I woke up Friday morning feeling on edge, but my emotions were otherwise still comfortably numbed. My husband offered to make coffee after I got up. I accepted his offer and then went to get my shower so my hair would have some time to dry before leaving for my appointment with the my therapist.
I hung out in the bedroom while he worked in the living room. The kids got up but largely kept themselves occupied in their bedrooms since their dad was on the clock. My husband brought me the coffee after it was finished. It seems to have become this weird little symbol of strained peace and civility that if we go to get our own coffee, we will normally get the other person’s coffee ready at the same time.
I chatted and browsed social media and otherwise killed time until 10:30 when I left for my appointment. It seemed I’d spoken too soon when I had commented to A & H that I seemed to have some kind of protective barrier preserving me, emotionally. It was, instead, a delayed reaction.
The thought going through my head was that sex work should be informed and consensual. If I’m going to be trading sex for basic necessities that’s something I should get a say in, right? He’d been fine with paying for what I needed as long as he was getting sex out of it.
I felt like a hole. A hole for his dick to go in and for the family he wanted to come out of. That seemed to be how my husband saw me. When I’d described myself as his fleshlight and comfort pillow I seemed to have hit the mark in an uncomfortably close fashion. How I felt now was how evangelical Christianity and conservative men and women made me feel. As though my individual identity did not matter – just a hole for a dick to go in and a baby to come out.
I was on the road and blinking away tears. I felt like picking a direction and driving until I couldn’t drive but instead I followed the instructions from the GPS and arrived at my therapist’s office.
He asked me what he could do for me today, how could he support me, and I told him I didn’t know. We spent the next hour talking about what had happened, family dynamics and relationship dynamics in my family and my husband’s family. Near the end, he asked a surprising question: did I think my husband was intimidated by me? I responded that if he’d asked me that a year ago, I would have looked at him like he was crazy, but now – yes, it was possible. He responded that it was because I was a powerful woman.
It’s a nice compliment. It doesn’t match how I feel.
There was a shift after I left. I went from sadness to anger. I wished I had some kind of physical hobby that involved fighting, because I wanted to fight something. I still had that desire to pick a direction and drive until I couldn’t, but instead I drove to Walmart and picked up a new wireless mouse for my laptop and then drove home.