When I finished, I showed my husband. He was busy. He looked at it and didn't say a word, made a face and that was it. No words, no encouragement.
I went to the restroom, brushed my teeth and wiped my face with a baby wipe. I looked at myself in the mirror and spoke truth to me.
I told myself I am doing the right things by working on myself. Going to therapy, breathing and writing. But above all, I am the creator of my reality. I should of seen that he was busy. He wouldn't have the right state of mind to give me his time, not matter how small. Instead of setting someone up to fail, and feeling the sadness of reality, I should seek my own approval. I am my own cheerleader.
On Monday, I went to therapy. We spoke about my childhood and my husband's. The almost 100% difference between our upbringing. It was a real eye opener for me. When I tried to share what I learned with my husband, he made a joke and said, probably honestly, "I know nothing about your childhood."
That hurt me, 'cus I've shared many stories.
He's a nice man. A good father. But a poor communicator.
I am thankful I can see things. My anger, sadness and frustration wouldn't allow me to go beyond the pain of his lack of communication. Beyond just thinking he didn't care enough. He cares but can't multitask. Can't form the right words. Maybe he'll work on it. Maybe he won't. But, I found my answer: to keep doing what I am doing. Keep hustling and become the best version of myself.