How To Love a Woman With Chronic Illness
LOVE is your husband, who works in the master bedroom rather than at a much bigger desk, at your maker table because he wants you to have as much access as possible to natural daylight. If you feel the dull effects of Seasonal Affective Disorder and Bipolar Depression, you can get any insight into the rays of sun.
LOVE is your husband, because he’s considerate, not even moving your jewelry boxes and any other scattered paraphernalia on this small desk around you. Rather, he works around it and plies his body gamily into a chair with a feminine appearance. Just like he works on your fibromyalgia, anxiety attacks, PMDD, moods up and down and you’re keen to hear that all’s finally all right.
LOVE always loads and unloads your husband, prepares most of your meals, takes the majority when you have pain or feeling extra low due to your bipolar 2 disorder. LOVE is your husband Chronic disease is not the same as easy times or interludes with every marriage, but you are always making up and just getting on despite your bone-deep frustration with the sometimes-sucky situation.
LOVE is about 30 laundry loads, a unmade bed and heads lost. It frequently involves voices raised, tears defeated and doors slammed. But it cuddles as your child finally goes to bed, just sit on the shoulder of your husband, feel his heart beat a steady rhythm and let your concerns float away.
LOVE is your life partner that listens to your catastrophe thinking and takes you back to the earth, makes reasonable plans, and doesn’t matter if you feel like you’re sleeping for some extra comfort with the stuffed animal you had since you were two.
LOVE is mysterious pelvic pain after surgery and driving to endless physician appointments. It is about the competitor health afflictions of your wife every day. It often feels more unilateral. It can sometimes be heavy and unbalanced and one partner can be so caring and responsible. There is a lot of chronic illnesses –physical or mental-to be carried around by your wife and no one is a saint with endless patience and good intentions. Your husband’s approaching, however.
The first step is to talk about uncomfortable, awkward things, which you prefer to bury under the dirty carpet, and to talk about them. LOVE is couple therapy. It is your own vibes and words, and with your appearance, your sighs and silence, it has everything that you say.
LOVE is your marriage’s bigger person; it is your first person to reach you, to take the stairs late in the evening and have you hurt, so both of you will not go to bed mad, full of rancor and hurt in your heart.
LOVE is appreciated by the best goddamn husband in the world who wants to be a better woman just to achieve his goodness, though he’s not close to a perfect man, just like you, with defects, weaknesses and foolish habits like the whole counter.
LOVE looks past the rubble on the counter. In the sink, the hair. After two days the compost and recycling boxes will still be at the end of the road. It pushes all this pointless crap to one side and says Thank God for the Mediterranean platter which entered your life back in 2008, has followed you stubbornly with a treasure to date, and has spent STAYED with you and supported you in that strange and unwanted world of chronic illness.
Whenever you see a newly-created hot water bottle or a lifting post-note on your computer, you realize that you were infinitely hurt.
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