So I wrote you recently how a podcast had opened my eyes to all those Hollywood writers (whose techniques, as a writer, I thought I was studying, but who suck me in just the same).
If there’s any possible time when my husband doesn’t respond to me like a guy in the movies, I’m pretty sure it’s me, and my subpar level of attractiveness.
Like most American women, I am a total sucker for rom-coms and TV drama with a smattering of romance. Who doesn’t love someone being swept off their feet, and laughing at all the stupid ways it goes wrong? Even after 18 years of marriage, I still love…love. Plus, there’s this (usually false?) idea that you’re getting a glimpse of the private stuff we never talk about.
As a writer and real person, I like to think myself immune from the illusions of a perfect husband. When a guy delivers an ingenious, sentimental line, I sometimes imagine the scriptwriter scrawling on a legal pad, grinning because she got it just right. (And if he’s saying something just right from a woman’s perspective, there’s a decent chance the scriptwriter was female.)
But a podcast recently pointed out something else to me. In Hollywood, couples–even married ones–don’t usually have a ton of needed lead time to…well. To get it on (fade to black).
This morning I schlepped over to the home a friend of mine. A stay-at-home mom of three preschoolers, she feels limited in what she can offer the community. But my hat goes off to her: She invited an adult day program to her home to sing carols, read the Christmas story from the Bible, and a enjoy pretty great spread of snacks.
Somewhere in the middle of the singing, I remembered that besides just wanting to love on the participants or go through the happy holiday motions, I wanted the carols to sink into my heart, too.
But I also know that somewhere, a part of me resists this.
Am I the only one who admits to slyly checking NBC.com to know when This is Us would restart after the summer? I keep waiting for an episode that won’t bring tears to my eyes, dagnabbit. Completely, 100% sucked in.
I’m a Christian. Not all of any show’s values will align with mine. All of life doesn’t align with my values. So there’s that. But honestly, I’m not easily hooked by TV shows. As a writer, I’m always analyzing: What’s the animal magnetism of this show? What’s timeless here? Why can’t we swivel our heads away from the Pearson family? Why do we love this messy (though typically non-crass) brood that could be any one of us?
Could it be there’s more here than some modern soap opera? What if there’s something of what we’re all gunning for?
Author’s note: If you missed these previous posts, you might grab them first for other overarching ideas on choosing vulnerability even when it’s hard–and being a safe place for others when they don’t have their act together.
My husband and I were headed out on a date night (can you hear the angel choirs singing? I needed it. As in, bad). It was admittedly last minute, to the point that my curly-turned-cotton-candy hair had been lassoed by a headband and fun-bun. But my kids would have food and it looked positive no one would burn anything down, so the big stuff was covered. Thus I sat in the passenger seat with my makeup bag, aka magic wand. I was just about through patting on concealer when my husband looked over at me.
In college, I answered a youth crisis hotline one night a week. So many who called in were so…raw. Or embarrassed. Or afraid.
There was something freeing, I think, calling someone anonymously; at finally being able to share the invisible bag of stones they carried around, its weight occasionally flopping over their foreheads and making it hard to see anything else.
This infographic is based on this full-text post, Ideas to Be Your Spouse’s Wingman. Print it here!
And catch more on the Freebies page!
Hey.
Thanks for being open with me.
Over your latte, I saw the concern in your eyes. I know this isn’t who you want to be; that you’re afraid of your own heart. I know you’re married, but constantly thinking about someone else. But I know longing runs deep.
The other night, one of my kids was at his finest. It was as if a switch had been flipped. He went from easy-going to stonewalling us, arms crossed, resolutely stubborn. And man, was I getting the stinkeye.
Though his attitude was not without consequences, God was kind to me. I think He reminded me that disproportionate reactions are a lot of times symptoms that something deeper’s being triggered. Thankfully, this tipped my husband and I off to dig and uncover the problem more than just slam down the symptom.
Because when you’re going through a hard time, life can feel a little…naked. So our emotional safety is directly tied to the degree of acceptance we sense from someone.
The power of shame continues to make my mind fizz. (Yours might, too: This post on shame in parenting has drawn more readers than any other post on this site, bar none.)
But now all those thoughts are bubbling over what shame might look like in a marriage; in our most intimate concentric circle of community. See, I know shame—this idea that I’m not worthy of connecting with someone—immediately leads me to cover up.
Take the typical fight with a spouse. First reaction is not typically, You’re so right. I’m snippy, and I have a profound case of PMS. It’s more along the lines of blame-shifting (Well, if you’d stop overreacting like some kind of hypersensitive Pomeranian). Denying (I didn’t say you were arrogant! I said you were cocky). Hiding (If I don’t say anything, it will look a lot like peace and taking the higher road).
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
© 2024 THE AWKWARD MOM
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
