Checking in on my husband

The things I need and want

I know what I want. I know I value snuggles on the sofa they are worth more than anything.

But a marriage has to be more than just snuggles on the sofa: they mean nothing without the intimacy of sharing one’s heart and mind.

What I’m afraid of is missing out on knowing all there is know about me. That includes mental, spiritual, and sexual exploration.

I have arranged my life in my little flat in a way that pleases me and is conducive to a peaceful mind. My flat is a tiny island of calm in a world of chaos.

Being a rented place there are only so many things that I can do, but I have chosen things that reflect who I am and what I need. The house feels like it reflects my husband more than me; my things are relegated to little corners of Jay shaped chaos (it’s chaos compared to the rest of the house).

I’m afraid that if I return to the house, that I will have to give everything up. My quirky décor, my reading routine, the lack of television, my bedtime routine. I’ll have to give up me.

Will have to give up me?

The real question

Of course, the real question begins all of this is: do I love my husband?

The answer is, of course, “yes”.

But what exactly does that mean? What kind of love is this? How all-encompassing is this love?

Is it friendship love? It’s definitely more than that. If he were just a friend, I would not want to be living with him and caring for him twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. Actually, I don’t want to be caring for him all the time. I want him to be at least my equal, and to lead in some areas of my life. I could not have put up with everything that I’ve had to live through with him. All my friendships are easy relationships: I couldn’t tolerate friendships as difficult as my marriage!

Is it as a brother? I have a brother. I love him. But we don’t see each other very often, although I would say that we are close now, in that we can talk about things and share things we can share with anybody else.

I have a special group of friends that I call my “eunuch brothers” – he’s definitely not in that category!

It is much easier for me to love my husband at a distance. Seeing him everyday can be hard work. I always felt that I was having to not be myself much of the time while I was with him.

That said, my husband has his own parts of me that he shares – or thought he shared – with nobody else. Finding out that some of these intimate parts of my soul I bared to others before I bared them to him is at the core of his sense of betrayal.

Sex, if we were still having any, would still have, until recently, been something that was his alone. We have talked around ideas of opening up the relationship, and have been to a sauna once where things happened that were outside of our old monogamous arrangement. This was done, offered by my husband, as a way to test the water safely. I just give him enormous credit and gratitude for working to explore the limits of what we can be as a couple.

Not enough?

Polyamory and open relationships are very common in most kink communities. … as the chances are slim of finding one partner who is open to all your fantasies and whose company you can tolerate on an ongoing basis.

The Ethical Slut, Janet W Hardy & Dossie Easton, 3rd Edition 2017

I’ve been trying to explain this to my husband: just because he cannot fulfil all my kink fantasies does not mean that he’s in any way inadequate, defective, or “not good enough”. What it does mean is that I can remove all the pressure from him to be what he is not. The same is true of the reverse: the pressure is off me to be what I am not.

Which parts of myself aren’t I true to when I’m with him?

I’ve always had special interests and a tendency towards monomania and hyper-fixation; I’ve had to rein these in to fit in with my husband’s idea on what a relationship should be. However, they are key to my spiritual wellbeing: without them, it seems that my moods are unstable and I cannot manage my emotions as well.

I stopped reading while I was with him. Not entirely, I would read on the loo, sometimes for as long as half an hour. Husband would occasionally grumble that I was “off again”. Little blocks of thirty minutes serving the dual purpose of allowing me to decompress from the stress of trying to be somebody else and allowing me time to do something I enjoyed.

I read the entire Amazon 100 Best Books list over a period of about five years mainly, while I was sat on the toilet.

I need routine. I need to know that I’m going to bed at a certain time, or that there are no consequences if I don’t go to bed on time. Late nights are my enemy and will upset me for the following day.

Until very recently, I never revealed to anybody the crazy reactions I get to things – such as the rage I recently admitted to feeling when I’m unexpectedly asked to do something, or the panic I feel when the phone rings unexpectedly. Or the ire towards the errant compiler when code that should run bug-free doesn’t. There are lots of things that irritate me enormously that I try to ignore because the feeling is irrational. I don’t want to feel angry or irritated, but I really should feel that it’s ok to express that emotion and then I can let it go.

Just today, there was one such incident where I had a plan for the day and other priorities required that I charge that plan. I was irritable and unreasonable. It took me a while to change gears and accommodate what needed to be done.

