Last night I woke myself up crying and talking in my sleep. I was crying out the words “I can’t take it anymore.“
In real life, one of our older sons told us on a recent phone call that he just bought a new briefcase on sale for only fifteen dollars. The dream started out with my finding out my husband spent money on a briefcase. Not buying a briefcase, but repairing it.
That sounds so awful.
In real life, he carries a bag version of a briefcase, but if he said he wanted the traditional kind, I’d ask questions about what kind he had in mind, and start to research the best buy for what he needed. Yes, that’s right, I’m not really an impulse buyer. When you worry about money for food, utilities, or getting an inhaler for one of your kids, and you live that way long enough, you do tend to scrutinize any expenditures.
Back to the dream. In the dream, he already owned a case style briefcase, but he’d spent money on replacing a latch. It sounds frugal at first, and even in my dream it sounded reasonable. But in the dream (much as in real life), his answers to my questions when I asked him how much he’d spent shifted and changed. First he said he spent twenty dollars on the replacement part, then it came out to be forty dollars. At that point in the dream, I was upset and told him that economically it would have made more sense to replace the briefcase.
Enter my grandmother. Not my grandmom who lived far away but seemed to care about me, but the paternal grandma who lived near me when I grew up, but was like a hard-edged iceberg. Brrr. Did you ever try hugging an iceberg? In real life, both grandmothers died long ago, but in my dream, my sharp-tongued and critical grandma walked up to me. A young woman was with her, that looked to be in her early twenties.
My grandmother overheard the tail end of the argument with my husband, and just stood there giving me this critical look. It’s the kind of look you get from outsiders when you try to explain something about an interaction or incident with a passive aggressive spouse. The young woman looked a little confused, like she might like to give me the benefit of the doubt, but was taking her cue from the grandmother. That look on my grandmother’s face that expressed judgment and disapproval of me.
The looks says Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Surely his intentions were good. No man out there is perfect, and neither are you. Men need to be respected. You’re lucky that such a good man wants you. Why are you so upset about such a little thing?
You’re not a very good wife.
Like a bonafide codependent, it pierced any armor built in recovery, and felt like the straw that bent me to my knees.
At that point, it all, I mean it ALL, just felt like too much, and I started crying and said “I can’t take it anymore.”
Here I am though. Hoping today will be decent.