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I was driving the kids back from school the other day and my youngest requested we listen to this song from The Croods A New Age (she loves Jack Black, particularly Time Warp and Peaches).
As the chorus came around, and I endured the nine millionth rendition of this song, I had somewhat of an epiphany. Maybe that’s overselling it. But it was at least a realization.
What am I so afraid of when it comes to talking to my wife?
Let me back up a minute. During one of our couples counseling sessions many months ago, we shared what it was we both wanted. Among other things, my wife wanted some space. I didn’t realize at the time, but I was always up in her business thanks to my unrecognized anxiety. It got to the point where she couldn’t undress for a shower without me butting in on her just so I could scratch that brain itch. If I’m perfectly honest, seeing her naked was a big motivator too (she remains to this day a beautiful woman). So understandably, during one of our sessions, she asked for a bit of privacy. Some space.
I’ve been working really hard at doing just that, and I think I’ve become much much better. I always try to give her the space which, let’s be honest, any normal human being would like. I don’t come spy on her when she’s dressing, or force myself to be around her. My incessant need to be near her has lessened, partly I imagine due to my meds but also because I’ve been working on this for a long time and I think I’ve gotten used to it. Anyway, the short version is my wife asked for something she needed in our marriage, and I worked really hard to give that to her. I think I’ve been fairly successful.
During that same counseling session, there was something I asked for too. More physical contact. I’m extremely touch starved and have been for years. My wife expressed concern that I would equate any sort of physical contact as an invitation for sex, which we discussed, and I did my best to alleviate her legitimate worries. But while sex would of course be wonderful, that wasn’t what I was looking for. What I wanted was things like hands on my waist as she scooches past me in the kitchen, an occasional touch of my arm, maybe even a hug. Nothing sexual, and nothing super intimate. Just some physical contact. To my delight, she made a commitment to try.
Months later I’m frustrated, because I haven’t seen much effort or progress in this space. I can’t remember the last time my wife touched me or gave me a hug. Now I get that rebuilding a relationship is difficult, but it’s disheartening for me when I tried really hard to give her what she wanted and I’m not seeing that effort reflected by her—despite her agreement to try… and of course my commitment that I’m not going to start grabbing her ass or initiating any sort of rush to the bedroom (as much as I would LOVE that).
I’ve been frustrated like this for a while now… but I haven’t said anything, and herein lies the point of this blog. Why on earth haven’t I said anything? I know I love my wife, but as Jack Black so melodically puts it, what am I so afraid of?
I’ve been thinking it through, and the only answer I can come up with is that I’m afraid of breaking the status quo. That she’ll rescind her agreement and say she hasn’t tried because she can’t bring herself to do it. That our relationship is effectively over, and there’s no recovery. Right now, by not having this conversation with my wife, I don’t have to face that potential reality. Instead, I can ignore it and pretend that everything is just fine.
But ignoring it is having a real blow to my mental health, in arguably the same manner that the end of our relationship would be. So I’m stuck. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. But living in limbo is no way to live, so give me strength, dear reader, and cross your fingers for me: I’ll try to have that conversation with my wife and see where that leads us.
I think I love you, and THAT is what I’m afraid of…