Actually, when I need to make a phone call, there is a ritual faff that I need to do in order to be in the correct frame of mind: I mustn’t be hungry or thirsty or need the loo. I will make sure that I’ve had a wee (whether or not one was needed), I’ll message a fresh drink and have it by my side when I make the call. I’ll probably eat a biscuit or a piece of fruit. Sand oil make sure that all distractions are fine away with, and that I have a means on making notes. I’ll probably also review what I need to say.

When an unexpected call comes in, I have had no chance to do any of the above.

Tired of talking?

Knowing that every time we meet at the moment, there will be talking creates an anxiety about meeting my husband that I wish wasn’t there. It really is good that we talk: it is the only way we can mend our relationship. Feeling anxious and fearful even before we meet makes me less flexible and drains my energy before we’ve even begun.

Sometimes (ok, quite a lot), I wish we could just be. Be together, yet doing our own thing and sharing it. That the other person would be interested but unaffected.

The thing is, it seems that we can’t really relax with each other until we’ve talked. We have to earn the nice times by talking about the difficult stuff. It is true that I run towards to difficult stuff more now, but it is still difficult, and if I get caught out, a meltdown or a shutdown is my reward. My husband suffers was a result of my mental crashes.

“You just want to do your own thing and not worry about anything else”

He says this quite a lot, along with saying that I’m selfish.

That’s hard to hear. I shouldn’t think that anybody likes to hear that they are selfish, or that somebody else considers them to be selfish.

Eating cake

My husband says that I want to have my cake and to eat it.

I know what that sentence means (to “have cake” and “eat cake” mean the same thing, we still say “would you like to have your cake now?”), but my logical brain gets involved and says to me “why would you buy a cake if you weren’t going to eat it?”.

I commented on this to a friend; he forwarded me the explanation of the phrase, which I already knew. I’m just acknowledging that my brain can be very literal at times!

My husband means that I want all the perks of a single life and all the perks of a married life.

My own space

Having lived in my own space for a couple of months and experienced the sense of safety, the ability to truly unwind and relax, I find that I am much saddened and more that a little fearful knowing that this is only for a finite time. Indeed, with the deadline set by my husband, that time may be even less than I hoped.

Is it appropriate to seek inviolable personal space while in a relationship? Perhaps, if both parties are agreeable to it. It would seem to me that the rules of any relationship are what the members of that relationship freely agree to together.

Having my own space is a perk of a single life. Does it need to be the price of a married life?

Why, oh why, did he ask me to move out and have this little bit of heaven?

My bloody brain

I know understand why I sometimes give strange responses to my husband: my ASD brain can give me unexpected emotional responses to things. Like the excitement of riding in an ambulance when my husband is ill when worry would be the more normal response, or the excitement of looking for a property in Nepal when my husband talks of leaving the country, where, perhaps, fear or grief might be more expected.

He says things like “please stop sending me mixed messages. It’s unkind and unfair.” And mixed messages are unfair. I blame that my brain just doesn’t work like other people’s. I respond how I respond. I need to accept that and not feel bad. I hope that he can work with the truth of my responses, even if they’re not what is expected. My surface emotional response (eg excitement) may be hiding a deeper feeling that I have not identified.

Self-diagnosis

I have extensively researched ASD and worked to confirm what is likely to mean that I have it, and these things that are contra-indications that I have it.

I write a detailed list of symptoms to give to my GP. I read it less than half before she decided to agree to the referral.

I shared this list with my husband. He was angry that I referred to him in one of the sections as having suggested that I have some if the symptoms. He has suggested it. I think he is angry for other reasons.

He strongly denies the possibility. He accuses me of rewriting history. He accuses me of making things up. He accuses me of saying what I want to see. Of persuading myself that I have the condition.

I do not want a disability. My life would have been so much simpler if I’d been able to relate to people the way he does. If I’d had a normal brain. I don’t think I would have struggled to support him so very much.

He challenges me that I haven’t considered the influence of learnt behaviour over pre-programmed behaviour. I have tried to bear that in mind. What he sees in that document isn’t a balanced dissertation discussing whether or not I have the condition. It simply lists the symptoms that I recognise. It doesn’t give any grading on the level of impact they have had on my life. That might be something I could add in.

I did some further exploration of shutdowns, asking a question based on one if the things he challenged me over: “is there a way to distinguish between an autism shutdown and a psychologically learnt behaviour?” The answer was detailed and I could clearly save beyond doubt see that I do indeed suffer from autistic shutdowns and that these are not learnt behaviours.

