Between the Lines

I'm guilty of reading between the lines. Or of interpreting someone's tone incorrectly.

This is probably one of the biggest issues that Tom and I tackle.

I read things in his words that often just aren't there.

I put my own spin, attitude into his off-hand comments.

And that's unfair.

I've admitted to having a lot of self-loathing coursing through my veins these days.

And I project that onto my husband, imagining that he finds me disgusting, everything about me, from my physical appreance, to my inability to keep up with the vacuuming and the laundry.

Yet...I don't think he really feels that way.

I do. I hate myself for being overweight. I hate that I can't keep the house cleaner. I hate that I can't be a better mother than I am.

I hate that I can't do it all.

And because I feel this way about myself, I feel like Tom must feel this way too.

He's never, not once, told me that he thinks this way.

He's never called me lazy or implied that he thinks I'm a subpar mother or homemaker.

But...I feel like his expectations of me are beyond my capabilities as a working mother.

I feel like he doesn't view most of what I do as contributing to the household. I don't think he believes that taking the girls to gymnastics or helping Alyssa with her homework is something that counts as things that have to be done to keep our household running.

Of course, I'm speculating. I don't know that he feels this way at all. Because I'm scared to ask.

I'm afraid that I'll hear him confirm my own feelings and that might break me.

So here I go, imagining the worst, hoping it's all in my head.

That's just stupid, huh?