Patience.
Presence.
Pacing.
Having your husband be your lover is wonderful and challenging. It means being present for new interpretations of the body language you know so well. It means being honest even when it's painful. It means accepting new limits in order to have more freedom.
As lovers, Joe and I are committed to a whole new level of communication. Sometimes it takes more time than you want. It can leave you raw right before you have to go to work. Which sucks.
Early yesterday morning we had a post-Valentine's Day talk about feelings that are new for us. I hold up well during these talks. I hold the space for both of us. I allow myself to go into places I didn't know were there.
Joe is a champ these days. We are getting really good about helping each other come out of the internal world and rejoin the benign reality that surrounds us. (Mostly benign. Not counting the shitshow on 6th and Stevenson or even right outside our window.)
But yesterday I found myself entering the office full of residual anxiety. I was too raw for work.
I kept it together. I got past it and led my team.
Last night I told Joe that I needed a break from processing because it kind of fucked me up yesterday. But this morning I could tell he needed to talk by the way he got up to go to the bathroom. You know these things when you witness the posture and the way someone breathes for two and a half decades. He was hesitant to tell me what was going on because I had said I needed a break.
I decided we could talk for 15 minutes. That would still leave me enough time to write. He agreed, and told me what was bothering him. I understood. And we got past it in a mere 7 minutes. Yeah. A dumb time limit was genius.
Patience.
Presence.
Pacing.
Valentine's Day is kind of bogus. I brought it up with some friends yesterday and we all agreed: it invites heartbreaking expectations that you don't even know are there until it's too late, and you are embarrassed to have those stupid expectations and to admit it, and how was your partner/lover supposed to read your mind and how were you supposed to read his/hers and you know you should let that go but couldn't they try just a little harder?
Patience...
Presence.
Pacing.
Having your husband be your lover is wonderful and challenging. It means being present for new interpretations of the body language you know so well. It means being honest even when it's painful. It means accepting new limits in order to have more freedom.
As lovers, Joe and I are committed to a whole new level of communication. Sometimes it takes more time than you want. It can leave you raw right before you have to go to work. Which sucks.
Early yesterday morning we had a post-Valentine's Day talk about feelings that are new for us. I hold up well during these talks. I hold the space for both of us. I allow myself to go into places I didn't know were there.
Joe is a champ these days. We are getting really good about helping each other come out of the internal world and rejoin the benign reality that surrounds us. (Mostly benign. Not counting the shitshow on 6th and Stevenson or even right outside our window.)
But yesterday I found myself entering the office full of residual anxiety. I was too raw for work.
I kept it together. I got past it and led my team.
Last night I told Joe that I needed a break from processing because it kind of fucked me up yesterday. But this morning I could tell he needed to talk by the way he got up to go to the bathroom. You know these things when you witness the posture and the way someone breathes for two and a half decades. He was hesitant to tell me what was going on because I had said I needed a break.
I decided we could talk for 15 minutes. That would still leave me enough time to write. He agreed, and told me what was bothering him. I understood. And we got past it in a mere 7 minutes. Yeah. A dumb time limit was genius.
Patience.
Presence.
Pacing.
Valentine's Day is kind of bogus. I brought it up with some friends yesterday and we all agreed: it invites heartbreaking expectations that you don't even know are there until it's too late, and you are embarrassed to have those stupid expectations and to admit it, and how was your partner/lover supposed to read your mind and how were you supposed to read his/hers and you know you should let that go but couldn't they try just a little harder?
Patience...
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