Do I Think Like a Mother or a Lover?

It’s Marriage Monday at Chrysalis, and today’s topic is sexuality in Christian marriage. This blog post isn’t exactly about sex, but it is about something that I’m just now recognizing as a huge barrier to intimacy in my marriage.

* * * * *

Jury summons arrived for my husband several weeks ago.

I resisted the urge to open the envelope, highlight the date in yellow, and tape it to his computer screen so he’d be sure to see it.

Last week, he didn’t come home at noon. Or after his one afternoon class. By 4:00 PM, I was exhausted from pushing worry from my mind: Had he eaten lunch? How was he holding up, since I knew he didn’t have breakfast?

But I didn’t text him. And I didn’t call him.

A few days ago, he lingered at home after lunch. I silently watched the clock march relentlessly toward the start time for his 8th period class: 1:45. 1:46. 1:47.

But at 1:48, I couldn’t stop my self. Compulsively, I blurted, “What time does your 8th period class start?” (As if I didn’t already know that it started at 1:49!)

Sigh.

* * * * *

23+ years into marriage, I am learning a new skill.

It didn’t start as a marriage improvement plan but as a radical parent-ectomy I performed on my relationship with our daughter in January. I laid down some new boundaries; while adjusting to the self-imposed changes, I realized how involved I’m used to being in many aspects of her life.

Involved? More like enmeshed.

I’m having to learn detachment, a concept I’ve always associated with abandonment and apathy. Detachment, I’m finding, is making myself available but not diving in to “help” or “fix” or “rescue.” It’s a choice to be empathetically present with my daughter, but not to take on her emotions.

Detachment boils down to not meddling. Not borrowing trouble. Not sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. (Click to Tweet this.)

As I’ve practiced detachment, I’ve discovered how much time and energy are suddenly freed up for me to use for things that I’ve put off for years, like finishing my MA degree and starting a PhD program, writing that book proposal an agent requested, going up to the stables to ride each week.

And then Daniel’s jury summons arrived.

As I started doing what I’ve always done – opening and processing his mail because he never does it himself – the tone of my thinking stopped me.

I sounded like a mother. A meddling mother. A “helping”, “fixing”, “rescuing” mother.

I asked myself, “If Daniel walked in the door, looking as handsome as ever, would I feel attracted to him right now?”

And the answer was clear: no.

“Why not?”

I’m too busy protecting him from the negative consequences of his irresponsible choices.

“Oh really? You’re protecting him?”

And I came face-to-face with the truth about my meddling: I do not step in to “help” you because of my deep concern for you. My compulsion to “fix” you – whether you’re my daughter or my husband (or my student or my friend) – is to protect me.

* * * * *

So as the jury summons sat unopened day after day, I bit my tongue and planned to walk through the consequences with him, whatever they may be.

When he got home at 6:00 PM and told me that he had gone out for lunch with a friend, I was glad for his health, not just relieved for my sake that he wasn’t in a starving temper.

And when he left the house for his 8th period class, I reminded myself that it’s not my job to make sure he keeps his job, no matter how badly I want to feel safe, secure, and stable.

Most of all, I am reminding myself that detaching isn’t about him: it’s about me and my thoughts.

I can obsess about all the “what ifs”, making me smother like a meddling mother.

Or I can detach, refusing to pour time and energy into worrying about things that are none of my business.

Which frees me to connect, in the present moment, with my husband.

Not as a “helper.” Or a “fixer.” Or a “rescuer.”

But as his lover.