My sociopathic tendencies

I am terrible at talking about my feeeeeeeeelings.  Terrible.  I would rather talk about pretty much anything else, including my bowel movements, than how I feel.  I usually end up cracking a bad joke or changing the subject abruptly when things become too emotionally complex just so that I don’t need to venture into squirmy territory.

So basically, it’s a pain in the ass to be in a relationship with me.

Admittedly, there are some perks.  I rarely get upset to the point I need to talk about things, and it takes a whole lot for me to start a fight.

On the opposite end however, when I get my feelings hurt or if there is an emotional discussion I need to have,  I am a complete pussy about having it.

I remember when I was kid writing my mom notes to tell her why I was upset, rather than sitting down and talking with her about it.  I even drove her crazy, and she birthed me.

As an adult I like to think I’ve gotten at least a bit better about it, but I still hold things inside for days longer than I should and often times will resort to writing/texting or emailing when I should just pick up the phone or have a conversation face to face.  It’s not that I’m intimidated by confrontation, but that I am just so darn uncomfortable talking about how I feel.

Here’s hoping it’s one of those things I overcome with age.  But if not, there’s always email.  And alcohol.


I hate bad metaphors, especially when they’re sorta right


Marriage is weird.  I’m completely comfortable admitting that as I’ve been contractually obligated to love my husband even when I don’t really like him that much for going on 9 years now, and don’t regret a minute of it.

But let’s face it, it’s weird.

What other thing in our life would we devote so much time to enhancing and improving, no matter how miserable it makes us?

I once hear someone equate marriage to exercise.  The more effort you put in the better your results kind of a thing.  That person is wrong.  If I spent as much time obsessed about my marriage as I do Crossfit, my husband would smother, wilt and die.  He is fiercely independent and so am I, he would go crazy if I put that much “effort” into our relationship.

Then again, there are absolutely some commonalities there.

In the middle of a brutal WOD, especially one that has burpees in it, I freaking hate Crossfit.  I hate it with every fiber of my being.  I can not understand why I’m doing this to myself.  I’m telling myself I’m better than this, or not good enough for this, and wishing that it was just over already.  I might break down and cry.  I might swear that I’m going to quit.  I might never want to do it again.

Then somehow, I get through it.

And the next day I’m back for more.  Not because I am a glutton for punishment, but because I realize shortly after breaking through that barrier that those thoughts in my head in the thick of it were lies, and Crossfit truly makes me happy and better.

Anyone who has ever been in a relationship doesn’t need me to spell out the commonalities here.

My husband, regardless of his frequent near-death-because-I-almost-killed-him experiences, is a burpee.  Our marriage is, at times, that really hard WOD.

We made a promise to each other early on, and through everything have kept it.  We will never, ever fight without becoming a better couple for it.

Every fight has a reason.  Something started it.  Something triggered it.  There is growth to be had from that disagreement, a lesson to be learned, and a chance to be better communicators and a stronger couple as a result.

I haven’t killed him yet.  Here’s hoping with all the Crossfit I don’t Hulk out on him and break that promise.