Stop Caring

I've struggled with this post for awhile.

It's been written, rewritten, deleted and changed.
It's created a dearth of self doubt, introspection and depression.
But out of my dark thoughts, came a light.

A Twitter friend gave me the push I needed:
put it out there knowing you won't appeal to or appease everyone. Do it for you. Speak from your heart.
Say what needs to be said...you never know who's in the same boat.

Here it is:

I've stopped caring. 

I've stopped giving a shit when she's in her dark state, when she removes herself from all interactions, when she shuts herself away and turtles for the day. When my wife's PMDD takes over, when her bad thoughts, negative energy and deep sadness and high anxieties invade our home, I stop caring...and start trusting.

Expending energy to care and dote upon her, whilst in a dysphoric state is fruitless and draining.
She is not my focus during those times. My kids are of the utmost importance.
And, for the first time in our relationship, I am taking back time for me.

During the days and nights when she disappears for hours, when her mood drags down the happiest smile on our boys faces, when the tiniest morsel of sound or activity sets her off, I cannot stand by and let them be sucked into the vortex. So I care for them. I protect them. I guard them. I save them.

For that's the truth: PMDD is a selfish disorder which seeks conflict, dark thoughts and the opportunity to drag others down into a pit of despair. My youngest said, "It's like a Dementor from Harry Potter, sucking happiness out of everyone." Truer words never were spoke.

Before I continue, let me be clear.
Things have gotten better with her handling of her symptoms.
She's on medication.
She uses medicinal marijuana when REALLY bad...
She often gives me a heads up when the clouds are closing in.
She's tracking her symptoms and moods and energy levels.
But we both agree: it's a work in progress.

And, now that the boys are old enough to comprehend the reality of mommy's disorder and mental health, they're able to understand the need to let mommy have her space. They know to be quiet in or around the bedroom while mommy is resting or not feeling well. It's not easy, they don't like it but it needs to happen. They want to be with Mommy but...Mommy needs her space. Mommy needs her time away from everyone. Even them.

But how does that relate to 'not caring'? Simple. When she's down in the pits, I do what I can to let her be. She's a grown woman who's dealt with her PMDD years before she met me. Her coping mechanisms are ingrained...

She sleeps.
She drinks.
She removes herself.
She plays on her phone.

By removing herself from the equation of life, by not encouraging her to engage with us, but giving her the time to be on her own, am I enabling her? Am I making it okay to distance herself from her family?

I don't care.

She's going to do what she's going to do, regardless of words I speak.

Struggling with this, on a daily basis, not knowing what Mommy we'll see today, keeps us on edge.
A friend told me, "kids can sense the tension...they feel it."

It's true.
They know when I'm edgy because Mommy's on edge - I remind them to 'ssssshhh' or 'stop' more often than normal or necessary. They feel my energy and it's something I'm working on. I'm doing my damnedest to relieve myself of the negative energy and frustrated feelings I have, when she suddenly ups & leaves the connection with her family.

I leave her alone.
I don't ask questions.
I don't interfere with her state of coping.
I don't interrupt her thought process.
I let her be.
I leave her alone.

I've learned that a simple act, like opening our bedroom door to check on her, can negatively impact her process. Asking, "how're you feeling" or "do you need anything" or "can I get you something" is, still, a BAD IDEA.

So I do nothing. I say nothing. I leave her alone. She's a big girl who can take care of herself. She will do what she needs to do. As much as I want to help, to fix, I can't.

My energies are not towards her. My focus is not her. My life force is on my kids....and, as a promise to myself for 2020, on me....I need to think about me. I need to replenish my stores. I need to fill my cup. I need to lift my soul...somehow.

I can't do that if I'm being sucked into a vortex of negativity...so I won't be. When she wants to pick a fight, I ignore her. I say nothing. I ask nothing. It's hard as hell but it's the only way to protect my own sense of being.

If you're in the same state, I urge you to do the same.
If you're being attacked for trying to help, stop asking questions.
If you think you can fix your partner, you can't. You won't.
The reality is, during those days & nights, she doesn't want your help.
She doesn't want you to fix her.

'Caring less' does not mean 'loving less'. Rather, it's loving on a deeper level.

She knows you love her.
She knows you care.
Show it by giving her the space she needs.
Show it by being there when she survives another battle with her PMDD monster.
Show it by caring when the darkness subsides.

