Hurt Feelings

Yes, I am depressed, and that is skewing my perspective on things.  Then today, the sun came out. Literally, not figuratively. My depression eased, and I could see things a little more clearly. 

My husband is a good man. A kind man. Funny and insightful. He doesn't lose his temper. He reads bedtime stories with voices. He goes to the store super late on Saturday so we'll have milk Sunday morning. He changed diapers and he unclogs toilets and he takes out the garbage. He does his own laundry and makes his side of the bed. He is responsible and reliable. When I am sick or overwhelmed, he steps up and does more.

I am grateful for him. I know things would not be easier for me if he weren't in the picture. I can't even sleep when he's not home.

There have been plenty of good times in our marriage. But the thing with my depression is that the best times in our marriage have been when I am in the best mental health. When I am fulfilled in other ways, when I have goals and projects and good friends and I'm doing my best with scriptures study, temple attendance, and prayer. When I'm good, the marriage is good. 

But if I have emotional needs...

When I was pregnant, I felt fat and unattractive. I expressed this to my husband while we lay side by side in our bed. I cried. He literally turned his back on me. Rolled over so he didn't have to deal. I learned to cry in the shower instead.

He is a partner in parenting, in household operations. But not emotionally. If I struggle, if I am hurt--physically or emotionally--I am on my own. He might step in and take care of additional things around the house, but he doesn't take care of me.

Andrew's birth is a funny story that I love to tell. Kevin unconscious on the couch while I pushed. His aversion to blood and pain led to many humorous (afterward) misadventures. But it becomes less funny when he goes quiet when we disagree, when he rage cleans the kitchen with his headphones on, when he makes passive-aggressive comments and won't own up to it, when the silences stretch so taut that a person could break herself on them. 

I know Kevin is feeling stressed by work and by his calling, and now, additionally, he is frustrated because I've rejected his recent advances, after the birthday thing. But I am tired of him taking out his emotional constipation on me. And when I say something, he withdraws. We never talk about our problems; we just wait them out.

Today was better, because the sun was out and I was feeling better and he was less stressed, we had pleasant conversation and even laughed together. He did a celebratory dance when I got my acceptance letter to the nursing program. It was almost normal. 

But again, it was because I was feeling better. I can share the good things with him. I can even express in words anger or sorrow if it doesn't relate to him and if I don't become emotional. 

But if things become messy, if I become weak or mad or sick, he shies away. And I am left alone with my emotional wounds hemorrhaging. I have learned not to expose them. To keep them bottled, close to the chest, protected and cradled. To cry in the shower or my pillow or the car. 

Kevin supports me, and I don't just mean financially. He supported my idea to go back to school, picking up my slack on household chores while I was in class. He agreed to move to Colorado for my sake. I am going to a painting retreat this week while he has the kids alone. I can trust him to take care of things and to have my back. 

I just wish that I could trust him as unreservedly with my heart.