Marriage and camping???

Well, dh came home early last night and admitted to me that he does like that schedule...I don't know if it will stick, but at least he realized that evening family time is a good thing. We have such a long way to go, but, when I first met him, I knew we would make it through trials. And how did I know that? We went camping : )  Let me tell you, if a newly dating couple (given they don't love camping in the first place) can make it through a camping trip, they can make it through anything. We worked so well together, putting up the tent, organizing, cooking, managing not to fight...and so it is. Marriage is like a LONG camping trip, and we've had our fair share of mosquito-filled nights, leaks in the tent, and skunks passing by...

...and the thing is, you can't camp with just anyone. Just like you can't spend twenty years sharing a life and a home with just anyone. Pick the wrong person and you'll drive each other crazy.

Time to turn focus...

Well, it hurts, mai oui. He's off, I think.

It's time to turn my focus. I've let things get out of control in my home life. My husband and I have been essentially been living separate lives, opposite schedules, taking our daughter on each of them with us. It's time to reorganize, change some things. The final straw occurred last night when dh started making dinner at 9pm and I was trying to settle our daughter in for the night. What kind of a family is this, when the father doesn't get home until 8, no family meal, no family time. Then I disappear and rush around getting everything ready for bed and the next morning. Read books, bottle, sleep. That's it. We rarely spend time alone together, and lately it's been arguing, and when we used to, we always talked of her. Our marriage is degrading. And no, it's not because of this other "thing" I have going.

Ever since, well, for a long time now, I have felt like the breeding mare--I felt he just wanted a baby and now he's so thrilled and obsessed with her that I don't matter any more. He went away on this business trip and when he returned, rushed straight for her. I couldn't help being upset. Ever since the moment she was born, she's become his first priority. Even in the hospital as I was undergoing two blood transfusions after my surgery. He adores her, I understand that. I think my life has irrevocably changed in so many ways and the two of us need to talk about this and make some changes. I want a happy fulfilling marriage and a functional (as opposed to "dysfunctional") family. I have worked hard in the past to ensure that, as I've described already, and I want to fight for it.

The depression has been intense lately, with everything combined. I am not sure how to fight this right now.

Musing on getting older

I'm finally attempting to get myself together (trying). Exercised for the first time since I got pregnant (not that carrying around a 20 lb. baby isn't exercise! arm and leg muscles are in great shape...), and I mean a 30-minute walk in this gorgeous weather. So beautiful today, low 70s, dry, breezy. Listened to music and thought all the while.

So, this song practically invited me to blog today :

It takes a lot of self-esteem to not allow someone to mess with you. It takes self-honesty and staying out of denial. That's a lot to ask of a person; perhaps that's why it's so easy for the most sensitive of us to get messed with. In my experience, you can't trust anyone even who says they won't, because their intellect is not in control of their emotions and actions. Even if they claim it is.

I use my life examples because this is what I know--I'm sure you can think of something completely different that works.

On my walk today, I remembered what my lover said to me a few months ago. He said in warning, "The deeper we go, the more it's going to hurt when it's over." We had a bad time, a few years ago when he started dating someone, and told me goodbye. Prematurely. This was soon after our first encounter. I knew it would happen at some point, but hell, we were just starting. And to top it off, this was right after two rejections in a row. I wasn't in any place to handle it at all well. I allowed him to mess with me. I was a wreck for quite a while and just taught myself to adjust.

So, the lesson in that? I'm not sure I've learned anything much, except that I'm responsible for my own suffering. You see, if you decide that no one's ever going to mess with you again, you fall into an chasm. You build a wall and hide behind it. At least, that's been my experience. If you open yourself, someone's going to mess with you. I guess I can venture to say that I walked into this with my eyes wide open, this time, if that's a lesson. I am intellectually aware of the future. It's still going to sting--like when you have a cavity drilled with no anesthesia; yes, it will. And I could have mitigated that pain by not allowing our physical intimacy to enter the realm it has. But the one thing I can say is that I am consciously choosing this. I don't know what else to say, though.

