Daddy Issues

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This blog is strange. I'm not really writing it for anyone else but myself since hi there! I'm really the only person reading it. My parents don't know about it nor do my siblings. I'm guessing my husband just finds it boring so I don't even tell him when I've updated anymore. And really, I only have two girlfriends in the world and do they really count as "readers", particularly when they are already know all of the stories and thoughts I write down here?

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And yet, I'm hesitant to post anything too personal. Because why not then just go write in my diary? And yet, part of the reason I come here to write instead is (a) it's easier to type than print; (b) I tend to write in my journal right before bed, and hence when I'm EXHAUSTED and by that point I don't really feel like writing my every thought and emotion down; and (c) I'm bored at work or I'm stressed about something that's distracting me from work and so writing about it seems to help.

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And yet a few years ago I wrote about my mother on this blog and now I kind of regret it because it makes me scared to ever tell her about this thing, lest she get offended by the stuff I wrote when her and I were struggling through our issues, stuff that I totally felt at the time, but probably didn't really mean or understand. I could take all that old stuff down and yet, it was part of who I was at that point in my life, even if that person was a confused, unhappy, directionless 24 year old girl.

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What I'm trying to say is that I so badly want to vent about my husband today and yet I'm also worried to do so. I mean, is it fair to him? Probably not. And yet here I am airing our dirty laundry in the most public forum that exists - the internet (even if no one happens to be reading right now, this blog is still always accessible by anyone).

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And yet, I feel so upset and muddled that I want to lay my thoughts out. I also want the record my thoughts so that I can come back here someday and see what I was struggling with at 28.

So at the risk of hurting my dear husband, here I go but I'll try and be as gentle and as fair as possible to ALL parties involved.

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This upcoming September my parents will celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary. For all intents and purposes, they look like they have a very happy, successful marriage. And all things considered, I believe they do. But they have definitely had their struggles over the years and maybe while some of them are the typical male vs. female issues that all couples wrestle with, some of their strife is due to their personalities (which duh! That goes for all mates really).

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For as long as I can remember, when my mom got really down and depressed, she would tell me how she didn't believe my dad really loved her. This was a frightening thing to hear at 14, 18, even 22. I would protest - OF COURSE he loves you! And I would point out all the things he'd do for her - gas in the car, the great lifestyle he provides, trips he'd taken her on. Yeah, maybe he wasn't the most romantic guy in the world. But he definitely loved her.

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I couldn't relate nor did I want to. I thought my mom was being over-dramatic and self-pitying. Isn't it ironic then that I would only be able to relate to her situation once I myself married an exact replica of my father?

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When Adders and I fell in love, my world was smashed, and I mean that in the most amazing way possible. We were gah-gah for each other. The love letters, the romantic gestures, the declarations of love - every single one was just like out of a movie. Most things in life I've been disappointed by the actual reality of something. With falling in love, it was the opposite. It was better than I had ever hoped or dreamed. I can still remember lying in a boat with Adders, fishing, drinking a cooler, staring across at him and thinking "If I die now, I'll die complete because I have finally acquired perfect happiness."

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Of course, this was just crazy love hormones talking. But still, it was an amazing experience. The time period lasted, give or take, about 18 months, right until I moved back to Cranhole to be with him. And maybe it was the beginning of building a life together that changed things, the reality of planning a wedding, renovating a house, scrapping over money and paint colours, that changed things, but slowly the romance started to wane and everyday monotony took over.

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That sounds depressing and it wasn't and it isn't. Life can't be sustained at that level of "OH MY GOD HE'S SO DREAMY I'M SO HAPPY I COULD DIE." Otherwise work wouldn't get done, deadlines wouldn't get met, etc. In fact, the day to day reality of coupledom can be really quite comforting.

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However, I began to start scrutinizing our sex life after we got married and I can't really tell you why. Maybe it's because it started to feel different than before, which naturally it would. No longer was it "Oh God, I have to have you" and stealing quick make-out sessions in public bathrooms. Instead, it was your typical, "Well, it's 10:45pm, do you want to go upstairs and have sex?" But still, it wasn't even a bit romantic like you still see of married couples in the movies or on TV. Granted, I'm not a very big grand-gesture type of person. But neither is he.

