One thing my husband knew early on about himself was that he might hold onto certain personality traits if he didn’t make some monumental living changes when we originally tied the knot. That’s why he sold his condo when we got married. The day we came home from our honeymoon, we started our lives together in a house neither of us had lived in before. Even though he told me all about how he liked for things to be done, he couldn’t tell me how he always did things in that house since we were both new to it. I’m sure that helped us both in the beginning. And that beautiful black car being swapped for a Ford, as I mentioned earlier, happened when we were welcoming our first child into the world. That way, my husband wouldn’t be so bent on keeping his car as pristine as it had always been. He knew we would all be better off, and he’d be able to prioritize enjoying the baby and not what it did to the car over time.
While we chose to have a second baby and forego a sixth summer visit to the place we loved, we got our chance the following summer, when that baby was one year old. As we were planning it all, we had it in our minds that we might look around for a rental while we were there. It had now developed into a dream of ours to live there someday, and my husband loved entertaining the idea of raising our kids together in this beautiful place. Being 16 years older than I, he didn’t want to miss some of these most important years in his children’s lives, and he prioritized that over the idea of a full teaching schedule in perpetuity.
This might seem like a subtle change to an outside observer but seeing him shift his priorities was a signal to me that he was much deeper than his superficial tendencies let on. Having children changes a person’s priorities. My husband started thinking about his own lineage. The men in his family tended to die young, and he made the comment that if a shorter life was in his genes, he better choose to do what mattered most.
What do you know … we went on vacation with an idea in our minds to rent at some point for a year, and we came back as homeowners of the most perfect little house looking out toward the ocean, abutting a wooded acre. My husband had chosen life as a family over routines as an individual.
Before we knew it, we were cleaning our house to look even more spotless for potential buyers coming through every weekend, and hoping the timing would work out for us to move the following summer.
And, that’s exactly what happened. But before we even sold the house, I said something to my husband that was a complete departure from the way that we had been living together for those eight years. I mentioned it a few chapters earlier. I had reached a breaking point and I also wanted to live out this fresh start the right way, from the get-go. So, I told him, in no uncertain terms, that we would never again live the way we had been living. Whether we sold the house and made a permanent move, or stayed in it another year or ten, I would no longer tolerate the difficulty caused by his perfectionism—the lack of laughter, the lack of lightheartedness, the misappropriation of importance put on minutiae, and constantly sweating the small stuff instead of reveling in all of the wonder in our lives. I declared that his way was cold, rigid, and uncaring. Death. Conversely, my way was happy, warm, and loving. Life. I simply would not listen to, tolerate, or allow his OCPD to take the stage anymore. If we were going to make a change for our family’s sake, it would need to be a wonderful, soul-filling experience.
He didn’t reply; he very rarely replied to anything of consequence. But I could tell that he took it in and understood it. Eight years of micromanaging us was no longer an option.
You’re probably thinking, How hard was that? You should have said that much earlier in your marriage. The thing is, all those previous years, I wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. I had tried so hard to gently accommodate him so that he could gradually morph into a loving, companionable partner. It took me a long time to realize that at the pace we were going, it could take forever. I finally had to get firm about it. I didn’t want to be firm. I didn’t want to be the man of the house. I didn’t want to tell him what to do. I wanted him to do what was right because he had come to the conclusion himself. And earlier in our lives, I had a feeling that if I said such a thing, he’d leave. He wasn’t the type to bail on his responsibilities, nor was he the type to bail on a child; it’s just that now and then when hard things were communicated, he’d say something like, “Well, I used to have a recurring dream that I lived alone in the middle of nowhere in Alaska.” Or he’d say something like, “Well, maybe I should just go.” Those are frightening words to hear when you’re a person who wants your family to stay together through thick and thin.
The house sold at the most perfect time, the movers packed us up, and we headed to the place we had daydreamed about for so many years. My husband gave up his dream job—a job he had strived for when he was younger, and a job he thrived in for over 20 years. It was hard and nostalgic for him to say goodbye to his academic life, but he wanted this new dream more.
Just like that, we were on the verge of a whole new life. This immense departure from my husband’s need for predictability and daily routine gave way to stepping into the unknown. In a marriage in which barely noticeable morsels of hope were sparsely sprinkled through the seasons, this was an immense thunderbolt cracking the thick wall of uniformity and monotony that characterized most of his decisions. And it wasn’t even my idea.
We moved into our new house, which had sat for a year waiting for us, and our life became much more normal than ever. The kids played in creeks. They pulled up gigantic tadpoles from the depths of dark ponds. We built rafts out of driftwood at the beach. I even answered an ad about ducklings that needed a home. My husband, the man who once told me he would never allow animals in his house, now had three adorable ducklings growing by leaps and bounds in a box in the laundry room. Soon, after our son had been volunteering at the local animal shelter, we brought home a kitten that needed a home. I have photos of my husband lying on the couch one day with the sleeping kitten sprawled between his legs for four hours. The guy who never sat down or took time for anyone except his children was now cuddling with a cat, his least favorite animal. We even incubated duck eggs a little later and watched them crack out of their shells and hop around our kitchen.
We started a garden, grew greens for our salads, and attended every community event that happened in our town.
My husband formed new routines in this new place, and even though his days could be predicted down to the minute and were all about him, he was available to us if given a little forewarning.
I knew my spontaneity on a dime always scared him a bit, but it took me a while to realize that if I gave him a day or at least several hours of advanced warning, he’d be up for just about any outing or event as long as he could adjust his exercise schedule without missing any mileage. He also returned home from his triathlon around two o’clock each day, so we all came to understand that he was game for any family activity after that.
My husband was quickly becoming a changed man.
He was even becoming one of the locals, entwined in daily conver- sations and kind exchanges with other folks around town, and he grew to love that. His old self didn’t have time for people or interactions that lasted more than a few minutes. Not so anymore. Being part of a small community gave him a sense of belonging. He was no longer solo out in the world.
So there we were, enjoying familyhood with a husband and father who retired early, and seeing things in him we’d never seen before.
Neglect’s Toll on a Wife: Perfection’s Grip on My Husband’s Attention © 2023-2024 Lila Meadowbrook
