You don’t want to tell him, “You’re pretending that I’m okay, but I’m not okay so I need you to stop pretending.” You don’t You steadfastly refuse to talk about your crumbling house. There must be something wrong with him, that he still loves you. You haven’t allowed yourself to be vulnerable to the truth.
So instead, you’re fixated on what’s wrong with the yard. There must be something sick about him, that he pretends when you tell him to pretend, that he’s loyal to you, that he laughs at your jokes, that he tolerates your bad dogs. Being vulnerable and admitting how confused and sick and angry and ashamed you are is like stripping out the mold and the rotted boards from your house. And you’re refusing to do what you always do, which is run away, shut down, withhold, hide, and stop connecting. If you want to find a way out of this depression, you have to stop hiding and dare to connect in an honest way, with your husband, with yourself, with the WHOLE truth.
You are incredibly afraid of feeling your emotions. Saying “I have been hating you,” and crying, and knowing how much you care, feeling that, for the first time in years?
But once you embrace your feelings instead of hiding from them (and low-level, overcast-skies depression can be a manifestation of hiding from stronger, less acceptable emotions like shame and anger), you’ll finally see that being broken and scared is beautiful. Letting your friend move away and never thanking her for telling you the truth is ugly. Feeling unfixable and saying so, out loud, is beautiful. There’s not much in this world is more beautiful than that.
In that moment, you feel exhausted and erased and scared and crumpled and hideous, but you can also see, through your tears, that you are loved.
I don’t think you should give away everything you have just so you can finally tell the truth.But the entire time I’ve been with him, I’ve stayed a mess.