All the things I want you to hear

March 20

           I’ve been keeping a lot in and beating myself up so much lately that I’m about to bust open like a piñata. My mom suggested I get it out somehow. So here goes. (My sixth-grade self would be super happy right now…) This was my day:

           “It’s at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. And yes, I’m gonna come clean about everything.”

           I tell this to my friend, Cindy, who encourages me that it will all work out, my husband and I will fight for our relationship, we’ll come out stronger on the other side… Blah blah blah. I know she is trying to be helpful, but what she said reminds me of why Craig and I are going to counseling in the first place. Ending the call, I make my way to the kitchen to think.

           From the outside, people consider my husband and I saints with a good sense of humor. When our third child was born with Cerebral Palsy, we took it in stride and made the best of it. Don’t get me wrong, Annabeth is a huge blessing to our family and we wouldn’t have it any other way. But it’s hard some days. Really hard. And I am ok with admitting that. Craig, however, is not.

           Even though I’ve combed through the details of our lives wondering how we got to this point, I just can’t identify when the change happened. When we went from being teammates and emotionally connected to me feeling like I am living with a hybrid of a pushy, yet positive, salesman and a glazed-over cult-convert. While he smiles and speaks of nothing but peace and love, his eyes reveal a hardness.

           “Honey, can you help me load the wheelchair for AB’s appointment? Her physical therapy starts in forty-five minutes,” Craig calls from the garage.

           As if I didn’t know that; I’m the one who writes our schedules out on the whiteboard every week.

           Don’t do it, Linda. Don’t start arguments in your head that haven’t even happened yet, I scold myself.

           Glancing at the color-coded board (green for physical therapy, orange for neurology, pink for counseling, blue for our other children’s sports), I head outside and help my husband with the ramp on the side of our van. It’s warm and sunny but there’s still a slight chill in the air. Pretty standard for this time of year in central North Carolina.

           Later in the evening, I’m scrolling through FaceBook and see where Craig posted a picture of him helping Annabeth with stretches at the doctor’s office. His caption: “See how flexible our little AB is getting?! Makes me wanna get back in the gym myself!”

           My goodness, two exclamation points in a row. That’s just extra… I toss my phone in an effort to quell the irritation rising to the surface.

           “What was that about?” he asks, sliding into bed beside me.

           “Oh nothing, just another annoying post on Facebook.”

           “Political?”

           “Nah, just somebody being over the top.”

           “Oh ok.”

           And that’s it. This is what our conversations consist of these days. He could ask what is on my mind. Or why I shut my phone off as soon as he comes into the room. Part of me wants him to ask; to call me out. It would almost be a relief at this point for him to ask if we are ok; for him to wonder whether or not I am messaging someone else. No to the former and yes to the latter. Apparently, tomorrow is the designated time to clear the air though. Not tonight.

           For months I’ve bitten my tongue, and the last couple of weeks I have been almost choking on the words that want to leap out. I’m not used to keeping things from my husband though I also know this isn’t a conversation the two of us can handle on our own. (Believe me, I’ve tried to discuss less innocuous topics to no avail, so there’s no way he is willing to deal with this subject.)

           It may sound cliché, but I didn’t mean for it to happen - developing ‘feelings’ for my coworker. Long story short, he is someone I can’t hide from and he draws me out. He makes me talk about things and knows when I’m not ok - which has been a lot lately. Until him, I didn’t realize how important it was for me to be understood. And listened to.

           Feeling guilty, I unlock my phone and look through the family pictures Craig shared from last summer’s trip to the coast. It warms my heart to see Annabeth being carried in her “chariot” by her brothers and father across the sand. The wheelchair was made of plastic with two huge, blue, blown-up tires. A clunky thing that had to be lifted over the beach access before we could push her along the shoreline. She was so happy to stay outside all day and let the water wash over her legs, watching the waves go in and out.

           Then the comments. There are always comments on pictures like this.

           “Linda, your family is so beautiful. You have three fine men in your life. You and Annabeth are so blessed.”

           “Awww, Craig is the best! And those boys are growing up so fast.”

           “You guys are such an inspiration to us. Love y’all!”

           What’s wrong with me? I should be thankful to have a man who not only sticks with me but also takes such good care of our children.