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At any rate, I started keeping track of how often we had sex. I also attempted to keep track of how we had sex. Our frequency was pretty normal. Our variety was pretty bleak. And yet, I had no complaints really. I orgasmed consistenly and well, isn't that really the best thing any girl can ask for?

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Not necessarily. Because as we all know now, the brain is the body's largest sexual organ, particularly for women who so rely on the mental and emotional for sex as opposed to men, who can really just depend on the physical.

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At any rate, sex became something we started to fight over. Often I wondered if I was making too big of a deal out of it, which Adders often accused me of. And maybe he's right. I don't know. But I do know that I was beginning to feel hurt that (a) he didn't initiate enough; and (b) when he did, it was just so uninspiring: "So, uhhhhh, do you want to go upstairs?"

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There was this sex therapist (an amazing woman who's name escapes me but who is really awesome and hot) on Oprah who once said that the reason so many women enjoy a rape fantasy is because for once they don't have to be in charge, they don't have to make the decisions, they can just lie back and not think and just enjoy. That clicked with me because every time Adders asked me if I wanted to "go upstairs" all I could wish is that he'd just TAKE me upstairs a la Rhett Butler and get on with it! Don't ask, don't make me plan, just DO!

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Still. I was torn because I also know that I would ABHOR being married to a sexually aggressive man. First of all, I don't really trust men who need sex all the time. These seem to be the men that tend to cheat. And I can tell you one thing - I have 100% faith that Adders would never EVER cheat on me. Nor do I ever have to worry about him having some closet addiction to porn or what have you. Furthermore, I think some women tend to think with sexually aggressive men that they are the ones causing it, i.e. "I must be so hot that I'm making him turned on all the time." When really, it has nothing to do with you, sweetheart. He's just a horndog who needs to learn to divert his energy elsewhere.

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And yet, I can also understand how good that must feel for the woman, that power, that seduction, even if it is all a lie. Despite the leaps and bounds women have made, we still are raised to believe that our sexual power is pretty much the most important thing we possess. And unless guys are falling over us, or wolf-whistling as we walk down the street, or buying us a drink in a bar, then we aren't "worth" as much as the hotter girl beside us.

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What I'm trying to say is that while intellectually and rationally I can tell you that I am far more suited to someone like Adders, someone with a more laidback libido, my ego still craves to be with some man who "can't get enough of me" (even though I recognize that his "can't getting enough" is all lies too).

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So is this just a case of a bruised ego? I don't know. For me one of the hardest parts of being in a committed and monogamous relationship has been giving up those ego boosts. While I'm still told I'm pretty, usually by older people such as friends of my parents, I no longer get to engage in that playful flirting that is the staple diet of every 20 year old girl. Oh, the intoxication of going to a bar, dressed to kill, and flirty with boys, and letting them buy you a drink, knowing that it would go nowhere, but knowing for those 5 minutes at least they were still putty in your hands. And being a hot virgin for so long also fed this addiction because I had to contend with some seriously frustrated boys who I got to control through sex (heavy kissing, heavy petting, "Oh but stop! No, no. We HAVE to stop! Giggle giggle").

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While my mother always warned me to never invest much in my sexual power, it's so fleeting she said, it's still a hard thing for a girl to resist. Which made giving it up after marriage so painful. It was no longer useful around Adders, and I could no longer use it on other men.

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Oh, poor me, right? I mean, this is ridiculous. What a stupid pity party. Except is it stupid? I don't know. As I mentioned, this isn't a case of me wanting more sex than my husband. A lot of the time, it seems like so much bloody work and truly exhausting for me to put my book down, climb those stairs, peel off those warm cuddly pajamas, and engage. So it's not as if I'm sitting around, physically aching to be fucked!

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Instead, this is really about me not feeling desired or wanted or even loved sometimes. When we do have sex, it's unimaginative. It's posed as a question, not a command. And while we both give lip service to changing and trying to be more creative, it never really seems to happen.

