Aphasia

I am a Word Nerd. I love words. They are significant in both sound and meaning. I need them. They have power in my mind: power to hurt, power to heal. MTL has learned and is still learning that the specific words he uses mean a great deal, and there are times when he has to think carefully about not just the intent behind the words, but the words themselves.

I imagine this makes life with me more difficult than not.

You would think, then, that I would be silver-tongued and fluid, always with the right words to say, ready to be said at the right moment. In some situations, this is the case. Put me in a classroom and I do quite well. Place me at a keyboard and I also do well. Usually.

Add stress and conflict and difficult emotions, however, and the story changes. Ask me to express my deeper feelings, my innermost thoughts, and my tongue trips and falters and stills.

Last night I lay with my head on MTL's lap, watching TV, and I turned to look at him. I reached out a hand, touched his cheek, and said, Do you have any idea how much I love you?

How much? he asked.

I should know better. It's not the first time I've said something like that. Not the first time he's returned the volley and called me out. How much do I love him? How do I express it?

I don't know how to bridge the gap between thought and tongue at times like these. Do I list all the things I love about him? It's an insufficient list. I feel like I'm only skimming the surface. Do I try to explain, as I cannot even here with the space and time to write it out, the way he has become an integral, essential part of me? How do I do that without making it sound like I've lost myself, become less instead of more? How do I say anything without sounding like a mawkish teen caught in the throes of twitterpation? How do I explain this without mimicking the trite phrases of Hallmark cards?

None of my words are enough. The only ones that make any sense are those written by others straining to put into concrete letters the intangible substance of emotion. I look mainly to e. e. cummings, who at least grasped that conventional language was not enough, and his love poems resonate like no others do for me.

Such as today, when I am overwhelmed with the evils and frustrations of the world, and leaden January weighs my mind, and so

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds

-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

            --e. e. cummings

I am struggling to feel sufficient: in my work, in my parenting, in my love, in myself. I am struggling to hold onto hope when my mind so much more naturally turns to despair. And how do I bridge the gap when my words refuse to take shape?

This much, I said, and I stretched my arms out and away from my breast, shoulders straining at their edge.

Is that all? he asked, laughing.

Hey! I spread my arms as wide as I could! It was an obtuse angle!

You're an obtuse angle! he replied, and he laughed again and hugged me close.

I don't know if he truly understood what I was trying to say, what I'm trying to express when I make those oh so limited sounds and gestures.

I wish he could see into my mind, feel what I feel, know what I know. I just don't have the words.

Fighting For Forgiveness

There's a difference in me when it comes to arguments. I don't mean a difference from him, though that exists too, but a difference from how I used to be about arguing, like back with The Ex. And Lord, were there lots of arguments back then. Not only did we argue about everything, small and large and in between; we also didn't know HOW to argue.

Because let's face it: arguments happen. Doesn't matter how well-matched a couple is, doesn't matter how much they love each other--at some point there will be disagreement and feelings will get hurt and anger will rise and there will be an argument.

Once upon a time I used to think that the smallest argument spelled doom for a relationship. I came by that impression easily enough: every time I was dating someone and there was a disagreement or argument, it DID spell doom for the relationship. I averaged one brief (and I do mean brief) relationship per year from junior high through high school. Not the best way to learn, really.

With The Ex, I still had that feeling. There was really never that sense that the foundation was strong enough to withstand the battering of conflict. So I did anything I could to "resolve" conflict when it arose. Which meant, for me and for that relationship, being the one to give in, to cave, to placate, to say I was wrong (even when I wasn't, or at least wasn't the only one), to slap that bandaid over a gaping wound so that we could pretend that everything was All Better.

And that, of course, worked so well.

I have learned more about conflict--and resolving it--from a year and a half going through separation and divorce than I did from the thirteen years of the relationship prior. I also learned more about myself, and what I wanted from a real relationship, and how much I was willing to compromise, and how to learn to agree to disagree.

And how to forgive.

MTL and I don't have a lot of arguments. Generally speaking, there aren't too many things upon which we disagree. We're also able, for most things, to talk about stuff without arguing, even when we don't end up at the same place.

But not always.

Our main point of disagreement--and the main source of actual arguments, when they happen--is about the children. More specifically, the issue of Discipline. Now, MTL has helped me enormously with getting my head straight about the concept and in determining how I wanted to approach discipline with my boys. I'd gotten into bad habits, and between PPD and the whole separation/divorce thing and general craziness of it all, the boys were getting away with murder. And I was helping it happen. I've learned so much from him, and things are so much better with the boys than they were before.

But...we don't always see eye to eye. He still thinks I am too easily manipulated by the boys and too permissive and soft with them. I think there are times when he is too harsh. I also think there are times when he has blinders on because it's me with my boys, and I could swear he does similar things with KlutzGirl.

Sometimes it might be handy to have videos around the house so we could check ourselves and see what the other sees, you know?

We had an argument the other night. (It apparently was the night for it, as I found the next day that several friends had fights and arguments with their beloveds the same night. Must have been the moon.) Somehow we got on the subject of Discipline, again, centered on a couple of recent incidents with the boys. It got fairly heated, more so than usual, because we were tired and we'd had such a frickin' emotional couple of weeks. Plus, I was angry that he had been angry about these incidents and hadn't talked to me about it.

Yeah. I was angry that he had been angry. Well, more that he had been angry and hadn't tried to work it out.

Really, this did make sense in my head.

So I ended up stomping downstairs in a huff to lie in my angry misery on the couch watching idiotic late night TV. MTL came down a bit later to see if I was going to come back to bed or not, and we argued some more, and he stomped away upstairs.

And I stewed.

It didn't take all that long, however, before I started thinking more reasonably, despite the anger. The reality is that Discipline and Child Rearing are some of the most frequent points in conflict for stepcouples. Don't take my word for it: check out the excellent advice of Dr. Susan Wisdom (no really, that's her name). MTL and I both want the same things for our children--independence, happiness, and strength of character. We agree on a good bit of how to get there. But not all.

So I lay there and realized I had a decision to make. Keep punishing him by refusing to go back up to our bed? Because that just punished me too. Keep that emotional distance between us? Because that would only widen into a chasm. Wait for him to throw himself at my feet and say he was all wrong? Because that wasn't going to happen. Wait for myself to feel that I should go throw myself at his feet and say I was all wrong? Because that wasn't going to happen either.

Or take that step toward reconciliation? Because reconciliation doesn't have to mean we agree on everything. Forgiveness doesn't have to mean one side is wholly right and the other is wholly wrong.

I went upstairs. He was awake, reading my latest DnD blog post on his phone. I crawled into bed, and our legs touched. Neither of us drew away. I turned to one side and curled into his back. He leaned ever so slightly into me.

We were both still angry. But I told him I was sorry for being so defensive and angry instead of talking things through calmly. We told each other we love each other--even when angry. We fell asleep body to body, anger fading enough to give way to exhaustion.

I woke with his arms around me. He kissed my ear and whispered Brat, the way he does that really means I love you anyway.

I love him anyway too.