God has placed some conversations into my life over the past couple days. One was with a woman I know through HysterSisters who has been dealing with similar issues with her own husband. I had forgotten how healing it was to know that there's at least one other person who understands how hard it is to try to be supportive of a man while trying to heal and deal with your own grief and anxiety. The other conversation was with my mother, who says things I don't like to hear but that I already know. These two very different conversations have allowed me to finally say,
- "I'm stressed."
- "I feel resentful."
- "I don't know how much longer I can live like this."
- "Is there another line of work I am qualified for that would pay more?"
It surprised me that I haven't actually been able to say these things until now. I'm so angry. There isn't a thing I can do to get my husband a job or to change how he approaches anything or get him to do more around the house or in the community.
What I've realized is that I have no place to be me. There is no "my place" anywhere. Everywhere in the house there are people and there are sounds. I'm going to end up tackling the basement--but there is so much crap down there that belongs to my husband that I know I'll be dealing with resentment there, too.
I don't see that I have any choice, though. It's an ugly and dark space that smells bad, and it's hardly a place I can consider a sanctuary for myself. But I am so craving alone time--to read, to write, to nap, to daydream.
Since my husband lost his job, the financial impact on our family has been horrific. But I am finally realizing that with him home all the time, I have been losing pieces of me as well. And I have to find them again and try to glue myself back together or the whole family will fall apart.
It's so hard to be the backbone of the family when all I want to do is melt into a ball and be taken care of myself.
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