During our “discussion” over my ASD symptoms, he said that I was making it up when I said that I struggled with taste and texture. I was gobsmacked. I was pretty certain that I had never mentioned those things, because they are not a problem for me – I love food! I checked what I had sent him. I never mentioned them.

I believe that I have ASD. I believe that the coping mechanisms work for me. If they do work and I can more easily deal with life on life’s terms, then why will he not support me?

I believe that he has his own agenda. He needs to be able to blame me for things that have gone wrong in his life. I have said she did the things I said and did irrespective of any ASD diagnosis. I damaged him and I take responsibility for that.

I hope that the tools and techniques that can work for others with ASD will help me not to repeat the mistakes I have made in my relationship with him again.

I strongly feel that this ASD issue is a hard boundary.

Who do I like spending time with?

Whilst I enjoy working on my own projects, I also like working on things with my husband. I don’t often recognise that – that I enjoy working on projects with him. Its nice decorating a room with him sometimes.

I would like to decorate a room just for me as well though – a space completely to my (ever changing) tastes.

When I want to go and explore somewhere, sometimes I will want to go on my own – especially if I don’t really know what’s there (because he’ll get grumpy if we drive for an hour and there’s nothing to see or do). But when I do go somewhere on my own I very often think “I wish he was here”. He’s the first person I think to spend time with. He’s the one I want to go somewhere with and discover new things.

I like both being with him and not being with him.

Who do I want to share life events with?

Whatever news I have, whether good or bad, there is only one person I want to share it with.

When I’ve been to Bristol to see my dad, or my brother, or friends, I phone him on the way home. I want to tell him how it was, how it felt, whether everybody was ok.

He’s the person I want to share life’s ups and downs with, the little and the big triumphs, and it’s him I want to speak to when disaster breaks.

How do I feel when I think of life without him?

Its a feeling that is too big to fit into my brain without breaking it. When I do approach it, the size and complexity of the emotions overwhelm me. I tried to talk about it in a counselling session. I grew frustrated with my inability to express how I felt. I was crying – not with frustration though – with the feelings. But I could not work out what they were: fear? grief? sadness? something more complicated? all of those things?

Whatever the feeling was, it hurt like hell.

My counsellor ended up leaving me curled up on the floor. I had completely shutdown with the overwhelm. I couldn’t move for quite some time.

The day after I was still an emotional and confused wreck. Not understanding my feelings and not able to express them. I shall just have to label them as pain.

Generous spirit

… of you loosen your possessive grip on the love that’s already yours, you’ll get more from the person who loves you and maybe from some other people, too.

The Ethical Slut, Hardy & Easton, 3rd Edition, Ten Speed Press 2017

As we drove home from the gay sauna that my husband had suggested we visit as part of opening up our relationship, I felt an enormous burst of love for this man: he was trying so hard to make the relationship work. I cannot doubt his love for me and thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.

There was a song that I learnt way back in Sunday school when I was a single figure age; I remember it went something thing this:

Love is something if you give it away
Give it away, give it away
Love is something if you give it away
You'll end up having more
It's just like a magic penny
Hold it tight and you won't have any
Lend it, spend it, and you'll have so many
They'll roll all over the floor

The most precious gift

When you see somebody day in and day out, it’s like time has no meaning; one evening in front of the telly is much like any other evening.

My mum and I knew that time was precious: we rarely spoke about it, but we sometimes acknowledged that we had very few years where we could spend time together.

Spending just an evening, or a night, or just a day, with my husband makes that time more meaningful. There is intention and effort in the time spent in the other’s company.

It’s a step out of the routine – which because of its premeditated nature I feel most comfortable with. Occasional spur of the moment times would be just as precious because they are also rare.

Being intentionally together sometimes would seem to be better than being mindlessly co-located all of the time.

Love is a privilege

I used to say to my mum that having somebody to worry about is a privilege. She understood me. Now she is gone: I wish she were still here to worry about.

Loving somebody and being loved is also a privilege: it is not an inalienable right.

It is true that one has to be worthy of love.

So what does all this mean?

I have spent weeks, months, trying to work that out. I am still as fucking clueless as the day I started writing.

So I wonder, is the kind, loving thing to do, to let him go because the doubt and uncertainty that I am causing this lovely loving man is more than he deserves?