Yes, dear. Of course. Whatever you need.

Don’t worry, dear, I’ll make supper. No, go lie down while I feed the kids and make lunches for tomorrow. Of course, I’ll give them their bath and get them dressed and put them to bed. Yes, of course I’ll clean the kitchen and empty the dishwasher and wash the dishes. Don’t worry, honey, I’ll put in the laundry you need for work tomorrow. Yes, of course I’ll pour you another glass of wine while you eat chocolates on the couch, leaving me to handle, what feels like, the world. Oh, my cleaning is too loud? Sure, go lie down in our bed away from everyone. Aw, gee, I'm sorry you can't beat that level of Candy Crush...you're right - maybe you'll do it without any distractions or noise. 

But honey? Please don’t yell anymore. I’m not fighting with you. Not tonight. Not now. The kids don’t like it. Neither do I. Stop baiting me with your need to argue. I have too much to deal with to care about your thirst for aggression. I have two kids to handle...but, right now, it feels like three. 

...and now that the kitchen is cleaned, dishes away, boys bathed and in bed, bills paid, lunches are packed, laundry done and clothes ready for tomorrow, it's nice of you to join me on the couch. I thought it might be nice to sit together. What's that? You want to keep watching Downton Abbey? Of course, go ahead. I'll watch the baseball game on my phone. At least we're sitting together. Oh, you ate all the chips and finished the wine? No, it's okay, I'll get more tomorrow...I'll add them to the list. Pardon? My phone is too loud? It's too distracting for you while we sit together? Fine. I'm going to bed. Goodnight. 

This is my night. This is my life.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes...

“Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, 

and the word happy would lose its meaning 

if it were not balanced by sadness. 

It is far better to take things as they come along 

with patience and equanimity.” 

— Carl Jung 

I'm not happy. Or, at least, I feel unhappy. I feel anxious. I'm on edge. I feel as though my ability to have fun is leaving me. My happy place is cloudy.

Here's what I'm realizing: when she's in her darkened state - when her mood takes over, when she shuts down, when she tucks herself in her cocoon until the wave passes, when her PMDD drags her into the darkened place, it means I'm on my own with the kids...that means whatever I needed to do becomes secondary to ensuring the boys enjoy the world around them...so they don't get sucked into her vortex of sadness (which has happened). It means having no time for me, for things that I want/need to do.

And when I ask about how things are, how she's feeling, whether or not there's anything else I can do, I'm told, "I really don't want to think (or talk) about it" or, when the dark clouds dissipate, she doesn't want to dwell on her ugly place, doesn't want to let me in, She wants to make that experience part of the past, closed behind a door that shouldn't be opened. Why? Because it's over. It wasn't a pretty place and she doesn't want to go there again...but she will...and, again, I won't be allowed to enter. The cycle continues.

Where does that leave me?

I can't stop. I can't let up. I'm always on call. I'm always at the ready. I'm always on edge.

I can no longer predict when the dark days are coming...this means I have to be prepared for the worst. Every. Single. Day.

She finds happiness at school -  teaching, marking, planning, prepping and writing lessons...
She finds happiness with the kids - playing games, doing homework, reading to them...
She finds happiness on her own - playing on her phone, reading, going somewhere else...

I'm not a part of that happiness.

Her happiness is based in the immediate - at work, she's immersed; with the kids, she's immersed; on her own, doing what she wants, she's immersed. She doesn't immerse herself with me. Or, perhaps, she can't.

Why?

Because I'm trying to make sure she's happy. I'm trying to make sure the world around her is a happy place...that the boys are happy...that the home is still a home. I'm, usually, scrambling like a chicken in its coop, trying to get stuff organized...trying to make sure she and the boys are fed...trying to make sure her clothes are clean...trying to get ahead of the game, in terms of groceries, laundry, scheduling, etc...

Over the summer, her mom said to me, that I "should make a more concerted effort to do more around the house to reduce her anxiety." Are. You. F**king. Serious? (I bit my tongue, seething, for the rest of the evening, staying silent for fear of the words that might escape my lips).

Herein lies the rub:

I feel guilty.
I feel guilty thinking that I should take more time for me.
It feels selfish.
It feels that I'm only thinking of myself. (which I am).
It feels like, maybe, I really should do more around the house, that, somehow, it's my fault that she stills feels this darkness and still won't let me in.

