Breathe in, two, three, four…
A couple of weeks ago, LOD and I were in my parents’ living room after the kids went to bed, and he said something. I replied. And then he said something else, and I said something else. And then HE SAID SOMETHING ELSE. AND THEN I SAID SOMETHING FUCKING ELSE!! And we both glared at each other with that I-wish-you’d-die-a-quick-and-noble-death-so-the-kids-could-be-really-proud-of-you-but-I’d-never-have-to-put-up-with-your-brand-of-crazy-ever-again look.
And as I walked away slowly, doing my calming breathing that I learned in prenatal yoga class 10 years ago, I thought, “We haven’t fought like this since we were married, when we were living in the same– Oh.”
Wow. Being in the same living space, even though we tried to not be there at the same time as much as possible, was just trigger city. At least for me. I was constantly on edge and had no emotional reserves whatsoever.
The morning after that fight, LOD found a house to rent. And then he went back to NYC to pack. And, God willing, we will never have to live in the same space again, because it’s a stressful place to be.