I hate all my clothes.

I hate all my clothes and I need new ones.

Am I the only one who ever feels like this? I already know my clothes are perfectly fine and I should be thankful and content. But I’m not in the mood for such trifles.

Usually when I feel this way it’s because I’m overtired and pms’ing and secretly just anxious and depressed but on like a way deep down level. Like, I’m not acknowledging it or anything because it’s not that bad today. I just need new clothes is all and then I will feel much better.

On a completely unrelated note, did you know that the best way for a couple to dredge up the “well my mother did it this way” battle is to negotiate on where the milk goes in the fridge? Seriously though.

G thinks the milk should go in the door of the fridge and the condiments on the top shelf. That way you don’t have to dig through all the stuff in the way to get to the milk that’s inevetibly buried at the back of the shelf. I mean, this makes sense in a logical way, but it’s not right. The right way is to have the condiments in the door and the milk on the top shelf. Because that’s how my mother did it and so that’s how I’ve always done it, so therefore it’s the right way.

We had a meeting about it.

I listened to his logic and acquiesced and now the “correct” place for the milk to be is in the door of the fridge. Although currently I’m not exactly sure of it’s location………but the point is, we put aside our differences and made a decision. Together!

If only it was always that easy.

Last week I came home from my appointment with the psychologist brimming with enthusiasm and knowledge that would help us create a better future for ourselves and our children! With great gusto and conviction I relayed all my sacred information to G on how and when and why we should be doing all these things. I thought we were going to have this in-depth convo about it. Except we didn’t. We ended up fighting for the better part of 4 days. And when I mean fighting, I mean the silent treatment/cold shoulder/ heated conversations/more cold shoulder. By the end of four days I was a wreck and so was he.

So here’s what I did wrong: I forgot about important things.

I need to see G face to face when we talk about stuff like this. I can’t bring it up on the phone even though I’m SO excited to talk about it and share it with him! So I suck at this point. Very much.

Also, I need to be careful about my tone of voice. I think I’m conveying this:

“I am so excited and passionate and full of conviction about this so let’s DO THIS! I mean, yeah, let’s talk about it first and be on the same page and all but mostly LET’S DO THIS BECAUSE IT’S AWESOME!!”

Except that’s not always what he hears. If I’m not careful about my tone he hears his father and his brother. Which, in a nutshell, sounds like this. “You have no choice. You have no say. So go forth and do exactly what I tell you to do whether you like it or not! And no arguments!”

So yeah.

Because we really do have good communication skills and because we love each other and are committed to making this work and we trust each other, we were able to work it out. Trust, people, is huge when it comes to something like this. I should know because in my last marriage, I didn’t trust my husband like I trust G. It makes all the difference in the world when big stuff like this rears it’s ugly head.

Anyway, just a little reminder for my people to be careful with their partner. Watch your tone. Consider their current mindset and past hurts. Is this a face-to-face sort of conversation where they need to be able to read your eyes and your expressions? If they have a brutal past and deep wounds, are you likely to trigger them? Do you know what to do if you do trigger them? Are you in therapy with them?! Sorry, that last one was just a throw in because I think every couple should be in therapy together, regardless of whether or not you both have PTSD.

Good luck out there today. And may the new styles that flatter your figure be on sale! I mean, I’m not going to buy them all or anything, but after last week’s self-inflicted, albeit preposterous stress levels, I can at least look!


Photo by Shanna Camilleri on Unsplash

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