And that thinking creates anxiety in me. But, honestly, I can't let her know that...letting her know that her dark places create a darkness in me only exacerbates her darkness...it makes it worse for her which only makes it worse for me. She doesn't want to talk about it when she's in her dark place and, by the time she's out of it, my thinking is, 'what's the point in bringing it up?' - I don't want to make things worse...so I keep it to myself. I tuck it down, deep inside, letting it fester.

I find myself losing sight of who I am.

I'm spending most of my waking day thinking about all the things that need to be done for other people that I'm forgetting about things for myself.

Case in point: I took the kids to the zoo...I remembered everything for them - snacks, swimsuit for the splashpad, change of clothes, sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, waterbottles, more snacks, towels...but did I bring anything for me? No. No snacks, no towel, no water for me...I even forgot the parking pass. The worst part, the most frustrating part, is that this is the second time in the past 2 weeks that I got everything ready for everyone else but didn't take the time to think about me.


She's told me before: "you don't have to do everything" and "don't think the it's all your responsibility"- these are good to hear...except for the fact that they're next to impossible to believe. If I don't take care of this stuff, while she's in her dark place, they stress her out if they remain incomplete when she returns to the land of the living. I feel guilty for putting any of that stress on her. I know - that's on me...that's my choice, my fault, my decision. And I admit it: sometimes I resent her for the feelings I've placed on myself. It's not fair to her and it's something I'm working diligently to fix.

I've been told that I'm a martyr...I'm 'killing myself for others'...apparently, I can't let other people help or do things...I can't share the load. Even as a toddler, one of my first full sentences was, "I do myself". I admit it: I'm a control freak. I think that comes, with being a teacher, as well. With 32 children in the class to attend to, my ADD is in full effect. At home, my ADD is channeled into making lists, doing things for the kids, starting projects or tasks (and, often, leaving them incomplete...which creates another ball of stress for her), cleaning or writing or cooking or organizing something just for the sake of doing something, making lists...just for the sake of making lists of things...

Lists make me happy...calendars give me focus...visuals help me stay on target. There's a great feeling of joy when I cross things off my lists. that sensation of, 'yeah, I did that'.

Making lists also calms me. It's what, often, puts me to sleep. Prior to taking my cleansing breaths before drifting off to Nevernever land, I make a list in my head of things to do when i wake. For instance, tomorrow's list includes: getting the boys dressed, fed, getting their lunches packed for camp, putting in a load of laundry before leaving, taking them to space camp, going to Walmart (which is an entire list of its own), going to the hardware store, then the bank...all before 10am. my wife will, likely, still be in bed when I get home. but, upon my return with a non-fat vanilla latte, she will rise...eventually...


It's taking time but I'm starting to equate 'happy' with 'patience' or 'contentment' - to try and find joy and peace in the moments of chaos - helping others makes me happy...it should not be a bone of contention or a root of tension or resentment. I spend too much time thinking about what needs to happen in the immediate or distant future rather than appreciating the present...

Changing myself is a stress in itself. if I don't change, I get stressed. if I do change, it comes with a whole new ball of stress. I wonder if there's a point to even trying. I resign myself that, I've come this far, why not keep on the same path?


Mark Manson (author of "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F**k") wrote, "Why can't you change yourself? Because the whole idea of change is an arbitrary construct. It's something you just made up to make yourself feel good (or bad)...what you decide is change is an imaginary line drawn in your head." Deciding to stop wearing plaid may be easy...but is it really changing me? Deciding to become a world renowned body builder will only result in me stressing out about my inability to morph into a massively muscled beast. But is that a necessary change?

Change is in the little things.

Writing this blog helps me understand who I am...what I'm really thinking...how I'm really feeling. It allows me the opportunity to reflect on my thoughts and actions and gives me perspective on how I'm doing." Perhaps the process of writing, the cathartic experience of expressing my thoughts is, in itself, a change. Learning something creates a change in comprehension of action and thought. Writing allows me to see things differently...

Which leads me to my last thought: journals. It's something I encouraged my wife to do (years ago)...she resisted. Only recently, however, she began writing in a notebook at the encouragement of a mutual friend (who, ironically, started journalling after I mentioned that it might help her understand her emotions and thoughts).

Guess what? Now, my wife understands herself a bit more. She's noticing patterns. She's recognizing common themes, thoughts and feelings. She's coming to grips with her emotions. She realizes that her 'shutting off' directly affects us. She sees that her PMDD is not her own battle...that we are collateral damage when she burrows into her dark place.

