I promised myself when I started writing this blog that it would be unedited in its content, that I wouldn’t sensor myself here. I didn’t realize when I made that promise how hard it would be to stick to it. I wasn’t really sure what this blog would mean for me and I certainly never thought it would ever mean anything to anyone else.
And yet, I find myself on the receiving end of messages thanking me for being so brave and putting all of my feelings out there. I smile when I know that my blog was printed and left on the counter for another family to read, or that a PCS sister forwarded my words on to a spouse or friend because I was able to put into words what she couldn’t.
I feel proud of myself every time I get a message from a friend telling me that they read my post, and think I am so strong. And then, shortly after, I feel guilty. I feel guilty because this blog was never intended to draw attention to my pain, or to pull focus from the other aspects of my life. This blog was never meant as a means to say “woe is me”. So, the more readers I gained, the less writing I did. Unable to find superficial topics to write about; unable to bring myself to keep writing from experience without feeling like I was asking for attention.
So, I guess I should start by saying to my PCS girls: I am sorry. I am sorry I disappeared so long and let my pride get in the way of saying what needs to be said. I am sorry that I stopped telling our story because I felt guilty about feeling crappy. I won’t do that again. There’s too much to say to let my pride or desire to be strong get in the way.
I am sure at this point you’ve figured out today’s topic is guilt. Grab a seat and maybe a box of Kleenex because this one is going to be heavy. This post is made up of the things I can’t even bring myself to admit in therapy. This post is about the stuff no one in pain wants to admit.
Guilt is a bitch. Plain and simple. Everyone feels guilty for something at some point in their lives. You lied to a friend, bailed on a dinner date, paid your mortgage 3 weeks late. Maybe you have heavier guilt like you cheated on a boyfriend or yelled at your kid when it was really your own stress upsetting you. Then there is the guilty feeling you get every time your own body forces you to let down the people you love.
Guilt is a bitch.
My hubs is a busy man. He is a crazy busy man and he loves it. He works all day at the hospital, he runs a DJ company for weddings and events and he DJ’s on the weekends in nightclubs around town. He plays poker (and he is damn good), he runs Tough Mudder and trains all year. He owns a rental property that is the biggest time-suck ever invented and he has me. This pain in the ass wife who’s body never ceases to betray her at the worst possible times.
Like when he was planning on going to a poker tournament for two weeks and 20 minutes before he left I had to ask him to stay because I was in so much pain I couldn’t get off the couch. Or the many times we planned to go out on a rare night off and ended up staying on the couch in our comfies because I couldn’t handle being on my feet for more than 15 minutes. Then there was the dinner date I made him leave just as our appetizers got to the table because I was so nausea I couldn’t handle the smell thanks to a new medication I was trying. Or how about the time he had only been working at the rental for 20 minutes and I made him come manage our crazy house full of kids because I couldn’t cope.
My hubs is like a speed boat zipping through the water, reveling in all the fun and craziness life has to offer him and I? I am the anchor dragging on the ocean floor behind him begging him to slow down just so I can be involved.
He would never tell you that though. Never. My hubs is too good for that. Instead he will tell you that we are in this together, and that no matter what, he will be there for me. He will say that he loves me, and none of this bullshit pain stuff will change that. This should make me feel better, but it doesn’t, You know why? Because speed boats were built to go fast, not troll along the shallow ends with their anchors down.
When I stopped working I thought it would allow me to hold up the house and kids, take some of that pressure off him. I thought, if he was willing to work hard enough to cover my income, then I could work hard enough to handle his side of the housework and parenting. Leave it to my body to make sure that wouldn’t happen. At least not consistently. So, after a long day of work my hubs gets to come home and make dinner because even though I hardly did anything productive today, my body still isn’t interested in letting me cook. Or carry the laundry up the steps….or vacuum….or mop….or push a grocery cart. Seriously, the hubs has done more cleaning in the past 2 years of his life then he will probably ever admit.
And I feel guilty. Guilty that I am the reason he has to stress about money. Guilty, he has to miss out on the things that he enjoys to pick up my slack. Guilty that he is stuck on the couch with me instead of out with his friends. Guilty that he has to work all day and then come home and work some more. It’s crap and it’s not fair to him. Hell, it’s not fair to me.
I am truly blessed to have found a man so willing to give so much for me, and I would really love to be able to enjoy that commitment and feel secure in our relationship.
If only I could find a way to stop feeling to damn guilty.