A story about resilience
By: Eir Thunderbird
Tags: Resilience, Mental Health, Relationships, Motherhood Feminism, Parenting

A story about resilience

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

My husband and I have been together for almost 16 years. However, we’ve only been married for four years and became parents during primo 2019.

My entire relationship was defined by me dragging him in a direction that makes sense for two people who have committed to each other. I have never pushed him for more than the ordinary: get a decent job, get a car, get a house, get married, have children. It was never meant as a list to check off but merely milestones that make one person wake up in the morning having a purpose.

Now, whereas I do agree that we shouldn’t be all identical copies, and our lives should have, instead, that special glitter that makes it worth living it, I do believe that some society defined guidelines would make sense to follow unless you decide to live without the confinement of any rules — either by yourself or accepted by another free-spirited person. In what regards me, as I was raised by a struggling single parent, the truth be told, I wished to offer my child a “normal family” set-up: mom+dad=child.

Hence, I have pursued my husband to start this family journey, after being together for 12 years in a stagnating relationship, while both of us have been dealing with our own lives in a domestic partnership.

It was not a proposal. It was nothing romantic about it. I just decided to get married so I could have a legitimate child. I don’t know whether he felt cornered or he just went with the flow because he was not exactly young anymore, but we had the wedding, nonetheless.

Two years later, I managed to make him agree to try for a child. Since he is convinced he got Lyme disease in 2014, he has been using this excuse for not getting involved in anything serious. Therefore, it took a lot of effort to get a “yes” from him on this matter. (Yes, my husband’s attachment style is avoidant…)

It was not romantic. It looked more like a job to be done with a contract and all. But I was happy, still.

We have agreed that we will equally stay at home during the child’s first years as we were both having good jobs we wouldn’t want to miss opportunities from. Spoiler alert: he plainly refused to do it, eventually.

Fast forward to 2019, September. My son is 6 months old, and my 41 years old husband, who hasn’t missed a night since our son was born for putting him to sleep or feeding him, started driving lessons for a motorcycle license. He didn’t even bother asking for my opinion. He just did it. I have struggled since my son was born to get my “ducks in a row” and understand this new life altogether while remaining sane. I have eventually agreed that I can’t do it by myself and went into therapy. The exact moment this happened was around a Saturday when my anger transformed into a rage, and I punched the bathroom wall with my fists in a final attempt to numb the despair I was feeling while protecting my son from hearing me yelling. My husband brought me in this phase by complaining endlessly about our 6+-month-old son not getting enough weight and pressuring me to switch him on the formula because he was “only in the 35th percentile”. He almost obsessively weighed and measured him several times a week. I was sleep-deprived, lost any sense of identity, and lacked any emotional support from my husband, being instead pressured to over-deliver in grams and millimeters. No wonder I was in a terrible place.

Luckily, during the same period, I have started therapy, I was also fortunate to be selected in a trial fitness program for moms. With my mother and my aunt's help, I have managed to follow through until the end. During this program, I have learned to channel my anger in a better direction pulling weights becoming stronger to hold my baby and carry him around. I have learned discipline and to use the little time I have for myself wisely.

I lost 11 kilos by February 2020 and have maintained ever since, being now in the best shape of my life. I only take 30 minutes every other day to workout, but it keeps me sane.

I have also progressed a lot in therapy, but I am not there yet. Somehow, though, I feel that instead of being respected and appreciated for the efforts to better myself, for us, and our son, my husband not only does not support me, but he gaslights me and sabotages my efforts to abstain from yelling.

He does not respect me, my time, and he acts like he is doing me a favor when he spends a little as an hour with our son alone.

He yells at me, gaslighting me; he mocks me and tells me to shut up. If it wouldn’t have been for the corona situation I would have been more courageous to separate. However, these are difficult times that are already stressful without adding the challenge of finding a new place and moving with your 2-year-old without child care possible due to restrictions.

So the best thing I can do right now is to hang in there and rationalize the journey I had made so far. I am strong. This, all of today’s mess, will go away one day. And so, one day, I will be able to make the decision more lightly.

love,

/ET

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