As a woman who grew up in Utah in the Mormon culture, I learned that everything is a woman’s fault. Awesome. I am the kind of person who feels responsible for almost everything and everyone. I am the kind of person that takes responsibility for things that are not my fault. I’d like to change this.
When I was married, everything was my fault. Why? Because everything was my responsibility.
When Ex went missing, I came back to find him after making sure Little Guy was somewhere safe. I could have called the Sheriff’s office and told them I had a hunch, and would they please go and check it out. But I didn’t. It didn’t even cross my mind that day. I know that Ex wanted ME to find him, and that I would, and that I would take care of everything, like always. And I am.
Last night when I was putting Little Guy to bed, Y&H came upstairs to tell me that he had to make our bed. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Sorry. I washed the sheets.”
Sorry for what? I have been moving by myself to the new house this week, cleaning the new house, and cooking dinner every night, and I’m sorry that I didn’t get around to putting the sheets back on the bed? For not doing everything? No!
I went to bed where Y&H was already asleep, exhausted from walking 15 miles that day during his Elk hunting. I tossed and turned a bit thinking about how I had gotten myself into the same relationship that I had experienced before with Ex.
But wait. This one’s different. I can talk to Y&H. So, I vowed to talk to him this morning before he left in his day-glow orange suit.
When we woke up, he asked what time I came to bed. I told him 9:20 p.m., after I had fallen asleep twice with Little Guy, then I couldn’t sleep because of my thought about our relationship.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked.
I took a breath and felt anxiety in my belly. “Was it a big deal that you had to make the bed last night?” I asked him as he put his clothes on.
“No. Did you think it was?” he asked.
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m just a little sensitive to that. It would have been a big deal to Ex. I had to do everything,” I said.
“I’m nothing like him, except for one day every three months,” he said. (He has a bad day about that often.) He sat on the bed and leaned over me so we could see each other’s faces outlined in the pre-dawn light. “I told you. I cook. I clean. It doesn’t bother me. I was just letting you know that I made the bed,” he said.
“Oh, good!” I said with relief. “I thought I had gone and done it again just when I was thinking that this one (relationship) would really work.”
We kissed goodbye and had a laugh. Whew, for once it’s NOT my fault. If I had kept that silly wondering inside and let it harbor and breed resentment toward Y&H, that would be my fault.