Weak man

the incredible cruelty of spouses, of family. "here's something interesting to ponder: our animals do nothing for us yet you show them more love and affection than you do me. You'll scratch their face for 20 minutes in the rain and I don't get anything." said late at night, over top of a sleeping child, as I came back from the bathroom, shivering, pulling on socks and a cardigan and climbing back to bed and feeling 100 years old. said after I had stood flossing my teeth with the cat on the counter behind me, rubbing against my elbow and I had mumbled endearments to her. said after he had been alone downstairs for an hour, zombie scrolling, while I was upstairs, awake, alone. said on a night where I barely had the energy left to function, to drive home, to put the groceries away, to speak or stand straight, to carry my sleeping boy upstairs and undress him while not waking him, to go out in the rain and dark and mud to feed sheep and then sweep from menfolk traipsing through the house with boots on. said on the night of a day where I silent screamed and gagged after my last client because I felt so wholly inadequate and fraudulent and sick to my stomach at taking money and posturing as competent when I felt awkward and lost for almost the whole treatment, and the one before that too, and last week's too. I just don't work enough to really get my feet under me again and build confidence and I would love to spend hours watching myofascial and osteopathy videos but can't because I'm a mom, and I want to run out of the treatment room, I want to say I don't know what to do with you, I can't help you, because those things are true of me. I need care, and taking care of. I need to lay down on a warm table and have someone hold space for my pain and dysfunction and experiences and leave me limber and ironed out and unkinked and whole. Not need anything from me for an hour. I need to be given nourishment. But instead I walk away from work with hands that feel like parchment paper stretched over bones, and everything I touch feels like those bones are poking through or like theyre encased in cement, and I want to have my hands wrapped in hot blankets or dipped in wax or taken off and refurbished. said on the night of a day when I got to my mom's house after work and was immediately mama for my kid and present for him, reconnecting after a day apart and was told that I had forgotten a christmas dinner invitation I had made to my mother months ago. I felt terrible. I lay on the sofa and checked out, my mangled hands hanging down and felix crawling over me and I just wanted to vaporize, just wanted above all else for my mom to come out of the kitchen and put my feet in her lap and rub them and ask how I was doing. but I guess she was hurt and kept her distance and after dishes, disappeared in her room. said on a night when I needed him to be there for me and be nurturing, to see me. said on a night in midwinter when I took st johns wort and motherwort tincture - for midwinter blues and for when one needs mothering - when I bought reishi for stress management and considered but didnt take a generous shot of whiskey, when I wondered if I am actually the narcissist hamish says I am, whether I am the asshole in my closest relationships, whether I am much less regulated than I think I am, whether I could get really sick so I could get a couple days off, whether it's hamish or me that is losing their memory when our accounts of the past (hour/month/year) differ wildly, whether I'm being constantly gaslit, whether I'll ever have sex again, whether we'll divorce at some point, whether he'll ever get sober and get help, whether I'll have an exciting life again, whether I actually am burnt out. burnt out from this groundhog day of being mama/housewife/only one with executive function out of three people/therapist every day from the moment I get up and till sometimes all through the night, waking to a whimper and immediately soothing, solving, nurturing. being first one up and starting the fire, cooking food, packing lunches, writing lists, doing laundry, feeding animals, planning the day, the week, the dinners, the reminders. prioritizing and mentally shuffling. waking and cleaning and dressing and feeding and reading to a small child all before hamish even wakes up. he kicks into gear between 10 and 12. being constantly interrupted or questioned or ordered around by said small child, being wrestled with and yelled at and kissed and told stories to. I don't need to go on. it's all over the internet to hear, the mental load of a mother and housewife, the emotional load of the spouse of an addict, yada yada blah blah. but it's all true but no one on the outside gets it. it sounds like middle class complaining, maybe it is, maybe it's the symptoms of a diseased society that doesn't support and nurture the women at the center of families. anyway, it's fucking exhausting. and said of course after years of relationship dysfunction, of an unhappy marriage, of layers of unresolved conflict settling like mud in a landslide, thick layers of sediment piling up; I'm never sure as to his intoxication level, and then there's the morning detox grogginess or maybe the 24 hour start of withdrawal irritability. or he hasn't taken his meds, or forgotten his noon day dose or not eaten solid food all day and he can't hold down a conversation about firewood never mind the details of the argument last night when he may or may not have been drunk. I almost cannot turn towards him physically anymore, I always need to be perpendicular or turned away from him, need to keep the vulnerable soft bits protected. women are excellent risk assessors, always scanning the horizon for threat, on the watch for predators. the flash of canines in a conversation or the hunch of a shoulder of a man seen walking across the yard that spells incoming tantrum. fight or flight. not cuddle the tornado that's about to rip the roof off. I just crumpled. I started sobbing immediately and hard, curled up tight in the bed. he got sarcastic, "oh no! did that hurt your feelings?! that's soooo sad!" he pulled a blanket from the bed and grabbed his phone and left, slamming the door, said see you tomorrow, maybe. it's a small man who's jealous of a cat, or an old sheep. a small child in a man's body who can't just reach out his hand to his gal and give her a hug and make things safe. a wise man told me recently that my destiny as a strong woman is to attract a weak man and here he is. I found that soothing in a way, because now I whisper to myself, he's a weak man, he's a weak man, he's just being a weak man...and also maybe drunk, and then I don't take things as personally. his words don't hurt me as much. and he's wrong about the animals too. of course any animal lover knows what they give us. most of us would rather spend our time with critters than with humans.