The Squooshy

My husband said that I was radiant. 

Our marriage <counselor’s> name sounds like a synonym for the word ‘cut’. I think that might be a bad omen—at minimum, she has to see the irony. Right? The humor? Dave thinks her name sounds like a character in Harry Potter.  That has to be worse.  Okay, maybe not worse, just…nerdier? Criminy.  Did she just ask me a question? Focus, Rhonda.

How did we get here?

It is our first marriage <counseling> session. I am not supposed to talk about it. We mustn’t admit we are here. I am under strict instructions from my husband not to discuss the ‘c-word,’ with anyone…not with friends, not family, not with anonymous (yet public) blog readers.  I think it’s like Fight Club?  Or something?  I am guessing Tyler Durden will now be required to punch me in the face because I am talking about…<counseling>. 

I suppose Dave doesn’t want me blabbing about it because it’s a little embarrassing. He wants people to know that he is good at “this stuff”. At…life, at husbanding, at…everything.  And coming here might suggest to some that he is not.  Spoiler alert…I married a human and he is not perfect. Spoiler #2…so did he and neither am I.  But, PLOT TWIST, his willingness to show up at a place where one discusses feelings ad nauseum with a wife who is one giant tangle of very complicated emotions is the definition of being “good at stuff,” especially when this is most assuredly not his preferred activity. Sometimes being “good at stuff” is just being willing to show up.

The Wheel of Feelings

The empathetic “wizard” is sitting across from us looking at me like she sees me on the inside. Dave looks like he wants to be on the outside of her office door. She has her ‘wheel of feelings’ tool sitting at the ready waiting to provide its assistance for those of us who did not grow up with feelings as pets. 

“A wheel? Of feelings?  Dave don’t has no feelings.” 

—Dave

Yes.  There is a tool for helping you to name your feelings; no, it does not spin. It isn’t like a game show wheel (“big money, no whammy’s!”). Really, it is more like a pie chart or diagram, but ‘feelings diagram’ just doesn’t have the same ring. Either way, it would have saved me a LOT of time, over the last 49 years if I had known these buggers came pre-labeled. 

The Story of Us

So here we are.  Frankly, I (without even attempting to disguise my intentions) have called her to fix my husband. It makes me wonder how many marriage <counseling> sessions are initiated under the guise of this kind of conspiracy?  How many other ‘wizards’ see through the covert attempts of well-meaning but misguided spouses?

“He broken. He doesn’t know he broken—buuuuut he broken. Google says so.
We will fix him, together, yes? ”  

—Rhonda

‘Harry Pottress’ has just asked Dave to describe me when we first met and what made him fall in love with me. Dave said, “Rhonda was just…radiant.”

I took a mental snapshot of this moment and placed it carefully in the back of mind. I marked it fragile; in the hopes that nothing will damage it over the next 50 years. I want to make sure I hang on to this memory. Perhaps I’ve gotten him wrong. This man—the one whom I thought was impenetrable, the man I saw as unwilling to be vulnerable (so very not ‘squooshy’)—he just gave me the best and most personal compliment I think I have ever received. And he just let both of us see his heart.

Also, as he later would describe her, Rhonda can apparently be ‘condescending.’ But I don’t think he fully understands what the word means 😉.

How did we get ‘here, here’?

So how did we reach the point of deciding to call Harry Pottress for help? How did we come to this office, with its strategically placed box of tissues and its cozy (read: tiny) love seat and its throw pillows that I always have to move to make room for our posteriors?  (Pro-tip: Keep the pillows close by in case you need to create a diversion and a quick exit.  Or to soothe yourself by [imagining] throwing them at your <counselor’s> head when she has the audacity to take his side*). 

*Taking his side, however, is why we can now talk about Bruno the 'c-word'.  Apparently, since there's at least some chance, now, that this is "all my fault," <counseling> is once again a discussable topic.

How we got here was 21 years of marriage. If you, yourself, are married, that may suffice as explanation—marriage is hard. More specifically, for me, though, it all started with an angry prayer after a heated argument with my (presumed) Enneagram 8 husband about who-knows-what many months ago: 

“Lord, I need you to help me see him through your eyes.” 

TLDR: God Answers Prayers.

What followed after that prayer is, basically, (1) the hijacking of a spiritual journey that I thought I was taking by/for myself, (2) my surrender, and (3) a complete transformation of how I saw my husband. That, in its entirety is, itself, a story with many, many chapters—and it is still being written. This chapter is about the beginning—how God met me on my proverbial road to Damascus and began to change my persecutory heart to one of compassion and grace for my husband.

Holy Hijacking

I had begun a spiritual journey looking for peace, happiness, and fulfillment—the usual.   It seems, however, that I picked up a hitchhiker* along the way who felt strongly that I had left something (or someone) important behind. So my quest to find spiritual wholeness for myself led me back to the beginning of the journey where I found my partner, right where I left him.

