"I just want one person I can rescue
and I want one person who needs me.
Who can't live without me."
-- Chuck Palahniuk, Choke
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| Lego man rescuing a Lego bear 2-9-14 |
"He found something that he wanted,
had always wanted and always would want --
not to be admired, as he had feared;
not to be loved, as he had made himself believe;
but to be necessary to people, to be indispensable ..."
-- F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise
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| Lego man rescuing a Lego bear (2) 2-9-14 |
"The way he's watching me makes me feel needed
like no one's ever been able to make me feel.
In a way, he makes me feel necessary.
Like my existence alone is necessary for his survival."
-- Colleen Hoover, Hopeless
I married an extremely smart, capable, self-sufficient, ambitious, efficient man who can do pretty much anything I can do, usually better, usually ahead of time, usually before I can even think about getting around to doing whatever it is, and usually before I'm even out of bed in the morning.
In addition to earning all the money and supporting our household, he handles our finances. He gets the kids to school. He gets the groceries. He runs the sweeper. He does the laundry. He folds the laundry. Not because I can't. But because he gets there first. If it was left up to me, I'd get there eventually. I'd get there sometime before we ran out of food and clean clothes. But he always gets there way sooner than I do. So he just does stuff. He sees something that needs to be done, and he does it. I see a thing that needs to be done and a thought flickers across my mind that a thing needs to be done, and then I walk past the thing, and get lost in a daydream, or an idea, or a project, and when I walk past the thing again, he's already done it. With hospital corners. Without anyone seeing him do it.
He's like a super-hero.
Don't get the wrong idea. He isn't a control freak. He's just a high-achiever. A perfectionist. A valedictorian who also graduated at the top of his medical school class who runs his own business. He's an Eagle Scout for Chrissakes. He saves lives. For real.
And I'm not complaining. I want to make that crystal clear. I sincerely appreciate all that he does, I need him to do everything he does, and he does a shit ton.
It's great. He's great.
But honestly, sometimes being out-greated by someone so great can make me feel a little bit not-so-great --not so necessary, anyway.
And that is not his fault.
He's so sweet, he has even tried being not so awesome, just to make me feel better.
He's tried "letting" me do things, given back some of the duties that he's assumed over our 20-some years together. He's only trying to help. He's only trying to love me. But for me, it feels like pity. It feels patronizing. It's that feeling you get when you know someone let you win the game, when you know damn well they could have beaten you without even trying.
He's tried to hold himself back, but I can sense him chafing under it. He's like a dog that sees a squirrel and wants to chase the squirrel because it's in his nature to chase the squirrel, but he's trying really hard not to chase the squirrel because he thinks it will make me happier if he doesn't chase it, so he tries to stifle the urge so that I can chase the squirrel even though every sinew of his body is twitching with squirrel-chasing impulse that he's pretending not to have. But I'm all like "Squirrel? What squirrel?" And even if I did chase the squirrel, I'd be a day late and a dollar short, and I'd get distracted by a sunbeam or a snowflake anyway and nobody would get any fucking squirrel.
I think he thinks I don't notice him trying so hard to rein it in, but I do.
And I know he's happier chasing the squirrels, and buying the groceries, and running the sweeper, and paying the bills. I know it. He knows it. It's just the way it is. And I've learned to be okay with it.
Nevertheless, living with someone who meets all the needs can leave me feeling a little un-needed.
But there is one thing that I do for my family that nobody else does as good as me. There is one territory that hasn't been claimed. One last outpost that's still mine.
The kitchen.
Somebody has to feed the superhero.
And even though someone else brings in the groceries, that food would rot on the counters and in the refrigerator if I didn't transform it into deliciousness day in and day out. Whether it's Great Grandma's breaded pork chops, my own velvety-smooth avocado dip, my mouth-watering rhubarb crumble, racks of finger-licking fall-apart barbecue ribs, or homemade soup, or pizza, or chocolate chip cookies without the chocolate chips, just the way he likes them -- I've got it dialed in.
My food is good, and it's not bragging if it's true.
My boys don't need me for much around here. They're all very capable. But they do need me to cook for them or they'd be living on Cheerios and take-out.
I know my husband loves me. He's never given me any reason to doubt it. But sometimes, I wonder how much he needs me. And then I cook him a pot roast and the aroma hits him before he's even in the house. And when he walks through the door after a day of rescuing the world, I see his shoulders relax just a teensy bit, and then I enjoy him enjoying a delicious, satisfying meal that I made, and I know that I did that for him, and that he needed it, and that he needs me.
It's a good thing.