Has anything changed? Yes. she sees that her darkness creates a mood shift in me, once she rises from her depths. She recognizes that I need my space to decompress after coping with her moods, words and actions. She's beginning to understand the effects her PMDD has on the family. It's an ongoing process...a lifelong process, if you will...but the mindset is shifting...the times, they are a changing...

This is good.

Perhaps, one day, I'll crack her top three things that make her happy...

...

Farewell Chef.

Anthony Bourdain is dead.
It hurts me...a lot...and I didn't even know him.
And yet, I feel, I did know him.

His books changed me. They changed my outlook on life. They altered the way I see food. They affected my relationship with the world. Seriously. His writing - and his shows - became a significant part of how I connect with others...and how food is more than just nourishment. How cooking could (and should) be more a spiritual experience than a chore. How the world is aching to be tasted - not just with the tongue but with the soul.

...and I never met him...

I can only imagine the pain inside those who DID know him...those who knew him well. Chefs. Nigella Lawson. Marcus Samuelsson. Eric Ripert. The guys from Joe Beef. Alton. Ludo. Alex. Zimmern. Andres. Sanchez...the list is endless. The tributes, the words, the stories are overwhelming in sincerity and emotion.

I could sit and wonder all day what would make him leave this mortal coil - abandon his friends, family, relationship with the world that surrounds him. Part of me wonders, as my wife mentioned, "Maybe the darkness of the world finally got to him. The negativity that seems to be growing day by day." He fought against it. He worked to shine a light on issues and places that are overlooked, underappreciated and misunderstood. He sought to brighten the lives of those he met, those whose food he ingested, savoured and relished.

And now he's gone.

And the world seems even darker now.

An Open Letter to Partners of Women with PMDD.

Wednesday, May 31, 2017


Dearest Partners of Women with PMDD,

First of all, let me be clear. This letter does not come with answers or solutions. This is not a "be all & end all" to the chaos of PMDD. Every situation for every woman is different. Ergo (a word not used often enough), no household is the same. After many conversations and emails with men and women around the world, I've realized a few common traits, however. There are similar feelings, circumstances, emotions, issues and experiences...this letter addresses and recognizes them. This note recognizes the real, true emotions and thoughts emanating from the souls of men (and women) coping with a partner with PMDD. This is not a happy letter to make everyone feel better...it's one that draws attention to the mindset reality of living with PMDD. This isn't about me. It's about all of us.

I know you.

You're tired. Exhausted. You feel drained of all energy - emotional, physical, spiritual. Perhaps you feel absolutely nothing at all. You're like a zombie, going through the motions every day. But you're used to it...it's who you've become. You don't like it - you wish you had more energy and lust for life - but you give yourself a daily pep talk to survive the day, praying that today might be better...and you're not even the one with PMDD.

You are constantly on edge. You never know when her hurricane will hit. Predicting how one day to the next will transpire is fruitless. Hour to hour, day to day...hell, even minute to minute, is a pointless exercise. You see her, you love her, you feel for her but you wonder, "what else can I do?" - you've already tried everything!

You've thought about divorce. You've thought about having an affair. You've questioned your life choices...and those thoughts scare the hell out of you. So why do you stay? Why do you remain committed in a relationship that causes you stress and, most likely, shaves years off your life? Perhaps it's because of the words, "...in sickness and health...'til death do us part..." or maybe you're a glutton for punishment or feel, deep down, you can fix her or save her. Possibly, you fear what she'd do if you left. If you have kids, my guess is, you're there for them, more than her.

You've probably heard from her, more times than can count, that she "needs to do (this) or (that) because it might help" - this may include taking a course, going for a run, spending a day or two at the spa, getting massages, nights out with her girlfriends, binge watching Sex & the City or Supernatural, spending a few days here and there away from you (and the kids)...but can you do the same? No. Can you just take off for a few hours and have the day just for you? Probably not. Deep down, you wonder, could she handle the kids for 3 days without me? Your/my gut says no. The time you have out of the house is, most likely, spent getting groceries and doing things that need to be done to make the house and your life a little better.

You don't get enough downtime and, when you do have the opportunity to sit back and chill, your mind's still racing. Most likely, you just want to watch something pointless or mindless, have a beer and fall asleep. The thought of watching a show that has deep thoughts, intellectual content or educational information further stresses you out because your mind can't relax...there's no shut off switch to settle your brain.