I am getting older every day. My daughter is growing up. My husband is, too. Sex is a temporary state of affairs, and I peer at myself in the mirror every day, looking for the wrinkles on my face, the grey in my hair; surveying the extra weight I have put on since I became pregnant. I think about my mother and how I was always so hard on her for letting herself "fall apart"--for as many years as I can remember. But here I am. Falling apart. There's so much to do, so much care taking and pressure to keep my job(s), and not a second to spare (and yes, I write, but that's in my quick break times during the work week). I'm still vain, but I don't have the appearance to match it now. (no, I'm not fat, but carry an extra 15 pounds that I never used to, and it hurts me every time I look at myself.) I don't know why this doesn't bother the men in my life like it bothers me, but they honestly don't seem to care; it's me who insists on keeping the lights out.

Getting older is troublesome. I am on the verge of giving in and just becoming someone's mother, someone's wife, living in suburban tranquility (haha, never tranquility!). But I'm so exhausted, how can I keep up with what I used to be? I just don't know. Perhaps this is depression rearing its ugly head now.

I don't like where I'm going with this, so I'm going to stop while I'm still coping decently.

The honest truth.

I've got some soothing jazz on in the background (good old Frank Sinatra) and I'm trying to sort out the big questions running through my mind....now that I've experienced both extremes of the "relationship" spectrum, I am more confused than ever. What is important in this life? What do we really need in our lives? Are we coerced to believe that passion can fulfill the hole deep inside of us or is this something instinctual? Or is this a biological urge? What about romance, what about love? What do our cultures persuade us to believe about this? How much of an effect does marketing and advertising have on what we believe we want?

I honestly don't know. Sex without affection and intimacy feels cold and lonely. Love and romance without much desire feels sad. When I have one, I want the other. When I am in the throes of passion with my lover, the world ceases to exist, but my body desires BOTH physical satisfaction and the closeness that perhaps my hormones crave afterward. I cry every time we finish and I begin to dress to leave. I want him to hold me, to stroke my face and tell me that he cares about me. He does hold me, he does stroke my face, but he says "are you a happy girl?" And I look him straight in the eyes and say yes. He walks me impatiently out the door, where a doormat simply states it all in one word: "leave." I then drive away from his street, pull off to the side and break down in tears. I feel so cold. So alone and empty. He was in me, he left part of him inside me, his body touched mine in the most intimate of caresses, but there's nothing to show for it and I'm driving home alone. The desire and fulfillment was temporary. I ache.

He does not. He is glad to have me out of his home and out of his physical life, not having to deal with any emotion, any "drama," any talk of relationship or feelings. He just moves on, until he wants it again and begins "courting" me like an animal in heat, speaking half-truths that he forgets he ever said after he's been satisfied. I don't understand why I feel a need for something he despises.

At home, my marriage is warm and friendly. Many times, though, we take each other for granted, we move about like ships in the night. When we were dating, he wooed me with ice cream, holding hands, romantic messages. And it's been over 20 years we've been together, and he is a constant presence, mostly comforting, at times annoying, as people tend to be after so long, but steady and true. Dare I even say it, dull. No excitement, no surprises anymore, no tender early mornings, holding each other. Which is why we embarked on this thing in the first place.

So, what do I want? Passion or stability? Is this what happens to all marriages after so long? Are women programmed to want intimacy and desire at once or is this just me?

When I am shopping, I am very cognizant of the sexual theme in product advertising these days. Everything is geared toward "sexy": clothes, makeup, even groceries and bedding! Lean, mostly nude women lounge all over products, and even if the advertising is more subtle, it reeks of sex. In this culture, we are taught to consume in order to entice...we are taught that consuming and exuding sexuality is what we should live for. It is a very powerful message we are being given. It makes stable, mostly content, but somewhat unexciting marriages seem like a bad choice and, I truly feel, encourages low self-esteem and a focus on obtaining the unsustainable high that sexuality offers . It's just one factor among personal choices, of course, but if you have been to America, it will hit in the head like a brick. It is the essence of American consumerist culture.

But the result of consuming for attraction, for seeking pleasure without love, at least for this conflicted woman, is emptiness. Achinesss. And tears, lots of them.

