Tomorrow …

So, tomorrow I am travelling with my two-year old to Alabama. Over 1000 miles long trek. I’m a nervous wreck, and I can feel the old familiar depression creeping in. I’m imagining all the worse possible scenarios, of course. I’m envisioning my son having a meltdown for four hours. I’m envisioning the plane malfunctioning and crashing. It’s a nightmare.

Anywho, my husband, who unfortunately for him, is my best friend. I love him dearly. He makes my life absolute bliss. Well, for the most part … He doesn’t understand my anxiety or my Aspergers. Sometimes it’s like we are speaking different languages. It’s very frustrating for me … and I can imagine for him, as well.

I told him this morning that I would like a way to communicate with him while I am away. And he told me, “Well, you’re there to visit with your family, not talk with me all day.” To be completely honest, he may as well have poured scalding water over my head. I get it. He doesn’t have that need to feel connected to me as I do to him, but having my desires and needs dismissed … feels cold and uncaring.

He believes that my need to feel connected with him has something to do with the differences in the way we were raised, and maybe it does. After all, Aspergers, anxiety, and ADHD have been linked to genetics. My parents raised me the best way they knew how, as I’m sure my husband’s mother did (as all parents do).

My upbringing and genetics have little to do with my personality, however. The way I feel love. You cannot teach a child to feel love in any one particular way. They feel love how ever they feel love, and that’s how you reach them.

I’m so beyond frustrated at this point. Upset. Discouraged. Depressed. Heartbroken. I just wished he would try to understand. Or at the very least, humor me. I wish he would allow me the one thing that would make this trip bearable.

I am going to try to focus my energies on my family. Remembering the joy and the happiness that my visit will bring. That’s what I will dwell on. No tears. Positive thoughts.


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