You probably don't hear "Thank you" or "I love you" nearly often enough...and, as for, physical expressions of love? Not so much. (or, at least, not like it used to be). But when SHE wants it, you must provide! Perhaps sex - or any form of intimacy - feels like a chore...another task to complete. Or perhaps, when it finally happens - a moment together, both of you in a positive, awake state of mind - it's a relief...an opportunity to forget about the trials of tribulations of the past few days.

You say words but may not mean them...or they don't have the same feeling behind them like they used to: "I love you" - perhaps it's said so she can hear the words but, your feeling behind them is different. "It'll be okay" - knowing, deep down, it'll get better for her but not for you. Her diatribes, constant needs, argumentative statements, vitriolic, mean words...you'll remember them and hold onto them and think of them all too often. You'll start to believe them - or, at minimum, question who you are based on her hurtful words. You say, "I'm here for you" but, perhaps deep down, you wish at that moment, you weren't. "

You question everything & constantly overthink.When you're sitting on the porch with her, having your coffee or glass of wine, and you hear her sigh heavily, you wonder if that's a sign of impending doom - something dark on her mind, or a coping mechanism to calm herself...or maybe she's just relaxing for the first time in awhile. In any case, you don't ask because "is everything okay?" or "what're you thinking?" or "something wrong?" might set off a chain of events you don't want to deal with.

You constantly look for ways to control your environment - from the way you schedule your day to what you cook for supper or how you organize things around the house. More often than not, when she's in her state, decisions are a further stress and amplify her anxiety. What do you do? You make all the decisions, thinking that'll make life easier for her. Yet, unfortunately, it doesn't often work out that way. Perhaps it's her response of "you should've asked/told me" or "why didn't you let me know?" or "if you loved me you'd have...". Friends may say, "damned if you do, damned if you don't" but, to you, it had to be done. Survival instinct kicks in and you do what you need to do.

On the good days, when she's positive, upbeat, full of energy, revitalized, you struggle to enjoy the moment...you don't know how long it'll last...you fear the bubble popping...you're still on edge and, most likely, get down on yourself for not being fully present with her. Even when you know you SHOULD be enjoying yourself, you can't.

You're not fully present on a good day. You're not fully present when you're supposed to be having fun or enjoying life. But you ARE fully present when you're surrounded by her chaos, negativity, anger, frustration and darkness. Think about that for a moment:

You're only fully alive when you're being torn down, when your life force is being given to someone else, when every moment of your day is spent making sure your partner (and your household) lives to see another day.

You probably mutter or mumble under your breath as you walk away from her...things you wish you could say out loud but, knowing the damage they'd do to both of you, respecting her mental state, you keep it to yourself, tucking it deep inside where the feelings fester and ferment. Maybe those words of resentment will go away..or, maybe they've established a symbiotic relationship with your soul. These periods of resentment...they grow in number as the years go on...your thought process dips its toes into the murky waters of ire more frequently and easily.

You're constantly seeking an outlet for your tension. Nothing seems to work. Perhaps you go to the gym but, for some reason, you cut your workout short because you're worried about her...or you're too stressed to even relax to workout fully. Or, maybe, you go for a pint with your mates but, you're not fully present...your mind is elsewhere, wondering if she's okay. And you cut your night short because you know you need your energy to deal with the next day.

You feel guilty when you do something for you. Whether a ball game or buying something online, you wonder how she'll react or what she'll think or if she'll resent your 'selfish' ways. So you begin doing less and less for yourself, channelling your energy into your family and her.

If you have kids, you wonder what they'll remember about life in the house, growing up. Will they remember how Mommy hardly slept in the same bed as Daddy? Will they remember how Daddy would always wake them up in the morning, get them dressed, make them breakfast, pack their lunches, cook supper, clean the kitchen, do the laundry, get the groceries? Or will they remember that Daddy didn't have enough time to play with them because of everything he did to make the house function?

You cry. Sometimes there are tears streaming down your face or sometimes you're crying on the inside. But, regardless, you're sad. You're upset - at yourself, at her, at a higher power, at anyone, at no one - yet you keep it to yourself. It's your burden. Perhaps you feel like you asked for this. Perhaps you believe this is your own private challenge. Know you're not alone. There are people out there to help. People are there for you. They want to help...they're waiting at your doorstep...it's up to you to let them in.

