Nine days since I blogged. Nine days! I feel like I should get a coin or something. Trouble is, I don’t really want a coin. I like blogging. It keeps me off of antidepressants.
So…The Great Steak Showdown is done. That’s a relief. But it doesn’t mean that Biff and I are done. Now, before you react and start wagging your finger at me with “Ohhhhhh, girrrrl” hear me out. I’ve learned a lot this last year. I mean I joke and all about wearing a cape and being an average superhero, but sometimes—more and more lately—I do feel so strong that I could wear a cape and actually get away with it. I imagine myself walking down the street, chest out, chin up, with my cape furling behind me and someone says “Now there goes a chick in a cape” instead of “There goes a chick with a serious personality disorder”. This is a good thing.
A year ago when my husband was mean to me or sarcastic or unkind, I took it. I accepted it, I took it like an unwanted hurtful present and I held it close. But this time when Biff was (in my opinion) selfish and hurtful, I didn’t accept it. In fact, I was strong enough to say in an almost superhero voice “This is not good enough for me” and I was willing to end it right there.
What changed then? Biff did not come crawling back and say “Oh, baby, I love you and I’ll never ever do that again.” I would’ve been skeptical if he had. What he did do was better and right. We sat on my deck outside and he said, “I fucked up. I’m really sorry. And when we fight again, I want to be able to talk to you about it.” We will fight again. But if we’re to succeed as a couple or even become better individuals, we’ll need to talk about it.
We’re trying again. Slowly. Differently. Things do feel different. We’re talking more, especially about all those tiny moments in our lives that have shaped us. Why, for example, when he sat down to eat two steaks I remembered the cupboard my stepmother kept locked. It was filled with good food, name brand food, when we kids had nothing to eat. It’s primal stuff like that.
I have no idea what will happen next, but I do know this: I stood up for myself, maybe for the first time ever, and Biff stood up for us. He’s trying. I’m trying. It’s all very adult. And it makes me strut just a little bit. Maybe at 37, divorced, mom to two kids and pseudo mom to two kittens, maybe I’ve finally grown up a little bit. I don’t wear a cape for real, but I feel it on my shoulders. And sometimes I even carry a whip.
That’s probably TMI.
I apologize for that image.
Hope to see some of you at the reading this Friday. I’ll be reading a tiny section of “Blunder Woman”. Come up and say hi. I don’t have a superhero death grip so if you want to shake hands, I promise to be gentle.