*Note: It amuses me to picture the Holy Spirit as some hitchhiking hippy from the seventies.  I mean...who better to bring us peace?

In my new online Women’s Bible study, I began to hear God advocating for my husband.  God stalked me…in the scriptures (those same scriptures, if I may remind you, that I was reading to find peace, happiness, and Spiritual wholeness for myself). It was gentle and persistent, but that voice was clear—relentless even.

I remember the first inflection point—an argument with my husband at the Magic Kingdom, the ‘happiest place on earth’. It marks the beginning of my ‘retreat’.  That particular argument was about misdirected anger.  You know the kind?

• He: is frustrated about…who even has time to figure that out. Hulk smash!
• She: is convinced she has done nothing wrong; and insists that she is the heroine of this story. 

Frustration shared in the ‘safe space’ with your boo never looks like the polite kind that you reserve for colleagues and friends. It is ‘street’. It takes its earrings off for the fight.  At least that is the kind of seeds I had been sowing. In this argument, my inner earring-less gang-stress was stuck on some fairly intense righteous indignation.  Her heels were dug in and she was ready to die on the hill of not-my-faultness. 

When all of this this went down, Daniel, our 13 year-old (who is probably more of an ageless oracle), bore witness to these shenanigans and snatched me off of my ‘hill’ with these words:

“Dad is mad right now.  Can’t you give him time to be mad?”  

—Daniel

This sounded a lot, to me, like “You know that grace is an option here, right, mom?” Um.  Okay, Yoda. But.  For the record, I’m the mama and you are not!  I teach—you learn. 

Are you there, God? It’s me, Anger

The next morning was my Online Bible Study and God doubled down on young ‘Friar Yoda’s’ advice as he spoke to me through the passage we read:

Moses heard all the families standing in the doorways of their tents whining, and the  Lord  became extremely angry.  Moses was also very aggravated. And Moses said to the Lord, “Why are you treating me, your servant, so harshly? Have mercy on me!  What did I do to deserve the burden of all these people?  Did I give birth to them? Did I bring them into the world?  Why did you tell me to carry them in my arms like a mother carries a nursing baby? How can I carry them to the land you swore to give their ancestors?  Where am I supposed to get meat for all these people? They keep whining to me, saying, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ I can’t carry all these people by myself! The load is far too heavy! If this is how you intend to treat me, just go ahead and kill me. Do me a favor and spare me this misery!”

Numbers 11:10-15

I read that passage and sat contemplating it in my Florida hotel room—’The Mouse’ just a few miles off in the distance. I heard my husband’s anger and my own indignation echoing in my head. Then I heard Daniel’s voice and God’s voice…and I felt my crossed arms relax into surrender. I sat there, looking up at God, who I can only assume was looking back down at me, patiently, with one eyebrow raised.  Our imagined conversation went a bit like this:

• Me: “God?  Are you saying I sound like Moses?  He was having a bit of a ‘moment’.”  
• God: …
• Me: “That ‘like a nursing baby’ comment was kind of funny.  He probably felt like no one “saw” him;  they just complained.”
• God: …
• Me: “I uh…I’m told I am ‘condescending’ when I’m angry.  Is that ‘nursing baby’ comment supposed to be a mirror that reflects my attitude sometimes?”
• God: …
• Me: “I suppose I could put more effort into grace. Like Daniel implied?”
• Me: “Hey, God. You used Moses as a vessel to lead your children out of a crappy place into a better place. Perhaps, giving grace instead of righteous indignation could be a way for me to also be a vessel for others when they are in a bad place?  Or when they are having a moment?”
• God: <kissing me on the head>

And the Wall Came Tumbling Down

And that was where it started. I had developed a habit of standing in stubborn defiance with my husband—without any provocation. I call this “The Wall of Bitchiness.” Walls are not terribly useful in drawing two people closer together and Disney is where God asked me to “tear down that wall” (He’s apparently a Reagan Republican. Who knew?). It did not come down all at once; but cracks formed and, eventually, my wall did come down. And, once it did, I felt defenseless and terrified and had no idea why. So…we found a ‘wizard’ with some tissues and a ‘feelings wheel’ and we strapped in for some uncomfortable conversations; we began sorting it all out. It is hard work—but Dave is worth every minute.

It’s hard to talk about it—it’s the most vulnerable journey I’ve ever been on. This road asks us to contemplate how we learned to feel feelings and share feelings as children and then be curious as to how that shows up today between us as adults (attachment theory). It brings up weird stuff—things we didn’t know our minds were doing for us. But, mostly, it has us looking at our behaviors today with fresh eyes and it has us challenge assumptions we did not know we had. It’s a lot. And if we don’t know how to talk about it, how, then, does it not feel so overwhelming for the next couple? So. Can we talk about the c-word?