"When we got married, I wanted a partnership where we could work together, but you have been constantly fighting to be in control. You use all kinds of weapons to control me."
That's kind of how I feel. Except he was the one who said it. In counseling. To me.
"I don't think I really do that."
"Yes you f***ing do!"
These words still sting, even though I now I am firmly convinced it is not me he is angry with.
It's his mother.
And not the real, kind, strong, wise woman I know, but a frightening amplification of her. The version that a two-year-old might see. I saw it today when she was determined that my two-year-old would give her a hug, and wouldn't let him go play til he did. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the interaction, but it is easy to imagine how, when repeated over and over, that might erode a child's sense of autonomy. Especially an exquisitely sensitive child. Like my husband.
I was drawn to that sensitive child in him. I longed to give him the unconditional love I thought he needed to help him be the impressive man that I also saw. But the child has taken over. He cannot receive love from me because he sees a controlling gesture when I move a can he placed in the garbage to the recycling bin. He hears a domineering woman when I tell him which dishes need to be hand washed.
He must discover and put to rest the monster-mother in his brain. I fear for his actual mother, when he turns his wrath from me to her as this begins to dawn on him. But she is a strong adult capable of handling it. And eventually, he will learn to separate her too from his demons.
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