We had a fight. We were at the new place and Wonderboy had totally spaced out and forgot to bring anything. We were there for the weekend, to paint and put wallpapers up – that sort of thing. And he hadn’t brought even a toothbrush. He kept complaining about it, understandable I’m sure, through friday and then through today. He’s most recent and biggest concern was that his clothes would get dirty and ruined. I don’t know if they did, the paint doesn’t come of by any means I’m aware of.
Every time he brought it up, I asked him why he hadn’t brought anything with us and he answered, because I thought you were already on your vacation. Implying that I would’ve packed his things and brought them with me. And he hadn’t peeped a word of it to me. It got really ugly, fast.
Let me explain. I’m prone to hearing people imply needs and I hear them as accusations. When Wonderboy states, over and over again, that he’s unhappy, I start to feel that it is my fault. I should’ve found a way for us to avoid this. I obviously get anxious about it. I feel unfairly accused. I get angry.
Let’s talk about his point of view. He was already punishing himself for not remembering to pack. He was anxious about the possibly ruined clothes, which are hard to find for a man that tall, and quite expensive too. My blaming him didn’t help.
So, we both heard the other one blaming and not understanding. Finally today it got so ugly that he started to cry. We had been up all night until 3 am, we’d carried 700 kilos worth of waist down the stairs and to the dump, and we’d both had exceptionally hard work weeks because of the coming holidays.
It has nothing to do with you! he yelled. He never yells. I can’t help it if you always take blame for everything, but I’m not blaming you! It has nothing to do with you. He repeated it, and I always came back to my argument. Why did you not prepare yourself then? He stood over me in the kitchen and I was sitting on a lonely pillow. I looked at him and he looked at me, and something moved. I moved from the pillow as a submissive and an invitive gesture, and I didn’t have time to even raise my hands to invite him down before he collapsed beside me.
I’m so tired. It’s hard to wake up tired and get straight to work… and be unhappy all the time, he said.
I hugged him real tight, and he began to cry. We said some words to each other then and hugged a long time, started kissing then on the floor and gazing into each other’s eyes, trying to find the true meaning of the words, tentative with our quick kisses. Do you understand? Do you feel the same? Can I trust you?
I don’t want to be in charge. I don’t want to feel inadequate, if he isn’t prepared. I want to be able to only feel empathy and give him consolation and understanding. It’s the exact same thing he wants from me. My loving. Not caring after him. Not dominating with control, like a mother. Like his mother. Not oversensitively trying to sense what he might need, either. He just wants to know I’m on his side. It’s a fair thing to ask.
After having this fight, about something completely different, it was so easy to fall into the headspace, to give in, to love him and adore him and to just fade away and be all his, all open. After all, I’d just seen him as vulnerable as he can be. After all, I’d just had proof that he only wants my complete understanding, not some sort of a caretaking act.
I did what I wanted. I caved in.