If we aren't appreciative of what we've got, why should the universe give us more?

If you couldn't tell from the title, today was therapy day.

Last night, J. and I got home and we got Bubba settled in the living room with his cup of milk and the mandatory SpongeBob viewing for the day. We went out into the kitchen and J. put his arms on my shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said, "I love you. I really love you." Then he kissed me, a real kiss, not one of those obligatory pecks. "Do you love me enough to do some housework?" I asked. "Yes I do," he responded. I asked if he would be on board with a chore list and he enthusiastically agreed. The tension lifted. I felt a lot better. I do feel like I'm on a yo-yo, but for now, I'm giving myself a rest.

I visited with my therapist today and told her what had been going on. She tried to enlighten me to what J. might be feeling in our relationship, and I argued for a half an hour about why he didn't have a right to feel that way. Then we did our "energy work" -- just use your imagination here, I'm sure you'll be close -- and I started thinking about my dad, and how I pretty much see him as the best man ever, and how J. invariably fails to pass muster when compared to him, which I do sometimes consciously but probably many times subconsciously. Then I started thinking about what it would be like if the other major female figure in J.'s life--his mother--had been perfect in his eyes, and how I would never have measured up, and what that would feel like. I started thinking about what it must be like for J. to live under that kind of burden.

Then I thought about my parents as a couple, and how my father always seemed to be the one who held everything together, while my mother had her depression and her meltdowns and an incredibly critical view of herself. When my mother had these "freak-outs" as I used to call them, my father would sit with her in the dark, holding her hand, whispering words that I couldn't hear but that somehow calmed her down. As a young child, it was uncomfortable and scary and made me feel responsible for my mother's unhappiness. As I got older, I got angry, and looked at it as completely sick and unhealthy. And now, I see it happening in myself.

In therapy today, I realized that in a way, I'm trying to fill, all by myself, both of the roles my parents played in their relationship. I'm having the meltdowns and the depression and the self-criticism...and I'm trying to hold things together by making sure everything gets done "just the right way" even if that means I have to do it myself. I'm not saying J. couldn't take a more active role in our household or our relationship. But it does seem that in a way, I have shut him out of our relationship. I realized today that I'm not meeting my own expectations for myself--but I'm expecting J. to meet my expectations for him. Is that fair?

When I do my energy work with my therapist, I feel like I reach down deep and come up with amazing knowledge and gems that I didn't know were there, like compassion and forgiveness and optimism, and when I come out of it, I feel calm and optimistic. We discussed ways I might be able to use this to my advantage during challenging times with J. While it may sound funny, and we did laugh about it, I decided I'm going to put an actual physical "STOP" sign or something like that next to the sink, which is where most of my resentment toward J. seems to come up. I'm hoping it will remind me to STOP and put down the damn dishes, find a quiet spot, and take 10 minutes to look inside my heart and try to find those gems of calmness and compassion. And then take my issue to J.

I love therapy day. Everything seems so fucking possible. Just like on Girls' Night.