I just got my rebate cheque back from Costco. I think they’re lying. It’s for one hundred and thirty dollars and seventeen cents. I spend approximately twenty-ish thousand dollars there a year… In my humble opinion, my rebate cheque should read more like seven thousand dollars and seventeen cents.
There are nine of us that live in this house, and I buy enough chocolate and coffee to support a small village. Costco should be more greatful for my contribution.
I’m sure there’s some sort of percentage that I receive but I refuse to do the math. Mostly because I’m lazy and hate math, and one of G’s favourite expressions is “do the math!”
That makes me mad and rebellious. I hate doing the math. Math is mean.
However, I am good at doing the patterns. I see patterns of behaviour in other people. Usually they are unaware of their own patterns and that makes me feel like some sort of emotional guru. But then I find unknown patterns in myself and that makes me feel like maybe I’m not quite so smart after all.
I found a pattern of my own the other day, quite by accident.
I was with my mom doing some much needed therapy shopping and we were discussing my frequent bouts of anxiety, panic attacks, and the like. Very uplifting conversation.
I was talking about my feelings about such and my ex-husband and my current husband when this happened.
Me: “I feel like I don’t even know how love should feel or if it’s “good” love. I spent years in inner turmoil and huge anxiety because of *insert ex’s name* actions and behaviours that hurt me so much and I was told that I needed to grin and bear it because it was love, and now I’m in turmoil about G’s snowmobiling which feels like an action towards me that’s causing me massive turmoil and anxiety and it hurts and makes me unsure if this is real love or more torture or……….oh.”
It’s a pattern. Or at least it feels like a pattern to me. And I didn’t see it before. Not an outward pattern of behaviour but an inward pattern of thought and feeling.
This is why retail therapy and talks with your mother are needed.
Two vastly different men. One who didn’t care if I was hurting and one who does. One who hurt me deliberately and one who tries his very best not to hurt me. One who started a pattern of anxiety in me that lasted for seventeen years of marriage, and a new husband who has inherited the anxiety that is linked to those years of pain and inner turmoil.
This knowledge of mine doesn’t change circumstances, but it helps me know why I feel some of the things I do. I now understand that I am filtering this conflict with G through a past lens of past hurt and uncertainty and self preservation.
It’s a little bit of encouragement and feels like a solid step in the journey of healing.