This letter is part vent, part affirmation. Maybe you've had some (or all) of these thoughts. Maybe you can't relate at all. In any case, you aren't alone. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, strength builds from pain. For whatever your reasons, your resolve to remain committed to someone struggling with the very fabric of being, is powerful. While my words may not be enough, you are a great person, standing beside someone who needs you more than words. You may not hear it enough or feel it or even believe it but your presence is an amazing gift - not only to her but to the universe. You make her world - and the world around you - a better place.

Damned if you do...Damned if you don't.

Scenario:
The dudes want to go to the zoo.
"We'll go tomorrow morning." (all 4 of us: Mom, Dad, Dude & Lil Dude).

The next morning:
Mommy's tired. Mommy wants to go to zoo but won't get out of bed.
Mommy says she'll try to come. Mommy's anxiety is up.

30 minutes later:
The Dudes are ready. Daddy's ready. Mommy's still in bed.

What would you do?

If you leave with the Dudes, Mommy gets sad that you went without her.
If you stay, waiting, the Dudes get royally antsy, wanting to go to the zoo.
If you wait for Mommy, knowing her anxiety, how long will she last before bringing the excursion to an abrupt end, not being able to handle the crowds, the smells, the walking, the noise?

Then everyone is sad.

What'd I do?

I left. I took the boys. Didn't think twice.

In my mind, majority rules. They want to go. So do I. If Mommy really wants to come, if she really and truly believes her words that she "really wants to go", she'd get out of bed or at least show some initiative to engage in the adventure. She didn't.

Waiting for something to happen which, pessimistically, I believe won't occur, is common. I cannot sit around waiting, letting opportunities for the Dudes pass them by. In good conscience, I can't let them be held hostage by her emotional turmoil.

When she's fighting the darkness, battling her emotions, when she says, "I'll be up to help with supper / bedtime / bath / laundry / etc..." I know these to be words of hope, not reality.

I understand why she says it, I appreciate her interest, but I know it's false hope. It sucks...for the Dudes, especially. The number of times I've heard "...but Mommy said she would..." or "where's Mommy?" or "is Mommy not feeling well again?"...those are tough icebergs to navigate around emotionally for me. Because they notice. They see. They hear. They know.

The other night, during prayer, Lil Dude said "God Bless Mommy again" - I asked him why it was important to pray for Mommy again: "Because she's sick...she's not good...and that makes me sad."

Cue the tears.

I tried explaining that Mommy's not feeling well, that she still loves him very much and wishes she could read to him before bed...but he curled up into my chest and went to sleep...

It's her initiative that I miss. Showing the gumption to get off the couch, put down the phone and help...instead, when she comes out of her fog, it often segues into a depressive conversation listing all the things that DIDN'T get done over the past few days, completely ignoring the buttload of things that WERE accomplished. Lunches made. Dishes done. Kitchen cleaned. Laundry done, folded and put away. Groceries obtained. Boys bathed. Suppers organized for the week. Bills paid. Bins emptied.

But all that's secondary. If I remind her about everything I did while she was in her haze, she gets even MORE depressed, because I've made her feel worse for what little she did.

So I keep my mouth shut.

However, coming home from the zoo (or wherever exciting we've ventured) is a different story. I can tell she puts on a brave face when the Dudes relay all the things we saw, did, ate, explored and learned. I can tell she WANTS to see the pictures...but, at the same time, doesn't. It reminds her of why she didn't go. She retreats into the cocoon of her mind and, for the better part of the rest of the day/night, she's in a slump again.

All because I took them to the zoo.

I love her with all my heart...but the reality is that she's become secondary to the Dudes.

My thinking, in pseudo-dilemmas like these is: you handle you, I'll handle everything else.

But I wonder about the future...what will THEY remember?

Will they remember us Three Dudes going places (Da Boyz @ Da Zoo)?
Do they wonder why Mommy doesn't come with us? (Honestly, they don't often ask, when they're surrounded by animals & the smell of poop!)

Will they remember Daddy as someone who took them to the zoo or as someone who didn't have the time to play with them around the house because he was too busy making lunches, doing laundry, cooking supper, getting groceries and other things necessary for the four of us to function?

I fear the latter.

I want to care for her...but I need to care for the boys. It's a difficult conundrum.

When Dude was born, there were complications. The doctor said, very clearly, "you can stay here with your wife or go with your new son. It's one or the other."