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He's happy with it. I know he is. He's content to just say, "Hey I'm not really that horny. Nothing to do with you. I'm happy with the way we are." And while I've told him seven ways to Sunday that I don't necessarily feel the same, it doesn't seem to make an impact on him. I've told him it viciously in a fight (not the wisest thing to say to a man, I agree). But I've also told him honestly, gently, sweetly that we need to change things, he needs to try a bit more.

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It's only gotten worse since I became pregnant. My libido has dropped off the face of the planet. And so has the frequency of our sex life. Now maybe this is a good thing - I mean, who wants to have sex if they don't feel like it. But what it underscores to me is how much I am the one that makes sex happen. And so when I'm no longer initiating, everything dries up. He's content to just rely on me to make things happen.

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And maybe this is why I'm bitter. I am the one who ALWAYS makes things happen in our life - a new car, new furniture, a trip somewhere, going out for dinner, spending time with his family. All orchestrated by me. It gets exhausting.

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Adders excuse I'm sure would be some bull shit line about not wanting to push me, and maybe that's fair. But still, I might not be craving an orgasm right now but I still crave intimacy. And so again, I've explained to him, I need you to provide me with intimacy then in whatever format you can - drawing us a hot bath, giving me a head rub, BASIC TENDERNESS.

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We had a brutal fight over this two weeks ago. I explained it all again. I thought he understood. And yet two days later his idea of initiating sex/love/romance/intimacy was to say, "Why don't you go upstairs and put on some lingerie and get in a sexy position and I'll come up in a few minutes and see you like that." WHAT THE FUCK?! Like, how is that filling ME up? How is that even romantic?

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I feel as big as a heffer. I have never felt so unsexual in my life. All I want is my husband to treat me with a little desire while wearing some kid gloves. Even last night the fight began anew. At 7:00pm he said to me, "Do you want to have a bath together tonight?" Sweet, right? Except it was 7 o'clock. I was still cleaning up the kitchen from dinner, planning on taking Lucers for a walk, thinking about my workday. The timing was off and what I really needed and wanted was not a question of whether I wanted to take a bath. I needed him to just do it! DRAW the fucking bath. Light some candles. Put on some music. And physically march me into the bathroom and strip my clothes off. Don't make me think or decide.

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Instead, I just laughed though and said something about how are we both going to fit in there with me the size of a whale. It was the wrong thing to say, clearly, although I didn't realize it at the time. I guess the more appropriate response was to have done cartwheels and give him a medal for just asking me if I'd like a bath. I guess I was supposed to applaud him for doing the laziest basic first step in Romance 101. Which my bad. Because I apparently shut him down, and off he went to the gym first, followed by TV watching on the basement couch next, not pouting but certainly not willing to go out any other limb.

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At around 10:30pm, still feeling like a wreck from my second glucose test coupled with my ongoing pregnancy sleep issues and plummeting iron levels, I indulged myself (why oh why do us females ever do this? No good can ever come from indulging our emotions and appealing to our husbands, particularly right before bed on a weeknight) and went downstairs and confronted him. I was relatively calm, not too accusatory. But I did cry and ask him why he never tries harder. Here I am, 6 months pregnant, and he can't even offer me a foot rub. Fuck, he can't even take out the garbage like I asked.

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He stared at me, shocked but I could also see the guilt march across his face. I just sighed, shrugged my shoulders and went up to bed. He clearly stewed in his "man cave" for 20 minutes before joining me upstairs, and this is where men and women are so different. I think MOST women would have come upstairs feeling guilty and bad, with a desire to do something to rectify the situation. Adders came upstairs with a bruised ego and a desire to point out that I'm not so perfect either.

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He told me about a show he had been watching, a show on sex after marriage. Apparently he only paid attention to all of the things the psychiatrist on the show had said about women and their ridiculous fantasies about romance. He then told me that our only recourse was more communication.

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I wanted to bash his head open - HAVEN'T I ASKED FOR HEAD RUBS, FOOT RUBS, MORE SEX, MORE TENDERNESS, HAVEN'T I ASKED FOR ALL OF THIS EXPLICITLY? DID I EVER ASK YOU TO READ MY MIND?

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God.

