As somebody who has been on and off the proverbial couch for the last 19 years, I am convinced that everyone complains about their parental units in therapy. I once had a therapist tell me that people do the “best that they can” when referring to our life givers. Do we really do the best that we can? When I think that I do, I soon realize that I don’t. As soon as I realize that I need to make a change in my behavior, that is when I realize that I am not putting my best foot forth and that I can do something differently. My uncontrollable temper and unfounded insecurities enable me to believe that I am doing the best that I can, but my heart leads me to believe differently.
Case in point, I have spent every other few days of the last several months bitching, pissing, moaning, yelling, screaming, threatening, throwing things and the list goes on when it comes to the best thing that has ever happened to me. Why does he stick around? I have no idea. I am not trying to push him away. I don’t think I keep pushing to see how far I can go, but just because I don’t think I do something doesn’t mean that I don’t do it. I have always prided myself on not being a nag, and now I have turned into something worse…A collage of temper tantrums with arms folded, bottom lip out and stomping so hard that my knees come up to my chin…Not sexy. I know that I can make him happy, so why aren’t I making an effort to make him happy?
I realized today, that if I want to hold on to him I better shape up or I am going to be on the next ship out which will be the Love Boat and I will be alone. Do I have a problem with being alone? No, however, I do have a problem being without him. I love every single thing about him, because all of those things are what make him the person that he is. Granted, he is no saint, but none of us are. Show me a saint and I will give you a cookie. My mother always said that my grandmother was a saint. As much as I loved my grandmother, I beg to differ after hearing some of the slurs she made in her old age…Not nice, Granny.
Today it hit me like a dodge ball in the head. My man (That's right, I said it...My man and nobody is woman enough to take him) is completely stressed out about anything you can think of and ready to pull every last piece of his facial hair out and my biggest stress today was having to go to Ulta to get the nail polish I wanted because Sephora didn’t have it. I know, boo-hoo, right?! I had to swallow a bottle of my own medicine and it tasted like castor oil circa The Little Rascals. That is when I realized that I need to go to boyfriend support boot camp. I will get there, because he is worth it.
I thank my lucky stars that everyday he must drive by a billboard that states “love is patient, love is kind”.
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