slaying giants

4:30 a.m.
I pop up as my 8 year old self.
The only thing I wanted then, in 1987, was to
play Super Mario Brothers and eat cereal.
Today I want only to drink coffee and write.

As I tip-toe around my house in slipper socks with favorite snowflake mug, I realize something.
My husband and I got into a roaring fight.
Him yelling with finger pointing.
I just as angry,  but breathing deep to keep the rage in.
Our force of fear an equal match like two Jedi light-sabers clashing, vibrating.

And for the first time, I did not go directly to starvation.
I did not look in the mirror and think I don't get to eat today.
I did not binge when the storm settled and the house was quiet.
I did not hear Lydia's voice hissing,
"You never should have trusted him.  Look at the vulnerable place you've put yourself in.
Why did you have to speak up in the first place?  Now you've rocked the boat.  You've made this place unsafe and you have to run away.  You should have known better.  You don't get to eat today.  Food will only feed this anxiety."

In fact, I didn't think about food at all.  I didn't equate the fight with my body's worth.
Instead,  I called a friend. 
I cried.   I did the dishes, and I cried.
Gave kids a bath with blue fizzy tablets that turn the water purple.
Fed them breakfast. 
Fed myself breakfast.
Dressed a very squirmy baby Beckam while singing him a song.
Convinced Pepper that she did actually need to wear shoes in winter.
Buckled kids into car seats and drive, breath, pray.
Went to support group, cried a lot.
I heard myself saying,
"I am scared...I am just so scared,"  and staring into my blurry lap.
I received hugs and beautiful one-line advice.
"Just say to him:  I really need to talk to you, and then tell him how you are feeling."
In response, I nodded my head and cried more.

At the end of the day, I snap at him,
"I've had a very hard day!"
"Why?" he is buttering a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.
The ham is a mountain, but I don't hate him for it.
"Because I've been crying all day."
"Crying all day...why?"
"I don't want to tell you, you'll get mad."
"Just give me a chance," and he flashes a smile from our dating days.
He uses it when he knows it will work.
"I'll tell you after you eat.  You are much nicer if you're not hungry."
After the sandwich, I tell him how I am feeling.
He does get mad.  He bolts up from his chair and goes downstairs.
I am left sitting there.  The words  I just said lying flat on the kitchen table.
I breathe again.
I gather the kids' coats, kiss him on the head, and take them to see the Christmas lights downtown.

There was no pit in my stomach. 
I never thought, "You should have stayed small."
I was not fat.

The equation used to be:  Vulnerable + Scared = Fat
I don't dare say I will never believe this equation again.  It doesn't work like that.
But at least it is not true today and it wasn't true yesterday.

All of this because we have to buy a new house.
That is why the fighting.
We have to buy a new house and we are scared.
He is afraid we won't have enough money.
He is afraid I will fight him every step of the way.
I'm afraid we won't be able to work together, and I'll have to either fight him or acquiesce.
Both options will create resentment in me.
We are afraid to trust.

I have heard so many of my married friends say,
"It's not supposed to be like this.  My husband is supposed to do/say/feel________"
This is a tempting rut.  My wheels want to roll into it.  Then I am absolved.
I get to sit back, roll along in my rut, and wait for him to get with the program.
But this is not love.  This is lazy.  Love requires my attention. 
Love easily morphs into sickness.
If  I'm not careful, I will be infected and not even know it.

I came home from the Christmas lights with two sleeping children
There mouths hanging open and winter coats still bundled under their chins.
My husband had morphed from Ogre back  into Charming-dating-smile-man.
"Why are you grinning?"
"Because I found us a way to get a down payment on a house."
Hallelujah...one giant slain...

    



 

 David = Sarah     Goliath = fear                                              Marshmallow = prayer