Sometimes it’s just sad to understand something. Not just sympathize, but understand. My heart ached a bit reading a blog today:
The Breakfast Monologue Especially this part… “Am I just being bitchy? Why do I dislike him so much? Maybe I feel cheated. I ended up with a husband that cares more about himself than about our marriage. I’m just a warm body in the same house so he won’t be alone. I’m not sure I would have ever found a husband who truly cared about me, but living alone would be so much better than living with a grown man who wants you to be his mother.”
Ouch. How many times have I said to him, “I’m not your mother!” or…
“Your mother and I are different people!” or…
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I want to end up like your mother!”
Why do I say that? Because his mother has managed his emotionally immature father for decades, about a quarter of a century longer than I’ve been dealing with a lot of the same garbage.
His mother has made it clear that her kids and grandkids will take a back seat when push comes to shove. Managing that overgrown emotional toxic toddler husband is her first priority. It has always been her first priority. When we were first married, my husband said, “She sold us down the river.” His words about his mother.
I have a soft spot for his mother though. I can’t help it. I’ve tried not to, especially since she hasn’t been particularly good to me over the years. I just can’t help having sympathy for her. I guess because to a degree, I understand. Involuntarily, mind you. She knows it too.
Like the blogger above, maybe I’ve felt cheated, and I’m not sure I would ever have found a man that truly loved me, but whatever it takes to mother an adult husband for life must be beyond what I’m capable of, because I’m wearing down and wearing out.