I chose the Dude.

It's the not knowing that sucks.

IT'S THE NOT KNOWING THAT SUCKS.

ME: "What are some things that make you happy?"

WIFE: "Work definitely...and having some alone time...and the kids - they make me happy, too."

Not even an honorable mention...or an afterthought...I didn't even dent the radar of things that make her happy.

It was like a swift kick in the crotch with a steel toe boot.

My list, (which I explained during our grown up supper at a real restaurant without the kids) included the following: "cooking...just the wide eyed look of orgasmic delight when you walk in the house and smell the roasted garlic or spices, makes me happy; the boys...especially when they help out in the kitchen while cooking for mommy; music...which is no surprise..."

I thought about trailing off as I saw her anxiety level rise but I didn't, telling her that a lot of my happiness comes from the interaction and reactions I get from things I do beyond myself.

I ended the conversation with a simple statement: "I didn't even make your list." (then proceeded to finish my beer in awkward silence.)

It's the not knowing that sucks. Not knowing if it'll be a good day or a bad day. Not knowing if, with each passing hour, the mood will stay constant or change drastically...like a weather pattern with a pending storm circling. The persistent threat of dark clouds unleashing their fury...for a minute...an hour...a week. Unlike meteorologists, those of us dealing with partners with PMDD cannot predict, from moment to moment, what moods the future holds.

It's not knowing if a simple request, comment, suggestion or statement will lead to a pleasant response or a result in heightened anxiety, a war of words, a cold shoulder or the silent treatment...

It's not knowing if she'll come upstairs to bed or if she'll stay downstairs, in front of the TV, playing games on her cellphone. It's not knowing whether she'll make it through the day at school. Yes, I think about how she's coping at work. How she's handling the stresses of the day. But then, I remember, work makes her happy.

It's not knowing if a simple request or question (could you take the laundry out of the dryer? Could you please start cutting the veggies for supper? Would you mind clearing the table for supper? What do the boys want for lunches at school tomorrow?) might set her off or heighten her anxiety or initiate a tailspin.

It's the not knowing if I'm doing enough, or if (in fact) I make her happy, if I'm keeping the wolves at bay, giving her the space and alone time she wants, needs, craves and requires. It's not knowing when she'll come out of her dark place. It's also the not knowing if she's doing enough for herself while she's hibernating in the basement or burrowed in the bedroom. It's the not knowing if, one day, I'll come home to a corpse.

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So, what do I do?

Firstly, I acknowledge there are outcomes I cannot control so I focus on those I can. As my wife says, I martyr myself. I err on the side of caution, believing that, if I cannot accurately predict a good day, it'll be a bad day. Therefore, I start the day accepting the multitude of tasks that need to be done - if she offers to help, 'great' - it's a good day. I have my list of things to do and it's become a routine (for the most part) in the morning (though, really, how many times must I tell the Dudes to 'put on their pants!').

I know many out there may be thinking "that's not fair to her" and that I should just ask for her help or give her set tasks to accomplish. But, seriously, why poke the bear? If I can do it, why not do it? Why rattle the cage of someone on the edge? Why look back in anger - at myself, at her - should the task not get done? Whether or not she appreciates it, whether or not she takes me for granted, is irrelevant - at least while she's embedded in internal chaos...but acknowledgement when she emerges from her hellish cocoon helps.

A friend said to me: do you think she's taking you for granted? is she using her PMDD to get out of doing stuff, knowing you'll do it instead? I had to stop and think. I wondered the same thing but, my hope and my faith is that she wouldn't do that to me - to us, her family. To quote Agent Scully: I want to believe.

(I'm in the process of writing a longer letter to our loved ones suffering with PMDD but, in the meantime, here's the beginning)

Dearest women, suffering from PMDD, 
       Letting us know that you see us doing stuff to help you and the family, (if, that is, you remember what we did to help or support), gives us the energy or life force to fight for you another day. I'm not talking grand gestures of gratitude...a hug, a thank you...hell, even a text expressing a sentiment of gratitude...something that makes us believe that our efforts for you are not in vain. 

      We are committed and determined to fight for you...will you fight for us?

As an aside, I find this song rather powerful, in expressing the sentiment many men have for their partners who suffer not just with PMDD but other disorders: War Paint by Madeline Merlo.

Madeline Merlo - War Paint (lyric video)