Tag: anger

22. Christ, if this isn’t therapy for beginners! 

We’ve had a sort of a break through.

That feeling when you feel so angry you can’t move past it, a complete cloud is covering you and nothing is visible outside it. That is what he’s been carrying for the last few weeks. It has filled the flat with it’s red mist. He would grunt, only say ‘hello’ with an accusation of things unsaid, Give a look that would say much but actually say nothing at all. . But yesterday, when the daughter was harangued for not doing something she was supposed to and then a whole pile of emotions were finally released, the fog finally cleared. He has finally let go of the anger. He said

And now he can see that we’re all hurting about this situation. It’s not just him, and it’s not just about him. He’s not being cast aside just because he’s the one moving out. And the fear he’s been hiding is now out there and spoken about and acknowledged. By him, more than anyone.

Christ, if this isn’t therapy for beginners! 

I had to explain that, while the daughter is indeed a pain-in-the-ass teenager and a bit slack at doing her share of chores around the flat, it’s not all she is. For, while our marriage ends, and we pick our way through the pieces and try to build a different relationship, one of the things we can be rightly proud of is that we grew a good human. She’s clever, kind, interesting, funny, thoughtful, wise, and lots of wonderful things that we helped her become. Yes, she’s many other things too. Aren’t we all? But the weight of all things negative have been placed on her lap and the tension between them both has been mighty of late.

I don’t want them to have a bad relationship. it would reflect badly on our history together if they did. It’s not a competition – who she get’s on best with – because the child / parent bond always changes over the years. She’s had times of being a Mummy’s and a Daddy’s girl. That’s how it should be. Kids should not the weapon of choice in any break up. It isn’t here, and I’ve helped that. And the flat feels better for it.

Next stage… shared custody of the dog!

15. So now I have to pick my anger apart. 

Fridays are always my turn to do the early dog walk. Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays have always been mine since he gave up teaching totally and those are his yoga instructor days. I’ll have to get used to every day is early dog walk day – but that’s hardly the worse thing in the world.

Back to today, and it’s wet and windy. Lovely. You can never take a brolly on a dog walk but it would be nice if my hood stayed up.  I’m walking around Brockwell Park. It’s one of South London’s delights, lots to see and do, beautiful spaces and great views – well, not today obviously. And as I stomp around throwing a tennis ball for an increasingly muddy  dog I suddenly get cross. About an discussion I’m having in my head with the soon to be ex. I’m holding both sides of course ( don’t pretend you don’t do this! ) and his (?!) request is really making me cross. I know it’s not real. But it’s there all the same.

So now I have to pick my anger apart. 

He moves out between Christmas and new year. I don’t want to be here for it. I’ve decided to go up north with the dog for a few days, and especially over New Year’s Eve. I haven’t told him that. I am taking the car – it’s mine anyway as he can’t, and very much won’t, drive. But my anger is that I’m convinced he’ll expect me to help.

There is so much he hasn’t considered, let alone slightly planned for. He’s happy to be going, I can tell. I would imagine that he is trying to keep a lid on it. But how head-in-the-clouds can you be? Does he still expect others to be the grown-ups for him? has he even thought about the logistics, what he’s going to take, what he’ll need? What he’s going to pack it in?

I have. I’ve worked out what bedding he can have so we both have an equal amount of new stuff to get. I know we have plenty of cutlery, china, mugs to share out. I’m thinking about the pots I really like that I’ve bought over the years and which ones I’ll grudgingly part with. I look at the shelves of books and look forward to most of them going. I see virtually a wall full of vinyl going with the stereo. I have walls of pictures – I’ve taken so many over the years – and I don’t mind what he takes, I really don’t. I’ll happily help him pack.

I just don’t want to help him leave.