Came across an old diary the other night. An excerpt:
One hour Ethan can be
lovely - playing with the kids, cheerful with me, a pleasant human being. But
all it takes is something to frustrate him, annoy him, not go the way he wants
or even just take his attention and he'll turn into this miserable, irritable,
snappy, aggressive presence who puts everyone on edge and spreads an atmosphere
of gloom.
I wrote that in 2008. I remember mentally battling with the
same concerns in the year 2000 when I married him. And still today the doubts I
had all through the years we were dating and engaged about whether I'm really
meant to have pledged my life to this man, rise to the surface.
The fact that all the same things that bother me now about
Ethan bothered me then is both depressing and encouraging. Depressing because
in the sixteen years I've known Ethan, the same issues remain (although I would
say, on the whole, he's improved). But also encouraging in that I know, today,
I'm handling the frustrations, disappointments and anger I sometimes feel so
much better. The difference, I think, has been the diagnosis. Today when Ethan
overreacts, shuts down, lets me down, has mood swings - I see it as a product
of his Aspergers rather than a product of his just being a shi**y person or him
not loving me very much. And that perspective helps me not to take it (too)
personally, not to hold a grudge and, most importantly, to react to his
outbursts or retreats inside himself in a way that will help him and hopefully
encourage him out of that state rather than sink him further into it.
Yesterday was a case in point. It was the kids' school
summer fair. Ethan was supposed to be helping on the inflatable slide (I'd
signed him up, obviously!) but, a few minutes after telling him it was time for
his slot and sending him off, I noticed he was standing on the outskirts of the
activity looking very awkward whilst two very competent women were counting
kids onto the ride and taking their money. After, hissing surreptitiously to
Ethan I could sense he was already feeling stressed and completely out of his
depth. 'I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing,' he snapped loudly at me. And,
when I asked whether he'd spoken to the women in charge he responded forthrightly
'Yes,' then, a little less forthrightly 'I've told them I'm here.' To cut to
the chase, it was clear that communication between these women and Ethan had
not been very clear and, just as I would with a well-meaning but overwhelmed
child, I needed to wade in and speak to these women myself.
A conversation later, Ethan was given the role of ensuring
each child in a group of seven only had five goes on the slide. Things got
rapidly worse. Imagine the context: a loud primary school summer fair, music
blaring, kids everywhere, noise on every side, the sun glaring and Ethan, with
no facial recognition skills, trying to work out how many times each kid had
thrown themselves down an inflatable slide. It became pretty clear pretty
quickly that I was going to have to take over, despite the fact I'd just
finished a lengthy stint on the bric-a-brac stall! In the past I'd have been
irritated, annoyed, exasperated and sorry for
myself with the 'hopeless' husband I'd lumbered myself with and no doubt
have written it all down in my diary.
These days not only do I not have the time to write a diary
(although I guess this is one, of sorts) but I understand. I know that (most of
the time) Ethan does his best and I know that (most of the time) it's not his
fault. I can recognise that, if he had a broken leg, I wouldn't be expecting
him to run a marathon - and I try not to put more on him socially than he can
bear.
I also see that we are each in the unique position of being
able to compensate for the other's weaknesses. This is something I'm still -
slowly and painfully - learning: that, where he falls down, rather than berate
him for it, I'm in the privileged position of being able to help him up. And
vice versa. We're still learning to do it. But maybe that's the reason we were meant
to pledge our lives to each other.
I so admire your positivity Laura. When I look back at our relationship, and recall incidents from the past, I often wonder why I didn't recognise that it would never be a truly equal partnership. What I find most difficult is having to "keep an eye on" Mr H, to intervene and apologise for him if necessary, as I did for my children when they were young; I find it so hard to respect him.
ReplyDeleteHannah x
I applaud you Laura for sticking with it. I know from years of experience with this that it can be very exhausting. Hannah puts it so well as "keeping an eye" on situations.Living with a person with Asperger's is in a sense like haveing PTSD....you never know what's coming and when it goes bad it takes a lot to put yourself back together again for the next"battle". Of course there are those positives that keep us all going but the downside is very trying. I so know what you feel.
ReplyDeleteTerry