My wife woke up Sunday morning to a coffee pot filled with my coffee. My coffee is your basic dark roast. Her coffee is flavored, usually vanilla or chocolate or hazelnut. I don’t like flavored coffee, but I have been making “her” coffee on weekends because, well, I’m not sure how it all started, but I’m sure I was doing it to show her how much I loved her. I’ve told her that I don’t like her coffee, but I drink it anyway because I am a coffee addict. So, she wakes up to a pot of my coffee. “Is the coffee flavored?” she asks. “No” “Why didn’t you make flavored coffee?” “Because I don’t like it, and you only drink about one or two cups.”
So let’s tick them off: 1. Told her I was done making dinners for her because I hate the Atkins diet and I want her to do KP if I’m going to cook. 2. Told her that the foster dog we are taking care of is her responsibility. 3. Told her that, if she wants flavored coffee, she can put my coffee in a thermos and make it herself.
Kaboom!
She blew up, accusing me of “giving up” on the marriage, throwing a monkey wrench into the works, etc. I told her that I had been feeling like her slave, that I had gotten myself into this position but that I was trying to get myself out of it. That I had enough stuff to take care of without adding the foster dog into the mix. And, although it wasn’t directly related, I felt that I made a lot of sacrifices of my time and effort for her, and that I was always last on her list of priorities.
Corri: I had printed off your email about boundaries, and found myself reading it several times this weekend. It helped strengthen my confidence. Thanks!
It got worse. She talked about all the sacrifices she had made (both of us getting into the “I’ve given up more than you have” mode), that she had made efforts (duly recognized by me) to be more affectionate, that I seemed determined to drive her away, etc. I kept on coming back to the fact that I felt subservient to her, that I was trying to change that, and that I did indeed love her and want to stay in the marriage. She said she didn’t want to stay married to me, that she didn’t even know who I was. I said, “so, if I started making your coffee again, would that be enough to keep you here, or would I have to start cooking and cleaning up afterward, as well?” Okay, so I was trying to point out to her how she was sounding to me, and I don’t think she got it.
She told me to leave. I said no. Then she told me that she was going to pack a bag and leave. I asked her to take a drive and cool down if she thought she needed it.
Finally, she settled down and told me that this “180" (interesting term...wonder if she’s been reading “Divorce Busting”) had caught her off guard and why didn’t I tell her about my dissatisfaction before just doing things the way I wanted to do them? Well, of course I had told her about the coffee and the cooking/KP issue before, and I gently reminded her of these, but I also saw this as a softening on her part. She seemed more upset about my method than my ultimate goal of not feeling like her slave. And yes, she accused me of being passive/aggressive and I denied it, but wanted to move the conversation forward.
And move forward it did. We ended up okay with each other, and she didn’t call me a bastard for the rest of the day! We even went to hear Robert Thurman, a Buddhist scholar (Uma’s dad) at W’s Buddhist Temple, and he was pretty funny, and very interesting. She held my hand during part of it.
One of the issues we talked about was her body image, and I told her that I loved the way she looked, and wished she was more comfortable with herself. She talked about wanting to be in shape. She agreed that she would never get back into her “skinny clothes” until they were out of style, and I suggested that “someone else could probably use them now,” appealing to her altruism. On the issue of health, I mentioned hormones. She said that her hormones were probably part of the cause of her weight, and said she should probably get them checked. I took the opportunity to mention testosterone cream, and that from what I had read, it looked as if it were the only medication that can actually help with her libido (Avlimil and all the other “female viagras” are a bunch of snake oil if you ask me). She said that, unlike me, (but a lot like the description of LD women in the SSM book), she didn’t walk around feeling aroused, and that it took a bit of touching to get her in the mood, which is why my occasional suggestions to fool around don’t ever sound good to her because she is definitely not in the mood.
I asked her if she could go the rest of her life without ever having sex again. She thought...and thought (the term, “pregnant pause” comes to mind), and finally said, “probably not.” Okay, not the precise answer I was looking for, but it beats, “yes.” She assured me that she was “working on it,” but that I had to be patient. Remembering all the messages on this board that talk about the fact that LD spouses “work on it” quietly and slowly, I kept my mouth shut. Let me say it to you, though: why is it so difficult to “work on it?” Am I ugly? Do I smell?
Actually, during the height of the argument she said, “what do you want me to say? That I find you unattractive? That you have bad body odor? That your breath stinks? That I prefer women? That I was sexually abused? Well, I can’t say any of those because they aren’t true!” In retrospect, I guess that’s all kind of comforting, but it’s kind of funny that she hit on just about all the reasons I had come up with for why she didn’t want to make love with me.
What did I learn this weekend? That confidence is good...I believe it is at least one of the keys to the sacred “box.” (Box, as an allegory to all affection, not just sex, and not the slang term for a woman’s genitals, mind you). That communication is important as well. (I told W that my failure to adequately communicate is some baggage I carry from marriage number 1, and that I need to work on it). That setting boundaries is important, too, and is kind of a subset of being confident. That my W may blow up, threaten to leave, tell me to leave, but that, given time, she will settle down and discuss stuff with me. My W, who is a feminist (radical feminist according to some), would hate to hear this, but I can share it with you: she gets hysterical, then immature, then finally gains back her sanity. “Hysterical” is one of those “hot button” words to her. If you don’t know why, you should look it up and see its etymology.
So that’s my lengthy ramble for Monday. Have a confident day!
