Why Do I Let Things Go?

Then – June 7, 1998

I had a great day today.  We went rollerblading and I improved a lot.  I’ll keep trying.  He went to work and I looked at recipes, went to lunch at a little hole in the wall, and stopped at an espresso bar.  I shopped around, found the book and stuffed animal about Humpty Dumpty for my friend’s soon to be born baby, went to Balducci’s and got food for dinner.  I went to church last night and fell asleep.  I think the priest was possessed or on the edge of a breakdown.  Either way, he was not for me.

Yesterday he worked too.  I made the mistake of calling him at work.  I am writing about this to remind myself NEVER to call him at work again unless I need something.  He doesn’t like to be bothered.  I didn’t realize I was a bother, but evidently so.  Someday I’ll learn my place.  I’m just starting not to like it too much.  He just doesn’t understand.  I thought he appreciated the little things.  I remember when he used to like to hear from me.  He said he’d just seen me a few hours before and didn’t need to be bothered at work.  Ok – I get it.  Am I asking too much?

Then he complains that I threaten him about leaving.  I don’t want to leave, but I want to be happy.  Little by little he discourages me from loving him.  I hope the feelings I have don’t go away.  Maybe I love him too much.  I have enjoyed my time alone to wander, in the city and in my head.

Now – I can remember this phone call from many years ago so vividly.  It was a twilight zone moment, where you sit with what just happened for a bit to see if it was real.  Unfortunately it was all too real and at the time I didn’t realize that it was the beginning of a pattern.  This was roughly six months into our relationship.  I’m sure I chalked it up to him being stressed and frustrated at work.  Why did I continue to let these things go?

Talking with a friend yesterday she reminded me that if I try to create the type of relationship I want with him and it does not go well, at least I’m being true to myself.  When I got home late last night I saw the kitchen, still disheveled from the dinner I had fed the kids right before leaving for the evening.  Determined not to be a doormat after revisiting this old journal entry,   I let him know that it was not nice to come home to a dirty kitchen and that I would appreciate him finishing cleaning up.  Baby steps.

 

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