If you ever want to know what I really think, chat with me at 3am. I don’t have much of a filter as it is, but there are no holds barred at 3am.
So it went on Sunday night.
A friend of mine found me alive and kicking at 3am and proceeded to ask me how things were going. So I told her. And told her. And told her some more.
The morning after, I didn’t feel so hot about what I had said.
I’ve been thinking a lot about boxes. When I started reading blogs in the Mohosphere, I would put each blog into a box. This one is the “bitter ex-mormon but still married” box, that one is the “happily living the lifestyle” box, and so on. Each time I would happen on a new blog, I would read a little bit and then place each blog into its appropriate box.
I like things to be tidy.
But life isn’t tidy.
Because behind each blog is a blogger. Each one of those bloggers is a person, and each person has bits and pieces that don’t quite fit into my proscribed idea of where they should “go.” I, and I think many others, do the same thing when I meet a person, or talk about a person, or even do it to myself.
So, when I told my friend all about our marital indiscretions, I forgot about that box that is reserved for adulterous husbands. The Yellow Rat Bastard box.
I vacillate between thinking of Husband as a Yellow Rat Bastard to the core, or as a wonderful son of a loving God who struggles with some pretty nasty temptations. It’s when I try to place him in a box that things get ugly, and tense, and my feelings turn inward to focus on only my pain and disappointment. When others hear about my life from me, they almost automatically retort with, “you deserve more. Get out.” But that isn’t necessarily fair to him or to me. The box fails to take many things into account.
(I wonder what people think of our marriage when Husband tells the story? I wonder if they place me in the Psychotic Controlling You-Know-What box. I think he is much more fair and less focused on his own pain and disappointment. I think he paints me in a much brighter light than I paint him. He has a lot coming at him from my side of the table, and yet, he rarely speaks of it. I could take a lesson.)
So, I have tried to smash the boxes and let each person have their own, individualized, bedazzled shopping bag- a bag that is constantly being embellished or simplified, but always fabulous. The process of smashing Husband’s box is a little bit difficult, but progress is being made. I just hope he sticks around long enough to see it completed.
Next up: M. Catherine Thomas. She gets my vote for next Prophet(ess).