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Pretty soon the discussion evolved into a full-blow fight with basically me being told that I don't really inspire him to do anything because I'm such a battle-ax.

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I threw the Bible I was reading (Ohhhh, the irony) at his head and marched out of the room, threw on my coat, grabbed my keys but only made it to the garage door before sliding down to the ground and sobbing.

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At last he came out and got me, led me up to bed, tried to soothe me, not with words of comfort or love, but just stupid words of "we're both too tired to talk about this. Let's just go to sleep." I agreed even though the anger scorched through me. At last I fell asleep.

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Until 6am. The dog woke me and once the memory of the night before invaded my consciousness, I was done. By 6:30am, I was in a tizzy and I kicked Adders awake, confronting him with my anger and frustration. He was shocked and again tried to placate me. But it was hopeless - I could tell I was only fueling the fire of his accusations of "crazy."

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Out of bed, out for a walk, out begging for help from God.

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Which leads me back to my parents. Like my mom, I too am married to a man who doesn't really emotionally love me. Oh, he loves me. Loves me enough to indulge my OCD by hanging the pictures in the basement that I want. Loves me enough to have learned to pick up after himself. Loves me enough to always start my car every morning. Loves me enough to make me chocolate chip cookies when I whimper for them. He is wonderful, amazing, perfect at loving me physically.

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But emotionally? Spiritually? Passionately? I don't know. There was a time, back at the height of our "in-love" stage that I would never believe that my current emotions were possible, that I would someday be disappointed in his love. And yet here I am, married to my dad, wondering if my husband really loves me. Would he fight for me? Die for me? If we were to divorce tomorrow, would he spend the months and years that I would spend wondering what he did wrong, or would he just take the easy way out and blame me?

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What makes it all the more difficult is that when Adders accuses me that sex and tenderness is a two-way street, I get it! In fact, I've been trying really hard to provide Adders with his version of tenderness. He will never be the type of guy who will get his jollies off with candles and lovesongs and a box of chocolates. I've had to learn very recently that this man receives love through my laidbackness, through my agreeability. "Sure, go out for a night of drinking with your buddies!" "Sure, go out all day snowmobiling with your brother!" "Sure, let's watch the movie you want to see." All of those things fill his "love tank" up. And they are things I've been conciously working on improving in myself for months. So where's my return in investment? Where's my equivalent?

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The silver lining in all of this is God. It really is. My mother would not be the spiritual giant that she is if she hadn't had to rely on God so much over the course of her marriage - rely on God for her romance, tenderness, emotional well-being. Adders is terrified of me becoming like my mother. He doesn't understand that he is already playing a very large role in my doing so, simply through his emotional laziness.

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And is that what it is? Emotional laziness? I don't know. Selfishness? I don't know. Cluelessness? I. Don't. Know.

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I cried out to God for 20 minutes this morning as I stomped my way through the neighbourhood and I knew He understood. Afterall, this is a God who craves nothing but intimacy with the world He's created and yet 99% of us ignore him all together. He understood only too well. And if in 40 years I am where I am supposed to be in my spiritual journey with God, then all of this pain in my marriage will be worth it. Because I think when it comes to the physical and spiritual, it's pretty difficult to have your cake and eat it too.

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I failed my first glucose test last week. I get the results of my second one today or tomorrow. On Sunday night I asked God why I had failed the test. I really questioned Him about it. And I immediately got my answer. Last week I spent the week indulging myself physically - shopping for baby furniture online, distracted by company coming. I didn't ever really take the time to connect spiritually. Even the day after I got my failed results, instead of getting up and wrestling with God about it on my morning prayer walk, I decided to sleep in instead. Clearly I had some mixed up priorities. And so my answer from Him was this: If you want to dwell in the physical world, you have to deal with physical things.

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If there's a lesson to be learned from all of this it's that I really, really, REALLY don't want to deal with physical things. I don't want to have to worry about maintaining a diabetic diet. And I don't want to have to worry about how often I'm having sex.

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I don't know how to end this except to say that marriage is hard. Walking close to God is even harder. Both are worth it. But they both come at a tremendous, tremendous cost.