I had a comment to approve yesterday that offered some legal advice, and mentioned that TECHNICALLY “Day 1″ is the day after she moved out. I didn’t approve the comment, because it also had some other things to say that I didn’t think were particularly healthy or helpful. Instead, I’ll just say ‘Thank you for your feedback, stranger.” If this struggle comes down to needing one extra day to fix things, then I’ve already lost, but I’ll adjust my numbering scheme from here forward.
The other night, my mother told me that I shouldn’t wait to contact my wife. That I should push if I really want to try and fix this, because the longer we wait to start talking again, the harder it will be to fix. I know she was trying to be helpful, and I agree that time is not on my side here, but I’m not sure that pushing is the right answer. She doesn’t have to answer her phone if I call or text. She isn’t even ready to answer some emails, and I’ve been wondering if I should stop sending them. I don’t have any feasible options, really, and I hate not having any control over the situation. But this is the price I pay, right? I do want to try to fix this, but pushing her when she doesn’t want to be pushed feels like it would do more harm than good. The more time that passes gives her heart time to heal, but it also gives her more time to build a wall around it. The longer that passes might give her time to learn to hate me, though she’s one of the most loving people I know and hate isn’t something that comes easy to her. For now, it’s just going to have to be a balancing act. Weighing the damage of pushing her to talk against the damage of waiting for her to be willing to talk.
It’s a different kind of silence, this waiting. And it’s worse.
I find myself worrying about her a lot. She’s a strong, intelligent woman, so I’m sure she’s making the best of it. (The “best” is still probably not great.) There are big worries, of course, but also little ones. Like I worry if the air conditioning in her place is good enough to keep her bedroom as cold as she needs it. I worry that there’s a security light outside her window that keeps her room from being dark enough to sleep in. I worry that she didn’t take any stuffed animals to defend her from monsters while she sleeps. (I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve been sleeping with my childhood teddy bear these past few nights.) I worry that her freezer is going to be one of those tiny quarter-height ones above the three-quarters fridge, and she won’t have any room for half of her frozen stuff. She can always leave stuff in the freezer at the house and come get it as she needs, but I know she doesn’t want to do that.
I lost my shit in the bathroom at work this morning (I know a bathroom is designed to be a place to lose your shit, but I mean mentally). I was washing my hands and saw that my earring had moved too far. (It’s a horseshoe shape earing, and it had slid in one direction enough to look like a hoop.) It slides like this all the time, usually while I’m in bed. And the reason I broke down is because she was always quick to reach up and correct it. Just one of those little reminders that she’s not here. It’s a weird feeling, and the closest thing I can equate it to is that feeling you get after someone has died and you get an unexpected reminder of them.
It gave me a chance to practice some of the Grounding techniques from the handouts.