This Stuff is Hard

Some folks have said they’re surprised I’m not more stressed, not put out by Marcie’s changes. This impression could be because when I talk to others I stress the good things that have happened. I emphasize how I’ve adapted and adjusted because I love her. Marcie rarely says, “thank you”, but she often says, “I’m amazing.” This is her way of saying thanks. She consistently reinforces my belief that I have adjusted to her and to her I appear to be doing well. Her being trans is not a point of contention with us. But this stuff is hard, living day to day with a trans partner/spouse is not easy.

Yesterday showed how hard it really is, how close to the edge I often am without realizing it. This is a place I’ve not gone before.

My sleep patterns are a challenge. I struggle not with getting to sleep, but with staying asleep. Many times when I wake up I force myself to stay in bed since I know that’s what’s best. Yesterday morning, about 1, I lost the struggle and got  up. I wasn’t quite alert enough to write so I attacked the collection of papers, bandages, and such from her surgery, and the various other things that had gotten tossed in a pile on the kitchen table.

By her ‘wallet’ was a piece of paper from the clinic where her facial feminization surgery was done. I recognized it as a financial estimate. I’d filed the ones from her first surgery and thought I’d put this one with those for her next surgery. When I picked it up I realized it was from neither.

This one was for a CO2 laser procedure. The cost was several thousand dollars. We’d not discussed this as something she was planning to have done. She’d visited the surgeon’s office a couple days ago so I was not surprised she had something from him. I just wasn’t expecting an estimate for an additional procedure.

“Why hadn’t she told me she was considering this when she summarized the discussion during her visit? Was she not completely happy with the progress of her face at this point? Did she think she needed something else to look the way she wanted to look?” Keeping this from me was not like her once her thinking had progressed this far. “What had changed?”

It was after 1 in the morning. I didn’t want to wake her up. If I hadn’t been able to get back to sleep before, I knew I wouldn’t now. So I continued to clean up the table, filing papers, putting things away, and making piles for what should stay on the table. I put the paper with the estimate on top of a pile in the middle at the front edge of the table. She couldn’t miss it, a sign of my anger. Why hadn’t she discussed this with me?

I went into my den. I didn’t have the brain power to write or do anything that took great analytical ability so I sorted the stack of files I’d been ignoring for over a month. My anger didn’t recede, so I reorganized my to do lists.

All I could think of was why hadn’t she told me. She’s always methodical about telling me things, sometimes waiting until later in the day for a better time, but telling me none the less. But it had been a couple days. She didn’t usually wait this long.

I was distressed. I even used the word ‘angry’. Even when she first came out I’d never been angry with her. Keeping something from me, another 4 digit bill was something I didn’t understand. It had been buried amongst a bunch of other papers. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t see it. My brain went around in circles. I was even angrier because she’d made me angry. I was proud I’d never been angry before and now that had been destroyed. Finally at 3, I went back to bed and was able to sleep for a few hours.

When I woke up around 7 I was still upset. I did the dishes. This is significant because she does the dishes. It’s part of our routine. Dishes aren’t my job until they’re clean and I put them away. We do after all want to be able to find them when we need them. I needed to keep busy.

Marcie came out of our bedroom when I was finishing up. I don’t remember exactly how I started the conversation, except that it was abrupt. Her face showed that she knew I was upset, but she couldn’t figure out about what.

I told her about the estimate. She was still confused. She explained this wasn’t something she was even contemplating. She said a staff member had prepared it for the surgeon, as an option to present during her visit. Marcie had written on it the date for her next surgery only because the paper was handy. But her handwriting had made it seem more certain.

The conversation was tense. Her face showed an emotion I don’t think I’ve seen before. She didn’t understand what was upsetting me so much. “No, this was not something she was going to do.”

Our conversation went back and forth, each of us presenting our perception of the issue. She was trying to figure out why I was so upset. I was working to come down from the anger I’d felt during the night. As is typical for us, the longer we talked the less tense we both became, the more we began to understand the other’s position. The conversation was difficult. She couldn’t figure out why such a simple thing had created such a major disruption. My emotions were so strong they took a while to calm.

So what was my take away from all this? While the last week had been much better, my book had been published and she was about to finish the treatments for her face, we’d both been under a lot of stress during the previous three months. She was dealing with her complicated recovery from surgery. I was dealing with not understanding the nuances of the process of marketing a book.

While we both appeared to be coping with our individual challenges, this conversation, and the tension it evoked, made me realize how much stress I was suppressing.

In the grand scheme of things the idea of one more step in her transition was minor. If she wanted another procedure it wouldn’t break the bank. We’ve lived with a lot more since she’d come out. Yes things could be stressful, but I’ve taken them in stride and actually enjoyed much of what we’ve done to bring Marcie to the surface. I’d never burst out at her before. I understand what she is doing and why. I support it.

But this time the dam broke. It all spilled out. I’d reach my limit for the unexpected.

With a nap and a little distance I realized how often I don’t acknowledge how stressed I am. This stuff is hard. It’s easy to bottle it up inside, put on a good show, even to myself. I love Marcie. I support her and don’t want her to feel bad about my struggles, so I often hide them. But it does take a toll.

This one, relatively little thing, something I hadn’t anticipated, pushed me beyond my ability to cope. Forced me to realize how hard this stuff can be.

We’ve talked a lot since yesterday. My anger is gone. I’ve apologized for blowing this up out of proportion and not approaching my concerns more rationally. Things aren’t always hard. She has many more challenges than do I. Afterall, she’s the one experiencing the surgery and all which that entails. I don’t mind supporting her. Although sometimes I may make it look too easy. Marcie does an exceptional job of appreciating my support. A tad more recognition of the difficulty of this would be welcomed.

From my perspective, I should be more up front when I’m getting stress. I do worry how my admission of stress may impact her. But holding it inside can be worse. As I’ve said throughout this journey, communication is key, even if uncomfortable.

 

©Cheryl B Thompson: Use of the content for AI training is strictly prohibited. Content may be used to allow internet search engines to find and present data to users.