To “Tire”-D to Jack Shit on Sundays
In my on-going battle to have a hap, hap, happy holiday season, I am now challenged, cognitively and emotionally that is to give up one of my most precious boundaries: Sunday Nights at Home. Yeah. I have fucking boundaries. Deal with it.
Working in the field of counseling, I take care of people all week long.
On the weekends I take care of my children. I attend their games and events. I cook, chauffeur and do all of which an involved and loving parent does. I am completing my twenty-five year sentence of parenting and I am damn near finished.
I also care for my wife on the weekends. I listen. I am just “with her.” I seek to make sure that she is happy…so I can have sex. Just being honest. Not that I don’t believe in the happy wife happy life concept. I believe in sex with a happy wife who is happier when her life consists of cooked or bought dinners, movies and massages.
Does not leave much time for me. And whose fault is that anyway? Mine. I am one fucking looser for putting myself last. Yep. Fucking looser. Jesus. Dumb.
Due to a variety of reasons, too lengthy and boring to get into at this time, and my desire to protect the lame and not-so-innocent, suffice to say that a Sunday Night is now “booked” with a family event. Fuck.
My initial thought: “Yet again I have to give up something that is vital to my recharging in order to care for someone else. I am fucking done caring for others. I need my Sundays to rejuvenate for the week to come.” Fuck. I must have a hidden mangina. Somewhere. Yet my cognition is honest. Reasonable. A touch self-loathing, then again, balanced.
Second thought: “Did anyone think to ask me if this would work or approach me gently knowing that Sunday Nights are a big time boundary for me?” Yep. Definite mangina. Got to find that and have it surgically removed. Yet, my cognition is again, honest. Reasonable. Balanced, perhaps with a touch of arrogance since I think that I would rate enough in people’s lives to be considered before plans are solidified
Thought one and two are perpetuated through years of my own dysfunctional placating: caring for others with the hopes that they will eventually care for me. Most of my life I have always put others first. Placating and years of setbacks, bullshit of life moments and stressors have created an automatic reaction of “fuck, yet again, I have to bend my boundaries to care for others.” I am a fucking pussy.
In reality, thought one and two and the perpetuated and supported belief structure of “ I have to bend my boundaries to care for others” are incredibly rigid constructs that do not allow for variance of any kind and make my life a turd floating in the toilet of life.
It is one thing to have a boundary, to communicate it, maintain it and protect it. It is one thing to have a boundary and hope that others would talk to you about modifying the boundary for a “rare occasion” such as a holiday dinner prior to actually making the dinner plans. And it is one thing to be flexible enough to bend your boundary for a “rare occasion” when not consulted about the boundary violation prior to a “rare occasion” being set in stone.
Life is Complicated. Actually, I make it complicated.
Why can’t I just say, yeah, fine – no problems? Seems simple enough. I NEED people to not fuck me over. People asking me about things that break my boundaries before they break my boundaries is “people not fucking with me” or at least asking for permission to fuck with me before they fuck with me.
Why can’t I just go with the flow? See above.
Why protect Sunday Nights with such vigor? I am not. I am protecting my need to not be fucked with, my need to be included and part of the decision making process, my need for autonomy and control over my already wild and crazy life.
Do I really want control though. No. Cognitive dissonance sucks.
Why be bitter? Years of bullshit, being let down and fucked in the ass by others.
I am not bittet.
Am I? No.
Yep. Trust issues fueled by people messing with me and not including me in the decisions that impact my life.
What a mess. And I have some real ego issues. Like I should be the party planner for all fucking family parties. Family parties have sucked for so long, that I guess being in some form of control might make them more tolerable. Then again, perhaps if I quit trying to control, parties will be more tolerable. Don’t you love double binds and cognitive dissonance?
So, I am going to go with the flow this holiday season. If I am not hosting the party, I am not controlling, planning, organizing or caring for those who are planning.
I will show up.
Laugh and have a fucking good time.
I am gonna be a twig on the shoulders of a might river not a turd in the toilet of life.