You know how, when someone is angry with you, that other person clips his words, keeps eye contact to the bare minimum, keeps his face expressionless or grim, and lets every conversational attempt die?
Yeah. That’s how my husband has been tonight. I asked a couple of times if he was angry that we had had a tearful conversation at lunchtime about lingering pain from his affair.
He said, no, that he’s just incredibly sad.
I don’t know what to think, because in the 21 years we’ve been married, he has always buried and denied his feelings, especially anger. He acts like feeling angry is the equivalent to having dogshit on his shoes, and he’s saying, “Stinky smell? What smell?!”
Goddamn it, I can *see* the dogshit on his shoes. So to speak.
Why do I feel guilty for “making” him feel sad and isolated tonight? He’s the one who had the affair.
I still love him. Not in the wide-open-arms way I did before, but it’s still love. And I don’t know what to do with that.
The lunch talk began with me asking him if he felt like we’d made any progress as a couple in the three years since the affair. It was a question that a friend had asked me earlier that day when I confided my blue feelings to her. He said the same thing I did — sometimes yes, sometimes no. The talk took a meandering path from there. I cried, as I always do, as I always *despise* doing. I can’t help it. If I’m feeling and talking, I will be crying. I might as well accept that about myself.
But now I carry the burden of knowing I passed some of my pain on to him today. It’s not that he doesn’t deserve it. But I don’t like to bleed all over his happy afternoon.
Why do I even think that way?
Why do I think he and others see me as so selfish, when I feel like I never put myself first?