So let me tell you about the last two days.
Monday morning: Pity party. (Yes. Even Mac has pity parties.) Let me share the thoughts that periodically run around in my head: Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Mac really likes me. Sure, he loves me--I'm his wife; the mother of his children. But does he like me? Does he think I'm fun? Does he like being around me? If we met right now, would he ask me out and pursue me like he did way back when? On Monday I happened to look back at the text messages on my phone and realized that of the 5 texts I had sent him in the previous 4 days (including 2 that morning), he had only responded to one. Nothing like big fat silence to make you feel loved during the day, huh? I wanted to send some rude comment like, "Feel free to respond to my texts once in a blue moon." Instead I took a deep breath, ranted a bit to Jane, and felt much better. (I later subtly asked if he received my texts and immediately he started responding to me and continued all day--even joking with me over text. Things aren't always as we make them out to be.)
Monday evening: Body images takes a crash. We watched a movie. The girl in the movie was gorgeous. Sexy? Yes. But not just sexy--all around adorable. Later that night we got a bit frisky, but all I could do in my mind was see the girl from the movie. All I could think about was my belly skin that used to be so tight before I had kids and was now hanging in strange directions. And my acne that I'm sure will never go away no matter how old I get. And that I hadn't shaved--neither legs nor whooha. (My tiny boobs didn't even cross my mind. Good thing, too, because that may have been the straw that broke the camel's back.) My mind was racing. I could see this ending badly. Me bursting into tears in front of a husband who wasn't aware of the battle going on in my head and was just happy to be with me. But... BUT... I gave it everything I had (Mentally, people! Get your minds out of the gutter!) and pushed those thoughts out of my head. And I succeeded. That was a hard one, my friends. I've always had a decent self image, so this caught me off guard and took a lot of will power.
Tuesday (today): I had lunch with my coworkers (love those girls) and the topic turned to trusting your partner/husband. They oozed trust and confidence and love. I heard them saying things that used to come out of my mouth, "I don't care what he does. I trust him." "Why would I need to give him permission to go somewhere? When you trust each other, it's a non-issue." "It doesn't matter if we're halfway across the world from each other--we both know neither of us would do anything questionable." "I'm not worried about him going to Vegas. What? He'll go to a strip club with the guys? I don't care. I know him well enough to know that he's not going to take a girl home. We trust each other." I didn't feel the need to say something about how they should be careful because you just never know. Instead I wanted to start sobbing because I used to have that kind of trust in my husband. I used to have that. Now I wonder what he's doing with his time and I get nervous about his female coworkers. It's ridiculous. This is no way to live. I miss the trust.
When did I become this broken woman? Where did my confidence go? Where did the trust go? Who in the world wants to live this way? Not I, said the Mac. Not I. But this is where the road of life has taken me. And there are so many other lovely things along this road of life that I can handle these things.
Satan, if you were standing in front of me right now, I'd punch you in the face. Quit bugging me. I have better things to do in life and refuse to let you bring me down anymore this week.