me to interpret it: either he’s a complete ass and has NO CONCEPT of what I deal with all day, or he’s right and I completely SUCK at managing my home and caring for my children. Do you see my dilemma? Either way, one of us is lazy or clueless, and the other one is the lucky bastard who landed this prizewinning catch.

Not a whole lot of options for a win-win outcome.

Bryan apologized for what he said, in the I-meant-what-I-said-but-I’m-sorry-it-came-out-like-that sort of way, which I truly do appreciate in a I-get-that-you-love-me-in-your-own-way sort of way, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the dark hole of my emotional spiral.

I’m open to the possibility that I’m over-reacting to all of this in a very irrational way. I did, after all, finally wean off my medication, so Crazy Jen could be back. (I would be remiss in not revealing this sort of information as you weigh all the facts and take sides in your mind.) This very real possibility is the reason I did not pack my bags and move to Cape Cod the minute we returned to Seattle.

There’s that, plus the construction crew is returning tomorrow to trim out the new windows.

Longing.

Handsome

Tonight the kids and I dropped Bryan off at the airport, and I cried all the way home. Not because I felt overwhelmed at facing another week alone with the kids, but because I. love. Him. His smell, his humor, the way he looks in those cargo pants… I am missing him. Who knew that I would feel such aching desire just two months after feeling like this? I really thought it couldn’t happen, but it did.

Reading: Drunkard’s Prayer

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The church I attend places a high value on art, creativity, and congregational participation in the worship experience. There are many opportunities for our members to share original poetry, responsive readings, essays, and songs during the course of the service.

Today I read the following personal essay prior to the sermon as a part of our worship service.

Drunkard’s Prayer (6/15/05; edited 3/10/06)

Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist of the band Over the Rhine canceled their national tour a couple years ago because the stress of their working relationship was taking a toll on their marriage. They stated in the liner notes of their most recent album, Drunkard’s Prayer, that they needed time to figure out if being together was something they were still committed to.

“When we came home from the tour,” they wrote, “we bought two cases of wine and decided we were going to put a bottle on the kitchen table every evening and start talking until nothing was left. The idea was not to get plowed, but to talk face to face deep into the night.”

After a long hiatus from this album, I discovered it again and played it in the car during a long drive to a friend’s house North of Seattle. It had been a long, difficult day, and I almost canceled my time with her. As I listened, I felt the tension of my stress receding into the tenderness of melody and song, and for the first time I actually heard the words being sung. To the untrained ear they sound like beautiful love songs – lyrics like “I want you to be my love,” or “I’m gonna learn to love without fear.” But when you listen closely, the songs speak of commitment, redemption, and steadfastness in the midst of struggle.

But then again, perhaps I’m moved so much because I’ve been there.

Several weeks ago in a fit of bitter anger, I told my husband I didn’t want to be married to him anymore. I said it with hurtful vengeance; with my rigid finger thrust into his face. I knew the words would sting, that they would tear him down into a defeated mess of weakness. I knew, because it was not the first time he’d heard those words. Bryan had been married before, and those words were very familiar to him. I had cut him in the soft place where his armor could not protect him.

What is it about hurting that makes us want the others around us to hurt as well?

I think of a cup of water that, as it’s filled, reaches the top and spills over the edge. Water is non-discriminatory – it soaks into whatever is lying around it. As my cup of bitterness overflowed, it deteriorated and dissolved the relationships closest to me.

I think also of the verse in James about the tongue being a small rudder that steers a very large ship, and I know that my words nearly ran my family’s ship aground.

In just a few short weeks I have had the ugliness of my sin exposed, and I saw the bitterness that spurned my hurtful words. And then, Christ washed it away. He covered my sin with his blood so all I see now is the hope of joy and reconciliation – and this is what I find beautiful about Believing.

Religion says God will fix us, but Christ says I am arrogant and stubborn and must let go of my anger.

Religion says God will make me feel better, but Christ says I need to humble myself and ask Bryan to forgive me.

Religion says I deserve to be happy, but Christ says we are children of grace who have been given a new voice to praise the Most High God.

