The Edge

It feels to me like there is a current trend of separation among the WoPAs I love and adore. And I feel a bit like the odd one out for not getting on bored with it. But that's OK. I've been the odd one out before and I likely will again and the bottom line is that what works for one (or all) of the WoPAs I know and love doesn't necessarily have to work for me. I'm not writing to call anybody out, but to give voice to the minority.

There is a current trend (OK lifelong habit) of compulsive honesty in my marriage and I can't quite get behind that either.

I need honesty, I value honesty, I am thankful beyond all reason that Husband has always come clean to me on his own.

But the truth is that his 2 second immediate confessions felt more like he was dumping the problem in my lap to be dealt with than real honesty.

So I was stuck. What was happening isn't working, but I couldn't figure out what to do about it because the enforcement ideas swirling around me (primarily "make him leave") just don't seem helpful for me.

In an individual therapy session we talked and explored the problem. And that's when I (ok really we....have I mentioned the value of a good shrink? No? Remember in the Duck Tales opening sequence where they dive and swim in piles of gold? Good shrinks are much more valuable than the piles of gold.) stumbled on The Edge of my comfort zone.

Do I like knowing? Yes.
Do I like him telling me quickly? Yes.
Do I like feeling responsible to fix it? No.
Let's talk about how the conversation goes when he tells you.  He says "I just masturbated" and you say.... "ok. what are you going to do next?" Some new ideas of conversation are thrown around and I (rudely - is there any other way?) interrupt That would never happen. There's never time for all this, babies would be crying or whining or breaking things. One of us would be on our way somewhere and late. Someone would have called. Other obligations would definitely come up before we could really get into it. 

The more I explained the more I realized I had unwittingly stumbled upon The Edge. The timing of the confession was my problem. The feeling of "dump and go" was created by the "going".

The conversation begins and ends with the confession. As if the telling of the event nullified it and nothing further was necessary. And that concept is maddening to me. It sends me straight off a cliff flailing my limbs as a slowly fall to the crashing waves beneath.

The edge of my comfort zone is my new boundary: I want to know, but you have to keep it to yourself until we can have a real conversation about it.

Because for me it makes sense.

Finding The Edge of my comfort, my appreciation, and my acceptance wasn't as hard or as scary as it usually is.

 

It makes me wonder if all my boundaries edges ought to feel so comfortable.