Self-care is acceptable...and a spiritual kind of love

I attended the PPD support group again last night. One woman told me she experienced a similar situation in which her husband actually left with the baby until she started getting help. I am not alone. And I am getting lots of help-a med increase, I'm starting to see a new therapist with specializes in PPD today, continue to attend the support group, and everyone emphasizes this--self-care. That's been the hardest aspect for me. I consider doing anything to take care of myself as, at the same time, taking love and care AWAY from someone else. That's what I was taught; that's what was modeled for me.

I have been care taking to the point of physical collapse because of this guilt. But it seems to be okay to self-care...dh doesn't have a problem with it, and my daughter is happy when I'm happy. We've had some wonderful times together in the evenings, laughing, playing, teasing each other. She's a little imp, and she's hilarious, when I let myself relax and enjoy her.

So, self-care isn't a bad thing after all. I've even been able to start reading and working on my personal projects again. Dh and I trade off, every other night one of us sleeps in the basement, so we're both relatively refreshed and functioning. We co-sleep, and can't imagine not doing that, but on really tough nights when the little one wakes up more than twice, we are both completely worn out, hence the arrangement. I know there are many opinions on co-sleeping and attachment parenting, but we are advocates of these techniques. And the only evidence we need is our daughter's smiles and laughter and how well adjusted she is when we're NOT with her. She's not clingy, desperate for affection or attention; she's self-assured and extremely social. We directly attribute these characteristics to our parenting style.

I have a memory of being left in a crib to cry myself to sleep and it haunts me. The feeling of abandonment and fear has never gone away. I am convinced this harmed me for the long term, so I will NEVER allow my child to "cry it out" or try this "Ferber" method...She will be loved, day and night. Period.

My husband and I are both actively reacting to our childhoods--we were discussing this last night. He experienced a lack of physical affection and affirmation, a sense of never being special, from his parents; and as for me, being the child of a narcissistic father and depressed mother and covertly incested, well, we know those issues. Dh and I spend time every night after the little love falls asleep talking about how we're handling these issues. Dh says he hopes that in fifteen years, when our little teenager is thriving, that my father is still alive and he can say to him, "THIS is how it's done." Oh my goodness. My dh is living to change the dynamics of my screwed up family. It's been this kind of relationship from the start: he's wanted to take care of me, give me the life I was denied and he can now do that with our child. This kind of love is truly a spiritual love. It goes WAY beyond earthly "love" and THAT is why I can cope with the other shortcomings we experience. No matter how much I go on about lust and my lover, NOTHING in this world can come close to this kind of love. Nothing. 

Dear husband

My husband is a rare kind of man. A real caretaker with a huge heart. Who else would have put up with the mess that was me. We met at the high point of my college experience, when I was immersed in literature and writing and beginning to feel just a little bit free. We had a honeymoon period before the shit hit the fan, that is the divorce and my dad's insane obsession over this "love triangle." But once that began, what I thought would do no harm, actually did tremendous damage. My father tried to emotionally enmesh with him at the same time as I was trying to "love" his girlfriend. But my husband has excellent radar and felt something wasn't right, so he held back. He simply observed the dynamics.

I was so wrapped up in this jealousy that my father stoked at every opportunity. I used to be the center of his world, for better or for worse. Now, he had no use for me except to admire his new "possession." It was as if I was no one; I'd lost the only identity I ever had and I was an empty shell. I felt completely dispossessed and abandoned. I feel into a horrid depression my during my last semester and stopped eating, going to class, and did only the minimum amount of work to get by. I moved my mattress onto the floor so I could be close to the TV and wouldn't have to move very far for anything. I became isolated and lonely and dh was the only person I saw for days at a time. Many days I refused to get up in the morning, and this is where dh became a saint. I wouldn't have expected anyone to stay with me while I was in this state, but not only did he stay, he became my nurse. He lifted me out of bed, got me dressed, fixed food for me, held me when I cried (which was most of the time), made sure I did what was necessary for survival. This is how we lived as gf/bf for many months.

Terrified by this rage and jealousy I was feeling toward dad's girlfriend, not understanding what it meant and not being able to control it, I was happy to let dh play the role of the responsible caretaker as I let myself sink further into hopelessness. And that began our pattern of relating to each other for many years.