In my ‘religion’ I expected Bryan to be perfect, which is why I love the words to this OTR song titled, Who Will Guard the Door.

You were the hand that I tried to take
You’re the decision that I could not make
You’re the religion that I should forsake
[chorus]
You were the story I tried to tell
You were the savior that tripped and fell
Beautiful dancing infidel

State of the Union in Zugland

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I owe a large part of my recent bout with sanity to Bryan. It was during our recent trip to Portland when I realized how much influence he has had on my level of peace during the last few months.

I think the biggest thing for me was his taking over the bulk of the finances. I lack the time and discipline to stay on top of everything, so now the only thing I maintain is updating the bank downloads and paying the regular bills. He takes care of all the budgeting and organizing, and just tells me what to do so I don’t have to think about anything.

Bad things happened when I controlled the finances. I have a tendency to avoid anything that cannot be done quickly or easily, but lacked the organization to make sure it didn’t slip through the cracks altogether. On more than one occasion a big ball was dropped, and instead of owning up to it to Bryan, I covered up the evidence CSI style and pretended nothing happened. Yeah, I really just said that out loud. Feel better, now, about all your fuck-ups?

That was a dark time in our marriage. Most of our fighting was over financial issues – how things should be done, how things were NOT getting done, expectations that were not being met, feeling that expectations were too high, etc. I think this has changed. For the better. For both of us. I’m learning more about what makes me hide things from the people I love. He’s learning how to be a safe person to confess fuck-ups to.

I also think he’s beginning to understand the overwhelming nature of my life: the constant interruptions whenever I do anything; the chaos of chatter and the disciplining of toddlers; the unpredictable arrival of depressive days that render me useless; the difficulty of catching up whenever I lose one step. He seems more compassionate, more patient, and takes more initiative to help out when he sees me falling behind. This alone makes me cry (the good kind) because I do enough to beat myself up for being a failure. When he shows his patience and compassion when I can’t seem to Get It Done, I feel loved and supported.

I, like many people, avoid the stuff of life that is not fun. If I have a choice between paying bills and reading my rss feeds? You guessed it, I would rather read your blog (but who wouldn’t? It’s so entertaining!). The challenge for me is sorting out the times when I am dropping into a black hole of depression or when I am just being lazy. I expect a lot of grace to be given me in the first scenario, but if I’m just being lazy that is not cool. The last thing I want to do is take advantage of Bryan’s generosity in helping out more at home, so I continue to work on being diligent when I have the mental faculties to do so.

It may be too early to really assess the effects of my new vitamin regimen as it relates to my depression, but I know I’m feeling more energy and focus all throughout the day, and I last longer into the evening. Because of this, I can let up on my schedule during the day and spend more time just Being with Ruthie and get my stuff done after she goes to bed. Just last night I caught up on a pile ‘o’ crap that needed to be filed while Bryan dismantled his labyrinth of computer equipment and moved it to its temporary location.

Despite this being a busy week of celebrating Ruthie’s birthday, preparing our basement for remodeling, and getting Bryan ready for his new position (more on that later), I have not been irritable with the kids nor have I felt overwhelmed. Bryan and I have even worked through disagreements quickly and rationally.

All this to say, I think the general state of Zugland is improving. I am continually being reminded that when dark circumstances overwhelm our lives – whether self-inflicted or thrust upon us – somewhere there is Hope to be found.

Bryan, My Love.

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.

It was good while it lasted.

I’ve returned home and already my brain seems distracted again. I think whenever I’m in my house there is data running in the background of my mind that makes it more difficult to focus on what I’m actually doing in the moment. I hate to admit it – only because I’m not looking forward to the Dance of the Gloater Bryan will perform as he reads this – but I think multi-tasking has eaten away as many brains cells as if I’d dropped acid my whole life.

I’m having a hard time describing happiness.

I’m not really sure how to describe the feeling the aura the so obviously NOT US nature of this weekend, especially for those who don’t know me in person, but I am having HELLA fun with my booty-licious husband on this weekend getaway.

