I'll Be Happy When...

I'll admit this exercise of reliving the events of one year ago through writing on my blog has been quite cathartic. It's given me a lot of grace for myself; I wish I could go back in time and give 2023 Kristen a great big hug, she was carrying some super heavy stuff and still showing up. With that being said, there are posts that I have known were coming and have been dreading the task of writing. This is one of them.

January 2023 slowly shuffled by, but with one new development: Jon now helped with the laundry. And I felt sheepish about this. As much as I appreciated the help, I knew the assistance was the result of me losing my cool via text when I had "The Great Christmas Present Breakdown" last month. I rarely lost my cool, but when I did it seemed to be in a text message. And the repercussion always seemed to be that I would never be allowed to forget it. Whether it was the infamous screenshot saved for all eternity or the sudden help with the laundry, reaching the end of my rope was immortalized.

But if a basket of folded laundry meant Jon was trying, then there was evidence that I was too. The moment I looked forward to all week that month was Sunday evenings when Jon and I would watch the newest episode of "The Last of Us," the zombie apocalypse show based on a videogame and filmed right here in Alberta. For that one hour a week, my mind was completely focused on identifying where each scene was filmed while my hands would rub Jon's feet until they tired out. Jon had mentioned he wished I touched him more, that I was more affectionate. And a foot rub means you're trying, right?

The last Sunday of January 2023 was when the episode "Long, Long Time" aired. I wish I could link you to a video of it, that you could watch the beautiful love story that plays out over the course of the episode. My words won't do it justice, but it was powerful; two imperfect characters loved each other as perfectly as they could. It reignited in me the strong love I had for Jon, regardless of how hard the past couple months had been. When the credits rolled, I sat on the couch with some rogue tears sliding down my face and decided to do something vulnerable and brave.

"I know you don't really love me right now, but I love you."

I keep wondering why the hell did I phrase it that way? Was I setting myself up for what came next? I couldn't have been, at least not consciously, because what came next fractured my heart. And what was that, what came next?

Nothing.

No corresponding reply of, "I love you too," and, "why would you say I don't love you?!" No awkward attempt of deflection, no, "Thank you," or, "Aww, I really like you." There wasn't even a physical sign of acknowledgement as I sat there making eye contact with him. His jaw was steeled, his eyes were emotionless, and after a few seconds he stood up to leave the room. He would have likely turned on his computer and started playing video games if I hadn't cried out, "You're killing me with what you aren't saying." This fortunately stopped him from actually leaving the room, as he stopped and sat on the floor across from me, but his silence remained.

There is something to be said about having the powerful emotion of love not be returned from the people in your life that you automatically assume would love you most. In all healthy families, you assume that your parents love you without question. You assume your spouse does too. To be intentionally denied their love is devastating. The pain is suffocating. It was clear Jon was making a statement with his silence and I began to ugly cry as I comprehended.

The silent standoff in the living room didn't last long. My weeping filled the air and I soon had to get up in search of tissues to dam the deluge of tears. As I sat on the toilet desperately trying to breathe through my pain, Jon came to sit on the floor in the hallway just outside the bathroom. It was then he finally broke his silence with something along the lines of, "I'm not happy."

Although I was crying, from there I took over the "conversation." I told him how I had been trying, how I'm an optimist, that I don't sit and stew, I work and look for the positive. I told him that he's a pessimist, that he has spent the entirety of our marriage telling himself, "I'll be happy when..."

"I'll be happy when I buy a new computer."

"I'll be happy when I quit my accounting job."

"I'll be happy when I'm a doctor."

I recognized the signs. There was a new thing, a new fixation he would be happy when it was fulfilled. And I was right. I honestly had no idea at this point, but he had started telling himself that he would be happier with someone else. And he was now actively pushing me away so he could be happier.