My mom had me to keep my father. When he left, she didn’t seem to want the responsibility of a child. Especially because her needs weren’t met when she was a kid. She resented having a dependent when she herself had never truly grown up.
So, I did my best to be quiet, stay out of her hair. But when I had problems, when I had my first period, when I needed an adult to show up for me, she would be so annoyed, exacerbated, just completely pissed off that she was taxed with the frivolous problems of this creature, I was very very careful in what I brought to her attention. I never felt safe, loved, heard or seen. I felt like a burden who was less than, incapable and disgusting. I never felt safe going to her when I had a problem, a skinned knee or even when a teacher was physically hurting me. I started going to neighbors to care for my needs like a stray cat.
My dad? He had a new wife, new kids, a new life. He could care less about me. Most of their friends didn’t even know I existed..
I was the fat kid. I was awkward. I was semi feral. I wasn’t taught how to be an adult or deal with adults. My mom didn’t want to take the time to teach me anything, my grandma sort of put in efforts to help me ease into puberty. I swear it was because she took pity on me. I was the kid who was dressed funny or in ill-fitting outfits. I was made fun of constantly. When I look at the pictures of myself from back then, I don’t blame those kids. I was asking for the mockery, frankly.
I had the honor of being the youngest member on the west coast to join Weight Watchers. After joining my mother in her binge eating escapades for years, I was also her partner at her weigh ins, calorie counting and cheat day outings. I was a compliant little sidekick in general. I fixed things around the house, I was on 8′ ladders when I was 8 or 9 years old. I helped put up wallpaper, cleaned things and kept all her secrets.
It’s no wonder that I married a man just like her. Full of secrets, controlling in subtle ways, wanting a mindless copilot. But most of all, he wanted someone who wouldn’t question him, who would defer to him, to see his happiness as paramount. I was the person for that job.
It wasn’t until after I turned 45 that I realized that I had suppressed my needs and who I was my entire life. That I was participating in a life I hated. I had no voice, I was doing all the labor and maintenance while he got to disappear and be brilliant in his man cave. He would argue with me and treated me like I was the epitome of annoying, the definition of needy, queen nag. But for me to be those things, wouldn’t he actually have to do something? That man had never cleaned a floor, a toilet, a dish, a sheet or a towel in his entire life.
If I was such the horrible, demanding, bitch of a wife that he claims I was, wouldn’t he have been slaving away to feel justified in having to endlessly argue with me? Wouldn’t I be in the wrong by hyper criticizing his efforts? Wouldn’t he be the sad victim crying on the floor wearing those yellow rubber gloves while I’m standing over him? None of that ever happened because I never got my way. I never won. There were no opportunities to criticize his labor, no white glove over the mantel to check for dust. There was no work to scrutinize. Just me ASKING was the crime here. Me having the audacity to ask him made me the asshole.
But he vehemently stated that I was a ball buster. A taskmaster. Cracking the whip and dominating his every free moment.
But… no tasks were done. Let alone mastered. He’d argue, deflect and disappear. Never cleaning a damn thing.
But giving me the label of the ball and chain, he could continue to defiantly not answer his phone, not bathe, not help and not show up for me physically or emotionally.
I used to say, “well, he’s on the spectrum and he’s sensitive to cleaners and requests.” And I would just let him be. But, turns out he was just combative, controlling and he didn’t respect me or my time. He may have even gotten off of the idea that he was good at weaseling out of everything. I think he enjoyed the process.
Our marriage counselor said he had some childhood trauma, he had neglectful parents and he was looking for unconditional love from me. That I needed to go easy on him and learn how to communicate more sweetly and softly. That he wanted to help, but I just wasn’t asking the right way.
My personal therapist said he was a narcissist and if his actions or inaction caused me pain or harm, it was abuse and control.
Who was right? I dunno.
All I do know is that something in me snapped. This dynamic had to stop. It was killing me slowly. I felt like such a piece of garbage and that garbage caught fire when he’d shame me into sex.
So, I had my awakening and decided that things would change. I would have a life. I would no longer be treated like shit. My needs would be addressed. And I made that declaration abundantly clear.
But that wasn’t met with warmth and scrambling to fix things. I was met with a half assed attempt to keep me around and the doubling down on the fact that I was married, I was stuck, I had to endure it. I had to take it. My needs were a joke. They meant nothing. In fact, my needs were an attack on his character.
Me asking him to bathe? I was telling him he was utterly disgusting, which was an attack on who he was and it made me shallow.
Me wanting empathy and emotional atunement prior to engaging in sex again? I was being manipulative and calling him deficient.
Me asking for help with the house, even if that meant we were hiring it out? I’m asking him to give up his precious sleep so strangers could crawl around our house and probably steal his stuff.
Me asking him to actually help clean? “Where would it end?! You’d make me do everything if I let you!”
Me asking him to answer his phone? That was a huge infringement on his rights to be left alone.
So my needs started an argument. My needs were thrown back in my face as me being manipulative, unreasonable and controlling.
In the end, he had an ultimatum. Either I stay and deal with things as they are and give him the sex he needs knowing I upheld my vows, or I can leave. It was that simple.
In essence, he was arguing that my needs went against my vows. How about that.
