Complaining About Hubby

My husband, nicknamed Gambit, is a very patient man. He has to be to deal me for 18 years. I know that he's lucky to have me but I do express unpleasantries from time to time (that's PC for complaining, yelling, avoiding fun, being antisocial....................you get the point).

I recently felt the need to vent (complain) about a few of Gambits actions that upset me. If I could have articulated myself at that time I would have calmly set a few boundaries. Instead I was carried away by my emotions and let them control of the conversation. What I thought would be five minute conversation turned into a two hour vent feast where Gambit took many blows to his ego. There was no name calling or I hates yous; instead I insisted that he had wronged me and I wanted him to acknowledge it and make an effort to change. Several times I thought that I should stop because I was unable to communicate in a productive. But I continued because the pent up frustration was leading to recurring depression so I thought that it was important to say it all while I had the chance.

I what I did was whine and blame Gambit for our problems. It was the benefit was getting me in touch with a lot of suppressed emotion that keep my passive and hopeless. Because I did not express my feelings, thoughts and solutions I put everything on Gambit's shoulders. If he did not fix the problem it would not be fixed. If he did not change his behaviors we were doomed to fail. It was his fault and I was a helpless victim...In reality I was a person who has not had much practice expressing my authority and disapproval. When I attempted to do so it comes off too aggressive and so I repent by backing off and becoming nice. This  mistake taught me that setting boundaries is a cure for nagging. Setting boundaries should include asking the action you desire, describing the action you don't like and explaining what your corresponding reaction each action in the future...

...Just in case you are wondering the argument was about how money should be handle, c'est la vie...

During the conversation with Gambit did not feel loving...I felt mean. The conversation did not feel productive...it felt like an excuse to take out my frustration and make him feel bad, but I don't regret it any of it. The things that I said to him were emotions that I've tried to manipulate into acceptable and loving reaction. I tried to make myself in a good wife by being submissive and supportive.When we disagreed I'd usually let him know my opinion but I tried to prove that I trusted him even when he made decision with our money that I did not like. So I did not express myself the way a good wife should...SO WHAT! I've learned through my battle with depression that I have to express myself and to set boundaries when I feel hurt or taken for granted. I may not always do it the right way, but I think that striving for perfection hinders balance and harmony in self. Instead I'll strive to be authentic and honest.

Still I felt bad for Gambit. Even a short session of someone pointing out my faults triggers emotions of self doubt, anger, and sadness. When people critic me I want immediate encouragement through loving affirmations or I will start to avoid that person. My husband however sat there and took complaints  like a champ: he did not interrupt, was not defensive or aggressive, and he never raised his voice. In fact he encouraged me to get it all out because he knew that I needed to. I was scared that he'd become cold and distant and that night he said some things that hurt my feeling but his words were vulnerable and honest and I was grateful for that. After all was said and done he wanted to make sure that I came to bed to lay beside him. He held my hand and wiped my tears.  We went to bed spent, but not angry and I knew then that we would be okay in the morning.

...And we were. He was so loving and attentive the next day: eager to please, lots of kisses and hugs. He wanted me by his side every free moment he had. So to thank him for encouraging me and helping me let go of my hurts I wrote a letter to him titled "Thank You My Love".

Gambit has taught me what unconditional love looks like. Gambit I love you more than I could ever express in words. "Between me and you... I can honestly say...that things can only get better..."

Related Posts:
Thank You...My Love Letter To Gambit-  3L Saturday Love
My Sick Baby- Love, Lust and Life
My Money Secret- 3L TCB Thursday

Thank You My Love- letter to Gambit

Thank you for letting me talk and vent my frustrations. You could have taken my words personally; instead you put my needs first and encouraged me to speak freely. Because of your patience and love my mind has clarity, my heart has peace, and my eyes have a greater appreciation for you. You mean the world to me, so it scares me to be honest with you about my anger or disappointments. I usually try to avoid complaining about my hurt feelings because of my fear of losing your love, but with out fail you still love me.

