One Thing in Marriage So Easy To Do But Not So Great on the Relationship

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

My husband arrives home from a twenty-four-hour shift at the fire station with only fifteen minutes to change before he heads to the gym. It is 8:45 in the morning and I am enjoying my first cup of coffee.

For over twenty years this has been his routine. Crossfit is his happy place and exercise is about more than keeping his body fit. I want this for him. We want good things for each other.

But this morning, I am irritated he is leaving so quickly.

It is a very strong irritation and apparently this morning I am ready to attack. This is a fun part of my inner world. I’m not always certain why this temptation is stronger on some days than on others but I am working to pay attention to it and not simply react out of the rising feelings.

As my husband checks in about how I slept last night while putting on his shoes, I can feel my anger mounting. I am not interested in small talk.

“I am feeling really irritated about this, that you’re coming home just to leave again.” I say, the “just” a little dig, like he won’t be gone for only an hour and then with us for the rest of the day, which is the truth.

Even though I am working to figure out why I am so frustrated, attempting to contain all of this from erupting, I am also provoking him with the “just.”

“Wait, is this about the fact that I’m leaving? Leaving you? What’s going on?” he replies. That he isn’t immediately defensive speaks volumes about my husband, who is more and more aware that there is something else going on under the surface of my words.

Then it hits me. And I say it, even though it is unpleasant to admit.

“I am frustrated because when you aren’t here, I carry the psychological burden of being the parent in charge with Chase. But when you come home I can transfer the burden of it onto you. When you come home and sit on the couch today I can then project my “not doing enough with him” onto you,” I say quickly because honesty and vulnerability like this can sting my throat as it comes out.

There is still an undercurrent of attack in all of this. I am still tempted to poke at him with phrases like “when you sit on the couch today,” implying that he will take his rest watching TV and I will throw some righteous indignation at him that he is there and not pitching wiffle balls to our son in the backyard.

“Ah,” he says.

“I carry all of this differently than you,” I continue stating the obvious because he experiences parenting our younger son with Down Syndrome with less intensity about getting the day-to-day right.

It was recently pointed out to us that this is how we speak to one another, in therapy talk. Even though we together have not been in counseling, we have gleaned a lot of wisdom from our own therapy experiences, books, friends, my dad being a psychologist, and our eagerness to stay connected in our marriage because feeling disconnected sucks.

I can feel my attack deflating a bit as I see the truth in the conversation and that my husband hasn’t chosen to attack back, which helps me shift into a different posture.

My feelings this morning are the residue of the internal struggle that took hold of me the day before. It is a frequent struggle which often begins a few days ahead of a weekend when my husband will be at work and I don’t have any activities on the calendar for Chase and me.

I begin to panic when our son asks, “Mom, what are we doing this weekend?” because on weekends like this, when my answer is “Nothing,” the panic is all-encompassing. When a weekend is open, as they often are, the space created is a breeding ground for self-criticism and anxiety, internal dynamics that are more paralyzing than motivating.

I wish they were more motivating.

Sometimes I google things to do in our area. Sometimes I check with friends to see if we can come play. But often it is me and my boy and the space. He is great with the space because he thoroughly enjoys a screen rotation of MLB on the PS4, Fortnight on the Nintendo Switch, and family vlogs on YouTube. I try to comfort myself with the fact that we live in a two-story house and he has to climb stairs to go between these devices.

Yes, I am grasping at straws.

We parents in the 21-st century know the battle with screens. Heck, my mother felt the battle with screens in the 1970s when I was growing up. It was only one screen and she monitored me like a hawk, regulating my television watching to certain shows at certain times during the week and that was it. My anxiety about screen time was planted early.

On open days like this, I will set a timer and when we hear the ding, my son will read in his room for a bit. I celebrate the moment when he opens his book and I can hear him reading out loud to himself. This is where I take deep healing breaths before he returns to his video games and my lungs constrict once again.

Other times I set a timer and we play basketball in the driveway. I give him the number of baskets he needs to make before he goes inside. I might say 100. He says 5. We generally settle on 10 or 20.

These little strategies are helpful, but the undercurrent of fear and shame that my parenting isn’t good enough is ever-present, a concept with which many are familiar.

And this is what makes projection so helpful. If I can throw some of my fear and shame onto my husband and judge him for what I think he isn’t doing (read, what I’m not doing), then it can relieve some of the pressure in my head. The voices I hear have a different focus for a little while and I can get a break.

Unfortunately, projection like this isn’t great for relationships, especially marriage relationships.

I am slowly learning that when I throw my shit onto my husband he isn’t too thrilled about it. I know this because I am not thrilled about it when he throws his shit on me. Generally, we both just end up smelling like shit. (Something I explore further in my shit-throwing essay.)

What is significant about our interaction this morning, is that I was able to see my arm in the air ready to throw my parenting issues onto him and he could see it too. Our ability to identify this dynamic before it happens diffuses the negative energy crackling between us.

It is one thing to carry around the feelings of inadequacy I have inside me. It is quite another to throw them onto my partner. When I own what is happening in my head, my partner is more apt to, well, partner with me because he isn’t using all his energy trying to deflect shit that isn’t his. He can see beyond my irritation to the distress I am carrying over from the day before, in part because I told him as much, and he feels compassion.

Do you know what happens when my partner feels compassion? He orchestrates an outcome that serves me.

While we are having this conversation on the couch, Chase comes down to be with us.

“Where are you going, dad?” he asks.

“To the gym, son. Want to come with me?” my husband replies.

As my son hustles upstairs to get his clothes on before leaving, I feel gratitude pour over my irritation and anxiety. Love seeps into the cracks and crevices where feelings of inadequacy hide. I am so grateful that my husband will take our boy with him. This gift is infectious and later I will be motivated to reciprocate.

For now, I return to my coffee.