There it is again. The argument. It used to be the same one, but these days it can be almost anything.
We both grow grumpy. And grumpy turns into silent. Silent looks like backs turned in bed – sleep a long ways off.
My feelings are hurt. We don’t see life the same way. And hurt feelings make me stiff. I began to recount the many grievances I hold. I remember that thing he did a few days ago. I had forgotten it, but now I remember. I count up how many days its been since we’ve had sex. I start to say those dangerous “always” and “never” words. My heart grows colder. My soul whispers “No, not me. I will not be the one to give.”
Growing soft is so difficult to do. My pride, my hurt, my self-righteous anger get in the way. The distance between us in that bed, a distance my hand could so easily reach across, grows miles wide.
How to bend in such a moment? How to be the one to curl my body, soft, around his and whisper the words of reconciliation?
We are in that season, the one where leaves are falling off and we see so starkly that beneath the green we really are very different. What brought us together, anyway? How could we not know how much there was to divide? It seems that every day brings a new topic we do not see eye-to-eye on. As spring blooms around us, as days grow warm and long, our hearts grow stiff and cold.
I look at the children we have made together – their sweet smiles and curl-locked hair exploring the world with wonder and delight. Will this be the last hold that draws us together? In years to come, as they chase their dreams, will I find myself living with a stranger?
The rigors of life – the bills, the long work hours, the never-ending laundry and dishes that pile high. This is the stuff our life is made of now. Our children are young – they require so much work. Diligent work. Repetitive work. Who has the time to find a common ground? We have been married long enough to have changed. But are our changes bringing us closer? Or further apart?
So here we are.
Different sex drives.
So much different. What is the same?
And my back is still stiff. And I rehearse all of these things in my head – all of these questions loom large, like a mountain, ominous and frightening.And yet…
The mountain is mostly of my own making. I see the bare branches and forget that it is just a season. I have forgotten that we both crave sunshine, need air, bud green.
You’ve seen it, haven’t you? The flower that has been beaten down by the rain? And yet, when the sun comes out, it finds its life and strength again. And that flower lifts up it’s face and grows tall again. I want to be like that.
I want the ability to bend and sway – I want the softness that is true strength.
I whisper into the darkness.
And I choose to bend. I choose to curl my body around his. To take his hand. To say “I am sorry”, or “I was being petty”, or “I am with you”.
What do you choose to do today?