Tag Archives: husband

The sound of silence

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As you would know if you read my last post (if not, here it is), hubby is away on a spiritual retreat. The thing I didn’t mention was that there is no internet and no phone range. No contact, in other words.

It’s so quiet. Not when the kids are here, of course, but in all the other parts of the day, it’s really, really quiet.

Before he left, we talked about the fact that since we met, over twenty-two years ago, we have never had five days with no contact at all. Although we started dating back in the dark ages, where we didn’t have facebook or mobile phones, we still managed to speak or see each other every couple of days, if not, every day (I’m sure my parent’s phone bill from back then would testify to that fact!). And now that we work together aka in the same room within reach of each other, and although we had our week away each last year, we are very rarely apart for long and certainly, if we are, there is sure to be a phone call or two and a text or seven.

So, I can hear you all cry that it is healthy to spend time apart, and you’re right. To a degree. Our relationship is our relationship. While for others, time apart is what keeps them together, for us time apart is weird, foreign and strange.

People keep saying it’s good and good for us, and I appreciate the sentiment. And in some ways it is good. But I don’t like it. Not at all. We are quick to judge, aren’t we? Quick to decide what is best for other people’s lives. Quick to superimpose our feelings, our perception and personalities onto others. Especially where relationships are concerned. Like I said, our relationship is just that – ours. And what is good for us might not be good for you and vice versa.

I don’t think it means that we are not able to be our own people, as some have suggested. For us, well, for me at least, seeing as he’s not here to confer with, I am more ‘me’ when he’s around. I am the best version of myself because of him.

Does it mean there aren’t times I want to wring his neck and he mine? Nope. Are there times I long for solitude, for time on my own? Yep. Does he drive me to the edge of frustration and back again? Absolutely. Is he the person I want the most for every single situation I ever face? Definitely. Is he the first one I want to tell when something funny happens? Totally.

Does it feel like someone cut off my arm this week with him not around? Yes. Yes. Yes.

And before this descends into the most ridiculous love-sick mushy post,  I’ll stop.

I miss him, that’s all.

So. I’m short.

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Years ago, when I first met my husband, I made some flippant remark about the fact that I was tall. “You’re what now?” my then beau asked. “I’m tall.” I replied confidently. The guffaws and hilarity that then ensued had me a little baffled.

You see, I had grown up being told by my mother that I was the tall one amongst my sisters (my brother was heading towards 6ft by the age of 15). My soon to be husband, once he had sufficiently recovered enough, managed to gasp out, “You aren’t tall, in fact, you’re rather short!”

I was shocked. All this time I had not been tall? What?!

Now, although I feel I have come to terms with my somewhat diminutive stature, I must have some remnants left over from my ‘tall’ past.

I have attended two school functions this past week, where the idea is very much to be able to see one’s little darling performing their heart out up on stage. Out of respect for those behind me, I have sat in the second row, so as not to block anyone’s view by sitting in the front row. Clearly, I still believe that people may not be able to see over my enormous 5ft 3 frame.

Unlike others.

Tall people (factually tall people, not ‘tall’ by my mother’s definition) sat in front of me…both times! So, either, I do actually look tall to them, or they are unaware of their own height advantage and oblivious to the fact that my perfect view of the performance was now marred by their head and shoulders.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not…<insert politically correct word for short people who don’t like tall people>…it just made me think about how different our perceptions of ourselves are.

I very rarely see size or height in people. My husband may comment after meeting someone that they were tall or short and always has a chuckle at my shoulder shrugging “oh, were they?” response. I just don’t see it. I tend to think I am the same size as whoever I am with at any given time.

We have all seen tall people who stoop to try and mask their height and we are all familiar with ‘short-man’ syndrome, so which came first? The personality or the stature?

Maybe it’s a combination of both – some people are so sick to death of it being commented on that they are tall or short that they compensate as best they can and their personality then has a bearing on how that plays out.

Regardless, of how we got there, we all have a view of our own space. Those who sat in front of me may not genuinely be aware of how tall they are, maybe they feel small on the inside. I do not know either of them, so this is pure ‘homespun psychological’ conjecture but maybe how we feel inside is how we project on the outside. We all know those short people who we refer to a ‘pocket rockets’, they have a dynamic element that goes way beyond their actual physical size. Conversely, some of the quietest, shyest people I have met have been over 6ft tall (or so I’m told :) ).

Or, maybe, this is just all a reflection on me and how I see myself. Maybe I am the only one who is short but thinks they are tall. Maybe I just have an inflated sense of the amount of space I take up.

If I do, I blame my mother. She started it. :)