We are laughing, we are jesting, we are gazing fondly at one another as if on our first date again. And the touching? At dinner last night I felt very strongly that Bryan’s leg be pressed up against mine AT ALL TIMES no matter where he had to itch – I just couldn’t get enough snuggle.

And today we are actually agreeing on what to do next EVEN THOUGH WE HAVE NOT MAPPED OUT A SPECIFIC PLAN FOR THE DAY. Where do I begin to describe the significance of spontaneity in our relationship?

At any rate, we spent the morning in downtown Portland at the mall, then wandered over to Powell’s City of Books (aka the Mecca of bookstores) where we browsed for various things on our list.

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I picked up My Sister’s Keeper and Anansi Boys, books I’m reading for two different book clubs I participate in, plus The Search for Significance, a book recommended by my therapist as a tool to break through the errors in my belief system (like playing the blame game, or being a victim).

As I sit here in the quiet of my hotel room, my mind is clear, and I feel relaxed – both mentally and physically. The stress has melted away, and all the balls I juggle on a daily basis are quietly holstered… in their ball pit… somewhere within this bad metaphor.

During the last week my mind felt so full of information that I couldn’t muster up enough brain cells to make a grocery list. A friend who offered to keep Scout for the weekend wanted to pick her up a day early, and I gazed at her with an empty face as I listened to her ask the question.

“I don’t even know how to make that happen,” I finally said.

And truly, I had no random access memory left to sort through the simple steps of collecting the dog food, the bowls, and the leash. There was too much noise in my head.

This weekend I look forward to experiencing the quietness of spirit to think, to read, and to write as I have very little space in my life for thoughtful, reflective writing. As we checked in late last night there were three guys in the office – one covered in tatts, one with a handlebar mustache, and the other wearing an indie rock band t-shirt. I asked if there was wifi available on site and the three of them lit up like Christmas morning.

“Uh huh!” they all said simultaneously.

“Really?” I asked. “Like, I’ll have internet access in my room?”

Again with the wide eyes and the Cheshire grins, “Uh huh!”

I felt relief again that on this holiday from my hectic life, I can write and blog and reflect in real time. I can create and share things as they happen. If I have an inspiration, I don’t have to store it in my mind, yearning for an opportunity or the energy to express it. If only for a few days, my mind can be free from its daily clutter.

At this moment I could not be happier if it was raining chocolate covered raisins.

Schmalentine’s Day

I’ve never been a big fan of Valentine’s Day. Really, I haven’t. I find the entire ‘holiday’ quite silly, actually. It never seemed important to me to have a specific DAY when someone was SUPPOSED to do something nice to express their love because this behavior was supposed to be NORMAL for people who love and care for each other.

Right?

One of the ways I have let disappointment swell within me and turn to bitterness is in the area of expectations: I have lots of them, and Bryan doesn’t meet them. This has played out at every anniversary, birthday, and Valentine’s Day since we’ve been married.

I’m a simple girl, I say. I don’t need airplanes dragging messages of love behind them; I don’t need ‘I heart you’ carved out of a corn field; I just want a Hallmark card with something mushy written in it because you are an amazing writer and I love to read every word.

Marriage has been a series of reality checks. Some along the lines of Holy Shit I Can’t Believe I Got Myself Into This, and some along the lines of Damn I Can’t Believe He Puts Up With Me. I have needed to deconstruct many of my expectations – or at least communicate them non-telepathically. He has needed to become more pro-active.

I can’t recall anything in my life I’ve ever persevered through so consistently. I’m the champion of quitters. I rewrote the motto to say, ‘When the going gets tough, try something easier.’ But I have been encouraged by changes I’ve seen in myself, by the efforts I see Bryan making, by the compromises we have made for each other.

When I returned from my weekend away with the ladies, I walked into the house to find a shiny red gift bag filled with raffia sitting on the dining room table. Poking out the top were two red cards – one from the kids and one from Bryan – that said ‘do not open until 2/14.’

I’m still not a big fan of Valentine’s Day, but it has provided a format for us to practice our graciousness, our listening skills, and our love languages. I love you, Bryan. Thank you for loving me.