I’m Not Carrying All The Weight

15/04/24 

It occurs to me that when EH repeatedly said he wasn’t getting what he wanted from me (somewhat vaguely described as ‘closeness’), I always took it on board as being my fault, almost without question. After all, I’m the prickly, self-defensive one.  

It appears neither of us gave much consideration to what he was offering to me. 

A person can’t expect to just ‘get’ from a relationship, there has to be giving too.  What exactly was he consistently giving/offering?  

If all the blame is to be laid at my feet, there’d better be good evidence that I was rejecting the love, compliments, attention, ego boosts and support that were being sent my way.  

I fail to find that evidence. Apart from anything else, it’s impossible to reject what hasn’t been offered. 

That being the case, I now gladly hand EH the areas of responsibility that are rightfully his.

I’ve been carrying the burden alone for far too long. This little donkey is off to get her hooves clipped.

What he did, how he treated me, was grossly unfair.  All that I did for him, for us, for our home, our families – he would tell me over and over that this stuff wasn’t what he wanted.  But instead of showing me by example, telling me his desires, communicating like a fucking adult, he sulked and gave less and less to me and our relationship.  

There was no attempt to bridge the gap between us, or to share what was going on inside him. He just left me fumbling in the dark, trying to work out the 50-digit code for the lock.  If/when I failed to achieve this, it was solely because I was crap and didn’t care enough. 

The concept of partnership within a relationship seemed alien to him. Ditto the concepts of communication, consideration and compromise.  

It seems that from his point of view, the purpose of me being in his life was purely to ensure his happiness.

Apparently, I should have been able to intuit all of his needs and fulfil them, like some kind of stupid chick lit relationship.

Lord knows I tried, but nothing was ever good enough for him, none of what I gave was genuinely appreciated.

My failure to safeguard his happiness at all times was brandished as ‘proof’ that I just didn’t care enough.   I’d then be subjected to glowering bad moods and/or complete withdrawal of interaction. 

He’d get all pissy with me when I said his behaviour made me feel like I was being punished for something – was he not entitled to express how he felt?  

Back then, this type of response would steer me off track. Instead of him listening to what I was saying about wanting to understand and resolve whatever the issue was, I’d end up apologising and reassuring him that of course he was entitled to feel what he feels. Let’s just forget about me.

Our communication never managed to be a mutually respectful attempt to gain deeper understanding. I craved it, strived for it, and would try every approach I could think of to enable him to join me on that path.  

EH would always manage to steer us into the undergrowth with things like picking up on a specific word I’d used and making the whole issue about that. For example, I could ask him if he’s ok, he seems angry.  Then, rather than it being a conversation about resolving the negative atmosphere, it would become all about me using the word ‘angry’ when he’s actually frustrated, and why do I always seem to think he’s angry, and he was fine before I started going on at him,, and, and, and… 

All my attempts to talk were seen by him as berating.  

For me, coming from the misguided premise that both of us were willing to work to bring about positive changes, I believed that if we could talk things out, we’d be able to understand the issue from each other’s perspective. Then, with new perspective, we’d know how not to do that uncomfortable thing in the future.  

Simples, no? 

To be fair, on the berating matter, I have to hold my hands up and say there are plenty of examples of me carrying on and on, trying to explain myself, long after he’d given every sign he was done with the conversation.  

Sometimes, I’d accidentally open an internal valve and all this pain and frustration would come pouring out of me.  

I’d get so hooked up on needing a reassuring, sympathetic or understanding response, that I just couldn’t stop the torrent of accusations and demands and grievances. 

We think in very different ways and he needs time out to process things. I was aware of this and did my best to give him that.  

His share of responsibility in this regard was that even when I was able to say my piece and leave it be, he’d never come back to me with his considered thoughts.

It was more a case of, “Whew, thank god that’s over, let’s never think of or refer to it again”.  If I did raise it again later there would be sighing, and rolling eyes, and wishes that I would just. for. once. let something lie, instead of always dragging things up. 

This ‘give-me-space-and-time-to-avoid-ever-dealing-with-this’ tactic would leave me unconvinced that ‘the thing’, whatever it was at the time, could be avoided in the future.  

I’d be uncertain whether I’d been understood or if, in fact, I’d been dismissed, thus prompting an even deeper need in me to push for verbal reassurance.

I spent years stuffing down feelings of rejection, my happiness being considered inconsequential, distress at being labelled ‘the trouble causer’, loneliness and, yes, resentment.

What a fucking toxic mess.

And, as I said at the start, not all of it is mine to clean up.

Time to metaphorically pack his emotional crap into a box and mail it to him.

I’d like to put that box of shit on his doorstep, set fire to it, ring his bell and then lurk to watch…

Ah well, I guess you can’t have everything in life.

JP