Marital Mondays: Joy. My Secret Medicine.
Choose joy. If you’ve ever read Hannibal’s blog, then you know that this has been an overarching theme in our marriage. We get up every morning and make a conscious decision to be present in this marriage, to be happy and to work through difficulty as it arises. Our relationship, however, was a different story.
Was it awful? No, but it wasn’t like this. If we had carried all of the habits we created in our relationship into our marriage we would already be on our way to divorce court. To be fair, we had to work through a lot of heavy stuff before we really even knew each other — the loss of Hannibal’s job and the death of my mother. When he lost his main gig, he moved in with me. I didn’t realize the ego damage that was being done each time I swiped my card to buy groceries for us or left and went off to work. Even losing all of his things to storage and giving up the freedom to play violent video games changed who he was. In less than a year, he had gained a step-daughter and lost very big chunks of who he was.
The day my mother died, I went out and bought three books. When I need guidance, I talk to elders, buy books, and write. The elders offer me perspective — knowing that they’ve been through the same crap and they’re still alive and well helps me somehow. The books give me insight and tools for coping and the writing gives me an outlet — hence the blog. Unfortunately, I also went through bouts of self-destructive behavior, suicide attempts, rage, lashing out at friends and other general grief stuff. What I didn’t notice was the effect that all of this was having on my then-fiance.
He didn’t know how to support me. He didn’t even understand the concept of one having a close relationship with their mother, because he wasn’t raised by his. The best he could do was throw our friends at me and say, “Please fix her. Please help.” Our friends did their best, but I wanted him. Just as resentment began to develop, I went to therapy. It helped me, but I wasn’t the only one who needed it.
We hit rock bottom three weeks before our wedding date. I didn’t think we were going to make it. Despite our serendipitous beginnings, it didn’t seem that we shared the same worldview. We didn’t seem to fit. I was uneasy and it wasn’t just cold feet. When Hannibal entered our home each day, I could see that it certainly wasn’t joy he was choosing. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to choose him anymore either. I was willing to call the whole thing off. Both of our traditions teach about choice and not only how important it is but how responsible we are for the choices we make.
We had a discussion, which I initiated. We used respectful words and calm tones but the words therein were definitely heated. Afterward, I began cutting my hair. I snipped each lock to shoulder length and began picking them out one by one. I was incensed. He apologized profusely for mistakes that had been made and promised a paradigm shift, but I couldn’t speak. He had been an asshole for the entire wedding planning process, requiring people we had just met to step in and bend over backwards.
I didn’t speak for two days — to anyone. In three days my hair was unlocked and while I stood in the shower with shampoo dripping down my back, I had a heart to heart with myself. I didn’t know if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone who seemed to lack compassion and had serious abandonment issues. His arrogance made me sick to my stomach, but I’d always been able to see his core — the man under all the bags he was carrying. “Your partner is your mirror.” I said aloud to myself. My mother had told me that the countless times I’d asked her questions about her and my father.
This was hard for me to accept. Had I acted in anger? Was I arrogant, too? Self-absorbed? Swirling my big toe around in the suds that were now forming near the drain, I avoided answering myself. For two weeks I carried these questions. They raced through my head the night before my wedding. When I smiled for each pretty little picture just two hours before my ceremony, the questions were still there. At the venue, I sat in the restroom waiting for the ceremony to start. I demanded an answer.
I had given so much of myself to this relationship — more than I ever had. I had finally found a person smart enough to even understand my depth. We enjoyed talking to each other about a wide variety of subjects. This was only my second time dating someone who I could actually talk politics with (I know. LAUSD sucks). He had uncovered the girl who just blurted out “penis” all of the time and gotten to know the real me. We didn’t just share midnight kisses and Grey’s Anatomy on Tivo. We had the same fears. We had the same desires, flaws and dreams. I was arrogant. I was self-absorbed. I had a lot to work on. I was human. I was his equal.
I peeked outside the bathroom door as “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurythmics started to play. The energy in the place was bananas! I felt so hype when I heard the music. I glanced over at him. He looked so confident — so ready to commit to me. My bridesmaids were smiling. My friend, Evan, stopped bobbing her head to the music only long enough to give me thumbs up as I stepped out of the bathroom and prepared to walk. I took Hannibal’s arm, and it was only at that moment that I was sure this was what I wanted to do.
Marriage so far has been joyous. We are not sleep walking through habitual responses on autopilot. We are conscious. Along with a weekly marital status update via email, Hannibal gives me flowers almost every week. While they are romantic, for us they represent the impermanence of life — the constant shifting. Instead of asking, “Where is the man/woman I married?” it is our way of asking each other, “Who are you today?” We are accepting that things do not stay the same.
As we head into our third year of it, we’re reading the book, If the Buddha Married: Creating Enduring Relationships on a Spiritual Path. My favorite quote from the book is …
“Joy is like an effervescence of the heart bursting open with awe, wonder and a big smile at the predicament of living. Many people are more comfortable bonding in pain and sadness than coming together in delight and pleasure. Joy is a powerful energy that sweeps through our bodies, breaking up tension, exposing our wounded places, and expanding our ability to embrace all feelings.”
When Hannibal adopted choosing joy as part of his paradigm shift, I wasn’t completely on board. I didn’t know how to do it. I certainly wasn’t going to plaster some fake smile across my face and fake it until I made it (even though he suggested that I should at one point). The truth is he did it so well it became infectious. He would literally walk into the house and make us all smile. I even saw changes in Mooch. With a history of depression and a last name like “difficulty,” which is what Tabu means in Swahili, it is easy to head into a downward spiral. I would never try to claim that I haven’t. Sometimes it feels like I have to relearn how to choose joy every day. Hey, whatever it takes.
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http://myshelltabu.com/choose-joy/marital-mondays-did-we-break-each-others-spirits/ Myshell Tabu
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