I was spittin’ mad at my man. We had scheduled to watch a movie together but then he got a phone call. A call he had to take.
And instead of being patient and remembering how he had been understanding all the times I’ve gotten phone calls I had to take, I just got mad.
I felt put off.
Because this was supposed to be our time together. And I was really looking forward to our time. I wanted to know he was looking forward to our time. That’s one of the most important parts of a date for me- knowing that he is looking forward to it.
But the longer the call lasted, the more I convinced myself he was just doing this movie date with me out of obligation rather than out of a desire to really be with me.
So, when the call went from “it will just be a minute” to over 40 minutes, I shut down and went to bed. Mad. Really mad.
The next day, Art asked if we could try again.
I was still mad. I didn’t want to try again.
Because this wasn’t just about that one phone call and one missed movie. It was about a collection of situations where I’ve gathered up little pebbles of frustration. I carry them around and think it’s no big deal.
Pebbles seem so innocent until they collectively turn into boulders.
And boulders don’t just weigh you down, they wear you out. They don’t just frustrate, they fracture.
That’s why I had to push past mad and talk this through. The scariest place in a marriage isn’t when the talking is hard- it’s when the talking stops.
Keep talking. Keep connecting. Keep pushing past mad.