           Guilt swirls in my stomach, then anger gets added to the mix. People don’t see the snapshots of our lives that no one takes. The scene of Craig sitting and listening intently as Annabeth stumbles through sentences juxtaposed to him telling me “just pray about it” when I’m clearly saying how frustrated I am. Or how about the image of me crying alone in the bathroom after an argument while he’s taking selfies with our daughter for his blog. Even worse, what if someone captured the moments when I was crying into my coworker’s arms at his house, on his couch?

           “Linda, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’ve got to talk to him about it.” Simon told me, as he rubbed my feet. Two weeks ago was the last time I went to his home and this past week I cut things off. For good. Hopefully.

           How can I trust someone who knows I am married but still takes such an interest in me? And yet I do. Can’t trust myself though. Nothing makes sense anymore and it is driving me crazy. I get up, put some pants on, and head out of the bedroom.

           “Where’re you going?” Craig asks, his eyes still closed.

           “I’m just feeling anxious about our appointment tomorrow,” I say, bending over to tie my tennis shoes. “Need to burn off some of this energy so I can sleep.”

           “Babe, it’s gonna be ok. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.”

           I don’t say anything and head into the dark.

March 21

           Today, Craig is wearing linen pants, a short-sleeved shirt, flip-flops, and sunglasses. The epitome of laid-back. I, on the other hand, look like I’m going to the gym after our counseling session. Maybe because I’m so uncomfortable on the inside I need to be comfortable on the outside? Or maybe I just don’t care how I look because I’m a wreck and am not interested in keeping up appearances anymore. Either way, I notice how our therapist takes us in as she shakes our hands.

           Good. Hope that means she’s perceptive and observant.

           “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper. I know this isn’t the easiest thing to do, so let me say I am genuinely glad to see you today. Why don’t we just jump right in and talk about why you’re here?”

           She ushers us to a plush sofa and settles into the oversized chair across from us.

           “So, you mean we’re not gonna be lying down while you sit behind us and take notes? And you’re not even wearing glasses!” Craig’s attempt at humor gets lost on me, but Ms. Windmere is gracious.

           “Oh, you know those Hollywood stereotypes aren’t real. And please - do NOT call me a shrink!”

           They share a laugh as I look around her office. Plants, a few pictures of family, lots of books. Regular enough.

           “Well,” Craig begins, “my understanding of why we’re here is that my wife is having a hard time dealing with the stress of caring for our special-needs daughter and I would like to learn how to be there for her more.” He turns to me and smiles, taking my hand in his. Heat surges through me; teeth clenching in rage.

           Ms. Windmere nods and looks from him to me. She sees my steely countenance and her eyebrows raise slightly.

           “And how about you, Mrs. Cooper, what is your understanding of why you’re here?”

           I let out a small cough to clear my throat before speaking. “Um, well, my husband is partially correct in what he said…”

           “Partially?” Craig asks, confused. Our counselor waits for me to go on.

           “Yeah. I mean, caring for our daughter has been taking a toll on me and it will be nice for us to learn how to be better at being there for each other. But that’s not all.” The seal is broken and I can’t stop the flow. On a roll, I say, “I’m also here to work through the issues we’re having because I don’t feel like I can talk to you anymore. And you don’t seem to take an interest in what’s going on with me at all. Yet you still post and blog like we’re one big happy family when that’s not the case…” I let the words trail off in hesitation of the last thing that needs to be said.

           Ms. Windmere doesn’t miss a beat. “And?”

           “And… Since I haven’t been able to talk to you lately, Craig, I’ve been talking to someone else. There - I said it.”

           “So you’ve been cheating on me?!” I’m not sure when his hand left mine, but it is rubbing his temples now; his head leaned back against the top of the couch.

           “Only emotionally. Nothing physical.” I immediately regret my response.

           “Only emotionally! Only emotionally! You say that like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s not on the same level as sexual infidelity.”

           I shift in my seat ready to fire back, but Ms. Windmere holds her arm out. “Is an emotional affair equivalent to a sexual affair in your eyes, Mr. Cooper?”

           “You can call me Craig, Ms. Windmere.”

           Sure, take time to schmooze mid-crisis.