I know its hard for you to have those emotional talks. I know that when I get going my emotions are intense and my words can be hurtful. I know that those are the times that I share with you my arrogance, ingratitude, and moody disposition. I'm sorry for that, but I truly thank you for telling me be completely honest, reminding me not hold back.

Please believe me when I say that I love you the way you are; I am willing to do what it takes to make sure you know that. Thank you so much for your honesty and responding with a heart-warming apology. I know you are not perfect, but I can't imagine loving anyone else the way I love you. Thank you for helping me feel more secure about expressing myself, instead of just trying to "wish it away". Thank you so much for holding my hand, kissing my forehead and telling me over and over that you love me.

Daddy Don't Spank No More

Originally uploaded by Xiguli - Lisa




One of my favorite memories of me and my dad is the first and last time my dad spanked me. I know that sounds weird but let me explain.

I was, am and always will be daddy’s little girl, or baby girl as he use to call me. I loved spending time with my dad, watching TV with my dad, wrestling with my dad, working on cars with my dad, pretty much anything that involved my dad I loved to do, even if things I'd never do it alone (like watching Star Trek). My dad has an engaging laugh, a magical hug, impressive cognitive abilities, ambitious vision, eclectic interest, etc... He never tried to force his interest on me but just shared himself and the things he liked to do. My dad was offered a job in Texas and that’s why we moved down there. In Texas I learned how to get along with others, and one way was to try my best not to stand out. Don’t be the best dressed, but don’t be the worst either. Don’t be the teacher’s pet, but don’t get any F’s or D’s. I never was treated badly for being different, but I did not want to test the boundaries seeing that my skin color stuck out like a sore thumb.

I was a pretty smart kid and I liked learning, but I was scared that being labeled as a nerd was social suicide. Whenever someone, especially a teacher, put me on a pedestal or on the spot I quickly adjusted so that I could blend in again. I noticed early on in my life that I have the ability to take interest in just about anything. One thing I love my dad for is that he did not label or expect specific things from me. He introduced me to everything and stood back as I observed and decided for my self whether or not I wanted to try it out. He gets a lot of the credit for my interest in chess, football, books, math and anything else that could be perceived harshly by my critics.

Still I was a normal kid who loved to play. I especially loved to ride my bike. When I was 6 years old we stayed in a small two bedroom apartment. I was supposed to bring my bike inside every time I finished riding it; I didn't know why at the time but I assume it was to keep it from getting stolen. For some reason I would forget and leave it outside anyway. One day my father came home from work and saw that I again left my bike outside after several corrections. He was so calm when he instructed me to go my room. He sat down on my bed and told me why he was upset with me and gave the world famous “this is going to hurt me more than you” speech. I remember clearly that my dad barely touched my bottom as he spanked me, but I cried anyway.

He left my room and closed the door behind him. While perched on my knees right by the door, the gravity of what had just happened sunk in and I screamed at the top of my lungs, “HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANY MORE!. HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANY MORE! HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANY MORE!” As a kid I hardly ever cried; in fact my mother jokingly calls me ice queen. Today was different. I just kept repeating the “he doesn’t love me…” mantra until my voice gave out. At the time, I knew without a doubt that the spanking hurt my heart WAY more than it hurt his. Now of course I have a different perspective. I was a 6 years old daddy’s girl and believe; it was no coincidences that my father never spanked me again.

Fast forward to me at 9 years old with a C on my report card and teachers commenting that they believe that I’m not living up to my potential. (Question - How do teachers know that?) I'm in my bedroom with my dad as he explains that I'm on punishment is becuase he expects me to give my best. During these lectures I’d present a stone face, but my heart felt ripped my heart to shreds explaining to me how disappointed he was in me. All I could remember thinking was, “I wish he would just spank me.”

Related Links:

The Stepmom Struggle

Eggs, Ice and Tears

Father's Nose is Best