Actually, what my wife said was "we need counseling," which ranked equally high on the list of shit you never want to hear from your significant other.
It felt like a kick in the junk. My gut instinct was to tell her we didn't, that she just needed to quit acting like a drama queen about everything, that we weren't in high school anymore, and that it was time to grow up and act like an adult. I wanted to tell her I was a damned good husband, the best she'd ever get, that she needed to quit trying to sabotage such a good thing. I wanted to tell her that she needs to stop craving the drama she constantly hears about from her friends' less successful marriages, or that she reads about in books, watches in movies. I wanted to tell her that I was right about all those stupid chick-flick romances where they somehow make it okay for a wife to cheat on her husband so long as the love interest is a rugged looking individual or socially awkward guy who speaks with a British twang to his accent. I wanted to tell her I'd dedicated my life to pleasing her, and this was the thanks I got.
Instead I just mumbled "okay," because I wasn't kidding about the part where I felt like I'd been kicked in the junk.
Yep. Just like that.You see, I love my wife. I've been faithful to her, never cheated. I've looked, sure. I'd have to be dead not to see and admire the parade of perky beautiful curves that surround me on a near daily basis. But I have, and this is the God's Honest Truth, never even so much as knowingly flirted with another woman since meeting my wife. This is partly because I was raised to respect the sanctity of marriage, and partly because I really do find my wife to be the most beautiful woman on the Earth, regardless of whatever the years have thrown at her. She never believes me when I tell her this--about her being beautiful, that is. But I really do feel this way. Since our first date, I've known she was the only woman for me. She made me want to be a better man.
I used to be a couch-born stoner, content to spend endless nights drunk off my arse and playing X-Box with friends in a ghetto apartment that reeked of cat piss. At any given time, my bank account probably had about $50 at most, and my friends ranged in situations ranging from only slightly better to far far worse than myself. My diet consisted of liquor, Coca-Cola, corn dogs, and whatever the nearest fast food would sell at 2am. I chain smoked, up to two and a half packs a day.
(left) Me, circa 2003.Since I met my wife, I've been faithfully employed full-time for several years, putting aside thousands for retirement, paid off two cars, and become a home-owner of a nice clean house. We've had a son that we've put into a top of the line pre-school, and what free time I have goes into either playing with him, teaching him new things, going on dates with my wife, or spending time with our respective families. We've all taken several vacations together, and when she wants some luxury like a Coach purse or something, she usually gets it. So the material and spending family time is covered.
I consider her my partner and equal in all things. I consult her before making any major decision, and when salespeople try to somehow make me feel like less of a man for considering her input, I mentally punch them in the face and then verbally tell them to go eff themselves while I take my business elsewhere. I genuinely trust and respect my wife. I still open doors for her, rise when she approaches the table I'm sitting at, pull her chair out for her, not because I feel her incapable of these things, but because that's how a Southern Gentleman rolls. Call it a Knight in Shining Armor Complex, or whatever. I call it Old School Class. In addition to the normal manly chores consisting of pretty much anything that takes place outside or has to be fixed inside, I also take turns cooking (quite well, actually), washing dishes, vaccuuming, and other things traditionally considered "Women's work."
Insofar as treatment goes, I have never raised a hand to my wife. When we have a disagreement, I try to make it about the action, and not the person. I admittedly used to pick too many things to disagree about, but over the years have mellowed to the point where if our security or safety is not at issue, I either do it myself or keep quiet about it. "I love you" is the last words she ever hears out of my mouth before falling asleep or parting ways. When I am wrong, I admit it. When I am right, I keep quiet about it. Whenever I can, I take time to hold her and find something about her to compliment: her hair, her eyes, her figure, her work, her driving, her patience, her perseverance...
...all of which made "we need counseling" all that much more devastating of a blow. To the best of my knowledge, I had been doing anything and everything under the sun to be the perfect husband and father. The idea that everything I had done was in vain, that I had somehow failed in some unforseen way, so badly that we needed professional counseling, just didn't register. I must have heard wrong. I asked her to clarify.
"We've had marital issues for a while."
Me, circa NOW.After a few more moments of discussion I found out she basically just didn't like me anymore. She was miserable around me. I caused her more stress by being around her than by being away from her. I had become the marital equivalent of the annoying mouth-breathing asshole you wish would just leave your damn cubicle so you can get on with your browsing instead of working.
Remember when I said "we need counseling" felt like a kick in the junk? This was like getting your junk slammed shut in a door then having that door blown up by Michael Fucking Bay.
"BOOM, Baby!"Honestly, in the end, it wasn't that hard of a choice. As I said, I love my wife very dearly, and even though she had just verbally emasculated me in front of my own son--did I forget to mention that part?--I decided to go ahead and give it a go. Perhaps it was all my fault after all. Or perhaps my wife had gone off the deep end. I had my opinion, she had hers. Obviously, we needed a neutral third party to help us get through this. Because when you're a grown up, you fucking DEAL with it. You don't run away crying, or cheating like a total pussy. Plus, if you think counseling is expensive, you should ask one of your divorced friends how much it costs. We would try counseling.
So far, counseling is going great.In the meantime, I started falling apart. There's no other real way to put it. Every person on Earth has that one thing that can bring you to tears, and there's always one person on Earth who makes it thousand times worse when they say it. I drifted through the next couple of weeks, alternating between numbness, depression, anger, and resentment. I couldn't concentrate on anything at work, the new semester's classes at college felt like padded cells. Things that used to roll off of me like water instead pushed me further and further to the breaking point. I was about to lose it. So I did the only thing I could think of, and emailed my wife asking for some small sign of hope. She told me to "stop being weak".
Seriously. Worst Day. Ever.Comfort certainly wasn't going to come from my wife, and my square lifestyle the last few years has since alienated all the friends I used to have. I tried to find some sort of online page for men going through rough spots in their marriage, but the only sites out there are either for couples or for women, by women. This page is for the men. Obviously I'm going to have to be the one to get myself out of this pit, since there's no one else out there to help me through it. Perhaps my own trials, errors, and attempts will be of some help to you. At the very least, maybe you'll get a few good laughs out of my suffering.
I'm sure in a few years I'll look back on this and laugh... right?
Just like parachute pants!
