Jason had a long and busy season of work travel this spring, where he was away from home for nearly a full month. In between one of these week-long work trips, he flew home for three days before leaving again. On the Friday he was home, I said, “I could use your help refilling this bag of cat food from the huge bag upstairs as it’s easier to pour it with two people than for me to scoop it on my own.”
He said, “No problem,” but by Sunday night, the small bag still hadn’t been refilled. We were in the kitchen, getting ready to go upstairs to bed, and I sighed. “I guess I’ll be filling that bag of cat food on my own, because it’s the end of the weekend and you’ll be flying out again tomorrow.”
He went upstairs. I was a few minutes behind him, as I saw a text from my daughter that I wanted to respond to. While I was answering a couple of her questions on my phone, I could hear the noisy sounds of Jason scooping out dry kibble from one bag into another. By the time I climbed the stairs, I saw that he had placed the refilled bag onto my pillow.
I was mad. So was he. And this fight wasn’t about the cat food. It’s never about the cat food.
If you’ve been married for a long time, nearly three decades in our case, you begin to recognise the trigger points that exist between you. When I stated that I’d be filling the bag of cat food on my own, he heard it as an attack on him. He was stressed, and tired, and what could’ve been a calm discussion between us quickly escalated into a war.
The next day, as I drove him to the airport, I found myself crying. I told him that he hurt my feelings with the way he refilled the bag and left it on my pillow. He said that I had been passive aggressive with my tone, and that I didn’t ask him directly to do the job.
I realised that when I said I’d be doing the job on my own, what I was really saying was that I wish he didn’t have to leave again. That I felt raw and vulnerable, offering support to my kids and to him and longing for some of that support to come back to me. I want to be able to rely on my husband for help, as we are in a new phase of a long relationship where I’m improving at receiving care from him and he’s improving at giving more emotional nurture to me.
He cannot be expected to get all of that from, “I guess I’ll be filling that bag of cat food on my own.” But sometimes we say that instead of the really true thing, because what I felt was so much bigger and harder to admit. Telling someone we rely on them and we will miss them is a tender thing to say out loud, especially when I used to be skilled at pretending to be fine all the time, even when I was actually lonely and sad and lost.
He listened to me pour out my heart on that drive to the airport, and he apologised. He still had to get on a plane and leave for a week, but I felt lighter knowing that I hadn’t abandoned myself during this argument. I took the time to ask myself what was really going on here, and felt curious about why I was so sad and wounded by his actions.
I feel like I’m in a new phase of growth right now, where I’m committed to advocating for myself, even when I feel pressured to return to old, familiar, comfortable patterns in my relationships. I didn’t use to ask for help. I wore my ability to “do it all” as a badge of honour, while privately nursing my growing resentments toward my loved ones. I don’t want to do that anymore.
This new way is vulnerable. It requires me to admit that I need other people, and it means I’m responsible to initiate the hard conversation when I’ve been hurt. But now, Jason and I have discovered a new shorthand to represent the old relationship patterns compared to the healthier ones we are creating: It’s never about the cat food.
