A few days ago I decided that this week’s blog entry should
be something positive – about how hard Ethan works to support us, his family.
About how difficult it must be for someone with Aspergers to keep up with an
emotional wife who keeps organising social occasions and three chaotic, noisy children.
Never mind the stressful, demanding job he does that requires him to be
sociable and put other people at their ease all day.
But then Sunday and today happened. And the positivity
drained away. It boils down to the number one gripe/obstacle/bone of contention
in our relationship: the way he communicates. Today, a misplaced wheelie bin
was enough to make him sound like he hated me: ‘What did you do with the bin
last night?’ he barked at me from the bottom of our driveway this morning amidst
the steady stream of mums (all of whom I knew) winding their way down our lane
to school with their offspring all looking over to see what the angry shouts
were about.
And on Sunday, the effort and tension of holding it all
together for nearly four hours while we had guests broke the moment they left. ‘No,
we’re not doing the balloons,’ he bawled to a sobbing Ava, whom earlier he’d whipped into an excited
frenzy with promises of releasing a helium balloon into the night sky. ‘It’s
too late. You’re going to bed.’ Never mind that he’d promised the kids they
could release their balloons that night. Never mind that they were, obviously, disappointed.
If he’d just said, ‘Aw, sorry darling. It’s got really late tonight. We’ll
definitely do it tomorrow,’ the great heaving sobs from Ava, the ensuing
argument between me and him and an evening of not speaking could probably have
been avoided.
But then, this afternoon, thankfully, despite the tricky
start, we’re coming full circle back to positivity. When I got back from work
I, calmly, explained how damaging it was to our relationship, and to the kids,
to be shouted at so aggressively all the time over every slight irritation (our
wheelie bin being returned next door by the bin men, Oliver spilling his drink,
Ava leaving her clarinet at school, me leaving notes to myself on the kitchen
side that get in his way). Ethan came up with the usual explanations – he was
simply trying to make himself heard (my counter argument: volume doesn’t have
to equal aggressive tone) – he didn’t feel aggressive, that’s not how he meant
it (my counter argument: that’s how he sounded. So it’s kind of irrelevant what
he meant because aggression and irritation are what he conveyed, whether he
meant to or not) - he doesn’t mean to speak like that (my counter argument: that
he manages to speak pleasantly to other people so he must know the difference
and be able to control how he comes across).
Once all the arguments and counter arguments had been
exhausted, he apologised, he got it (at least he says he did) and he thanked me
for pointing it out.
I could have come home and blasted him with disapproval,
disappointment, disdain and countless other dis’s. A few years ago that’s what I
would have done before shutting him out of my world. I’m glad that I too am
starting to change and adapt to the challenges we face. I’m glad I chose to
talk. I know it won’t solve the problem overnight: he’ll probably speak to me
the same way tomorrow. But perhaps, with my support, he won’t be quite so aggressive
quite so often.
And, knowing that I’m writing about his failings on this
blog, he’s still just brought me a cup of tea and a smile. And this morning,
while I was working, he washed the kitchen floor unasked. So it’s not all bad!
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