My husband is a great man. He’s a great father. He is supportive and kind and generous. He works hard to provide for his family. He is and has been wonderful to me the entire time I’ve known him. Seeing him with our son reminds me that I made the right choice.
So, why the “In defense of my husband” post?
Last night’s blog post sparked a few comments that made it seem like y’all thought I was saying he’s a…well…a caveman. And that’s just not true.
I actually think that a few of the comments yesterday might’ve hurt his feelings. Because some of y’all attacked him like he keeps me locked in the basement and only lets me out to cook and clean and grow his little humans.
The entire point of last night’s post, and perhaps what I didn’t convey very well in the heat of my wine-induced Woe Is Me Fest, is that the “stuck-ness” that I feel is all of my own doing.
Dan would willingly watch Joshua while I go out with my girlfriends for dinner or a movie or a cocktail or coffee. (And thanks to last night’s post, I got an offer to get together for coffee from an e-friend!)
But while out, I’m constantly plagued with the thought that I should be home with them, so I often choose not to go because I feel like that’s not my place anymore. Like my place is at home. With my family.
And then I get a taste of “the old life” and I yearn for more of it. And then I feel guilty for that yearning because this is the life I’ve chosen. The life of a mom and wife.
Mom-guilt sucks in a way I can’t really put into words, apparently. But that’s what this is about. How I feel guilty for taking time for myself because that’s time I could be giving to my husband or my son or my students.
Irrational? Maybe. But that’s kind of the story of my life right now.
Dan encourages me to go out with my friends, but I feel like I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t spend money or I shouldn’t be away from Joshua. What if he needs me? What else could we do with that money?
The questions paralyze me.
I paralyze myself.
Dan does not.
So, faithfuls, retract the claws of angst. Or, if you feel the need to scratch at someone, that someone should be me. I’m the one in need of a swift kick in the pants here. And you might find that my husband would agree with you when you started with the motivational kicks to my ass.
Metaphorical kicks, please. I bruise easily.