March 22, 2019
The power it had over me.
He loved cars. He would choose mine. I didn’t care. Was it safe? Check. How many car seats could I fit? Check. Color? I don’t care. Just give me safe.
He hated dirt.
He needed order.
His anxiety came out in our cars.
Black interior to hide the dirt.
Dirty boys soccer shoes taken off and put in the trunk.
We would fight about my car.
Kids eating in it.
Me drinking coffee and spilling in it.
He’d tell me to clean it out.
I’d tell him to stop the nagging.
Stop the demanding.
Stop the madness.
I started to leave it dirty to piss him off.
Resentful. Annoyed. Passive aggressive.
I see it clearly now.
It wasn’t about the car. It wasn’t about me. It was about him. It was his lack of control. It was about his inability to control his anxiety. Instead of me seeing it for what it was and responding with support. Instead of asking him if he needed help I would respond with anger. Disdain. Hurt.
With counseling this story has changed.
It’s not about a man trying to control his wife. It’s about a man trying to control his fears. Trying to control his environment to settle his unsettled brain. Unable to say it. Maybe he never even understood why he behaved that way.
I understand now.
Instead of black I need white.
White and light.
It calms me.
Gives me peace.
I wish I would have known what I know now.
I wish I could give him a hug and ask him if I could help him calm his head and heart.
I can’t go back and fix it but I can move forward and forgive myself for what I didn’t know back then.
I forgive that Sandra who didn’t know.
I forgive that Pat who couldn’t share his pain.
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