           “To answer your question, Ms. Windmere, I don’t know if it’s equivalent or not. It’s different if you’re discussing it intellectually versus it happening in real-time and emotions are attached to it…”

           I take advantage of the pause. “Look, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it that way - like it was nothing. It is something. It’s a big deal and I’ve been a mess holding it in.”

           “Well, you sure fooled me. I couldn’t tell anything was wrong.” The pout on his face matches the sarcastic, whiny tone in his voice.

           “First off, you knew there was something wrong because it’s not like we’ve been communicating or getting along recently. And secondly, the fact that you didn’t know how bad it was is the issue! You don’t pay attention to me or try and see what’s going on or even attempt to understand where I’m coming from. All you care about is tending to Annabeth and showing the whole world what great care you take of her.” Exhaling loudly, I can’t help but slump into the cushions like a balloon releasing all its hot air.

           Ms. Windmere lets the silence run its course. Craig takes a deep sigh and decides to speak.

           “Ok. Ok. I get it. I pushed you away and another man was there to receive you.” He turns to our therapist. “Ms. Windmere, what do we do now?”

           “Well, doing things is only part of the process. Sitting in your emotions and picking through them and figuring out how you got here is equally important.”

           Undaunted, he says, “Alright. I’m here for it. Where do we start?”

           Ms. Windmere proceeds to talk with us about how she sees these dynamics a lot, we’re not the first couple to go through this, she knows plenty of exercises and tools that will help. Blah blah blah.

           “Mrs. Cooper, does that sound good?”

           I don’t know what she said, but I respond, “Yeah, sure.”

           With that, we wrap up our first session and get ready to leave.

           “It was a pleasure working with you all today. I really appreciate your honesty and openness to working on these issues.”

           “Yeah, well, that’s what we’re here for right?” Craig ends the interaction how he began it - making light of things.

           “Um, Craig, do you mind if I speak with Ms. Windmere for just a lil’ bit before we go?” I ask suddenly.

           He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Sure, honey. Whatever you need.”

           As soon as he is gone, I fall apart. Ms. Windmere hands me a tissue and waits for me to speak.

           “I don’t even know why I’m crying like this,” I sputter, trying to collect myself. “I mean, he could’ve been so much more upset… Maybe he will be later…”

           “Maybe he won’t. And maybe that’s what scares you the most.” Ms. Windmere looks me directly in the eyes and I can’t move from her gaze. Actually, her words are what has me stuck.

           “You know what it is? I’m afraid this is just another project for him - something to fix or work on. So he can be the hero who takes care of it and he can feel good about himself because there’s something he can do about a problem.”

           “Unlike him feeling helpless with Annabeth’s disability and trying to overcompensate?”

           “Yes! Wait… how did you…”

           “Like I said, Mrs. Cooper, I’ve seen this before. I wasn’t just referring to the affair. I was referring to the reasons why people have affairs in the first place. You didn’t get here overnight. And neither did he.”

           I scoot to the back of the sofa, grateful for someone putting words to what I’ve been unable to verbalize. Relieved that how I’ve been feeling doesn’t mean I’m a terrible person. (Though how I’ve reacted to those feelings is another matter.)

           Ms. Windmere leans forward and looks me in the eyes again. “My only question now is this: Do you want things to work out with your husband?” She was, in fact, taking notes this whole time and her pen is poised as a sword over the pad, slicing through any shred of pretense I may have left.

           I sit and think before answering her. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m willing to see how this goes. I want to at least try and work things out.”

           “That’s all I needed to hear,” she smiles and stands up, hand outstretched. “I’m really looking forward to meeting with you two again.”

           In a moment of spontaneity, I push past her hand and wrap my arms around her. “Thank you so much.”

           Wiping tears away, I leave her office and climb into our van.

           “Everything ok?” Craig asks, eyebrows creased over his clear, green eyes.

           “Nope,” I say. “But you know what? - it might be ok soon. Either way, stuff is getting addressed. And that’s enough for now.”

           So, that’s how it went - our first couple’s counseling session. I feel better already. Oh yeah, reminder: our next appointment is in two weeks. Call Cindy tomorrow. I also need to turn in the money for Brody’s baseball uniform. And, whatever you do, Linda… DO NOT text Simon.