Do you ever feel like there is just something wrong with you?

I’ve heard it said that often the reasons we are unhappy have less to do with others meeting our expectations and more to do with our expectations themselves. Lately I’m starting to wonder if this is true in my life.

Last night the Mr. and I had a heated discussion. All the way to Portland. And all the way back.

I hate these discussions with a passion. The outcome is almost always predictable and almost always not in my favor. One might think it would discourage me from having them in the first place. In such cases one would drastically overestimate my level of common sense.

I don’t write this to whine so much as to call for backup, if you will. Surely I’m not the only one. And if I am, well, maybe you can call me on it. I’m all about personal growth. Yanno, as long as it’s not too painful and all.

The discussion began because I was frustrated. Now, I know that starting a discussion when I’m already frustrated probably isn’t the smartest thing to do (please refer to the common sense comment above). We were on our way to Portland, a good hour drive, 40 minutes before my stepdaughter’s graduation was scheduled to begin. 20 minutes in, I realize I have forgotten my camera. I had showered, gotten ready, got the kids settled and ironed hubby’s shirt, lest he show up wearing his work-casual ensemble minus slacks and plus his olive green cargo pants. Thinking this was not really graduation ceremony attire, I suggested a different shirt and slacks and offered to take care of the ironing. I’m not saying that had he done the ironing himself we wouldn’t have been late. But it did take more of my time and he was, in my defense, on the computer while this was going on. But…I digress.

My frustration was based on the fact that I was running around like a crazy person trying to solidify all the details of the evening while he sat comfortably at his computer, oblivious to the fact that I was quickly becoming overwhelmed. As I thought this over on the drive up there, I realized this was a pattern. One I hold a particular disdain for. One which often builds resentment in me and drives an ever-growing wedge between us.

You’ve heard me say it. I have Fibromyalgia. You’re not near as tired of hearing it as I am of living with it, trust me.

FM (as we like to shorten it) means I live with constant and severe muscle pain, exhaustion, fuzzy thinking and basically walk around like a 90 year old with mild senility. A few years ago, I would have managed to work all day, do the laundry, weed the garden take kids to sporting events and doctor visits and still get us to graduation, then have enough energy to be frisky when we got home. Now I have to choose between doing dishes or doing laundry. Working and tidying up the house. Weeding the garden and functioning for the next week. FM is debilitating and those who suffer from it often also suffer from severe depression due to the constant pain and limitations. I’ve had this for 3 years. Somehow, I feel like maybe those around me forget my limitations. Because I look just fine.

The request which began this knock-down-drag-out discussion was relatively simple. I wanted him to realize that he has, for our entire marriage, allowed me to make the world turn for this family without thinking about all that entails. And I have done it with a servant’s heart. When FM hit me, everything changed for me. But the expectations of those around me remained the same. If I didn’t do dishes, laundry, yardwork or whatever, it simply wasn’t done. The house was filthy, the animals had fleas, my flower bed is now a weed bed and even household maintenance is put off until it is screaming to be dealt with. All the while everyone in this house goes on about their lives pretending everything is copacetic. Well guess what? It’s NOT.

I told him I’m not asking him to take over all those duties. That would be completely unfair. He works long hours and isn’t capable of doing all that. I told him I appreciate the major efforts he has made lately to be more productive and help out. What I am asking for is different than “just do more”. I wanted him to first, acknowledge that my job is HUGE and he never gave it a thought or offered to help, and maybe, oh, apologize or something. Love me. Say I’m strong and wonderful. Then, I only wanted him to take the initiative to train himself in the managing of this family. Not actually do it, but know it inside out. Know the appointments, the sports events, the household needs, groceries, all that. Just KNOW them, not do them. It would not only give him a greater appreciation for all I do, but would also allow him to help me decide how to adjust my responsibilities so that I’m not so overwhelmed. He could help me delegate or, if necessary, eliminate tasks. He is a manager at work. Who would be better suited to manage our household? Or at least train me how to do it more efficiently.

Really, that’s all I wanted. Not much, right? Of course right!

As with most of our heated conversations, by the time we were finished, I believed I was ridiculous and selfish for asking something like that. I was lazy for not figuring it out myself. Demanding for asking such things of a man who puts all his effort into supporting this family financially. And my already low self esteem plummeted to the point where I wondered why he would even want to be with me. He said he would do more. I tried to explain I don’t WANT him to do more. That’s not what I said. So I have resigned myself to accept his efforts for what they are and continue to feel misunderstood.

While a part of me is losing faith in mankind as a whole for letting me down, a bigger part of me is losing more faith in myself. Because I should be able to do these things. My house should be clean and run efficiently. I should be so many things that I am not. And there are so many things I am that I should not be.

Are my expectations too high? Am I just that demanding? Or am I possibly starting to see the depression side of FM spiral downward until I can’t stand myself? It’s not much of a leap right now.

Today I’m going to work. I did my Yoga. I did some laundry. I’m exhausted and should be done, but I have more to do and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to finish. But what I really want is to curl up in bed and have a really good cry. Maybe figure some things out. Maybe just sleep.

Maybe just sleep.