Somebody pass me the Dramamine!
My wife returned this morning from a night away last night. Remember she's going through some soul-searching of her own that's causing her some anxiety, which of course means she doesn't have the energy to cope with my "problem" as well as we'd both like.
I took advantage of her absence late last night--after the kids were well asleep--to experiment with makeup. I'm almost there, but there are still some pieces of the puzzle missing, and I don't have a lot of opportunities to experiment. I spent an hour trying different things--though my black eye-liner broke and I didn't have another one, but that's neither here nor there.
I was very careful about removing all traces of makeup, but that darn mascara can be quite tenacious. Apparently, I missed some. Just the tiniest two or three flecks.
So my wife and I are lying on the bed, glasses off, as close as you are now to this computer screen. Close enough to spot those minuscule specks.
"Have you been wearing mascara?" she asks me.
Busted!
Now, in the past when she asked this I denied it, made excuses--in short, lied my tail off, because I knew the truth would upset her. My therapist told me last week that I needed to express myself to her a little more, since burying and hiding was causing me depression and anxiety of my own. (I hear you...Yes, it's obvious. Yes, anyone knows that'll happen. And yes, I've always had a problem expressing myself around her, mostly because she takes "bad" news...well, badly.) My therapist says I need to expect the bad reaction sometimes, but not hold myself in just because of it.
So this time I braced myself, and admitted I'd been experimenting with makeup late last night. This bothered her, as I knew it would. The panic attack did come, but was thankfully pretty mild compared to some of hers. I talked her through it, reassured her that my kids were not likely to discover it, I don't do it when they're awake, etc. She hates it, hates it, hates it, wants nothing to do with it, feels betrayed because I had promised her she'd never have to see it, and of course she points out that she just did. Makes me promise again to never bring it into the house, which for me boils down to "So when will I be able to dress/do makeup/etc. then?" There is no answer to this right now, and I haven't put it into those words to her yet. That's coming soon, though, I think.
So a step forward for me, leading to a step backward for her, leading to a step backward for me.
Later, after tears and fears and confusion (remember she's learning things about herself as well during all this, unrelated to me, which she fully admits would be marriage killers were the roles reversed, but she can't help that), she again tells me she loves me (same as I tell her, 'cause it's true), and that we'll eventually find a happy medium--for both of us, she adds. I almost think she believes it this time.
So a step forward again for her.
I'm pretty nauseous from all the see-sawing, and alternating between feelings of small hope and giant despair. The things I want are so small--in my mind--compared to the things I'm letting her explore, but to her they're huge and potentially relationship-ending.
I don't know whether we ended up with a net result of a little forward progress or backward. I do know I'm feeling queasy in my soul from the ups and down and backs and forths. Somebody get me a barf bag!
Originally Posted by Sandra
Put a little lipstick on you'll feel better
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