Friday, March 29, 2013
And That's Okay
There are no love notes on the mirror, no voluntary foot rubs, no giggling or gushing.
There also isn't any hatred, contempt, or name calling.
Right now, our marriage just IS.
When our marriage plateaued like this in the past, I would go into all-out FIX mode. I couldn't STAND for our marriage to not be functioning at it's all-time BEST.
But I don't want to fix anything anymore because I CAN'T fix anything. No matter how much I hug, or compliment, or curl my hair or cook or put on a happy face, I can't fix.
I can smother him in kisses and love notes and spread sunshine and gush all over the atmosphere of our home, but there would be an undercurrent of frustration. Forced sunshine just isn't as pleasurable. Just... don't tell that to Dr. Laura. She makes her bank on the idea...
Neither one of us feels good, health-wise.
He's got bad, bad allergies, and I've got who KNOWS what going on (test results impending). Suffice to say: I'm really tired. I can normally function on 5 hours of sleep, and the night before last I got in bed at 9 pm (after falling asleep on the couch at 8:30 while trying to watch "Wreck it Ralph" with the kids) and woke up at 8 am.
That's not normal for me, even WITH a brand new baby. And what did I want all day? A nap.
My husband is reading a lot of recovery material these days, and I don't really know what's going on.
Sometimes he's so aware. The other night, he forced me to sit down while he cooked dinner (grilled cheese tastes SO good when someone else makes it). Sometimes he's so unaware.
It's a tricky place to be in when you see one man and another within hours of each other. Which one do I trust?
I'm learning how to appreciate one without planting my hope in him.
I'm learning how to see the other for what he is rather than identifying him AS my husband.
So basically: on top of being physically spent, I'm brain dead trying to analyze it all out.
And the ending result is a plateau.
I'm strangely okay with my marriage being a mess on a plateau.
It doesn't bother me. There's still an undercurrent of frustration, but it's faint. I don't give it reign to rule... I only give it reign to express itself in prayer and the occasional bout of tears in the bathtub. I can't force it down. If it's here, it's here. And I need to let it out, and so I do.
BUT I'm finding an undercurrent under the undercurrent.
It's hope... hope that's been planted in the Savior and his Atoning Sacrifice.
Gentle hope rather than frantic hope.
Peaceful hope rather than panicked hope.
Hope in myself.
Hope in a stable, taken-care-of future.
Solid, safe, springtime Hope.