Ben Martin needed the rudest wake up call imaginable to learn to take responsibility for his actions in life and in his marriage.
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I have a horrible confession to make. Sometimes, my wife and I argue.
Even worse: sometimes the things we argue about are chronic problems. That’s to say that our arguments don’t always come out of the clear blue sky or from humorous misunderstandings that make for mediocre sitcom plots — they come from real issues that crop up over and over again.
The responsibility for these arguments could come from stressors of daily life — raising kids together, organizing household chores, financial pressure, etc.
But here’s what’s even worse: Some of our arguments don’t need the stressors of daily life because they stem from character flaws. Vices. Issues. Things that occasionally make us shitty human beings.
Oh, but wait. It gets even worse! It actually took me several years of marriage to figure out that a lot of our arguments stemmed from our character flaws as opposed to just her character flaws.
In retrospect, it’s kind of shocking how long it took me to realize how much conflict I was responsible for. I always thought of myself as an easy going kind of guy. No drama. No fuss. So when conflict or drama or fuss appeared, it was obviously her fault for overreacting or for being so emotional or not listening or whatever else she might have done wrong. Whatever it was that made her responsible for the problem.
The thing with always making my wife responsible for shouldering the blame for our problems was that it also made her responsible for fixing them.
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And the thing with always making her responsible for shouldering the blame for our problems was that it also made her responsible for fixing them. In my head, the world was a simple, peaceful place until my wife (or, honestly, until pretty much anyone) asked things of me. Then the disagreement that would ensue was clearly their fault because if they hadn’t imposed on me, I’d have gone on being happy and peaceful. It was their responsibility to get over it if it bothered them that I was minding my own business. My mantra was, “I don’t need this shit.”
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Apologies in advance for this (you’ll see why), but here’s the thing that made me change:
When my oldest was born, I became an at-home dad. Part of the job description is changing diapers. Lots of diapers. I didn’t really mind it. It’s just part of the deal when you’ve got a helpless, little bundle o’ joy.
One day, let’s call it a Tuesday, my little bundle o’ joy soiled a diaper. I was several months into this parenting thing by this time. An old pro. I could change out diapers like NASCAR pit crews change burnt out tires. I grabbed my supplies and dove in. I had a trick for wiping where I’d use my forearm to hold my kid’s legs up. On this particular Tuesday, I wiped, just like usual, but then, without a word of warning, a fountain of poo erupted. Like an awful, awful geyser. A long, 2-foot high, arching geyser that splashed down all over me, my kiddo, my floor, and pretty much anything else within a three foot radius.
Here’s what I said: I said, “Oh!” And then, a bit louder, “Oh! No!” And then I felt a blinding, helpless, silent rage. I still had the dirty wipes in my hand while I thought, “This isn’t fair! I didn’t need this shit today!”
It was a sort of surreal moment. I mean, I never really imagined that life would lead me to a moment in which I was literally covered in someone else’s shit. Somewhere, somehow, my plans had clearly gone terribly awry.
And yet there I sat. And there my child lay. And I was alone in the house and no one was coming to help me for at least seven more hours. My nearest family lived over 1500 miles away and my wife’s job wasn’t one that allowed for family emergencies not involving decapitations.
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That’s when I realized it. While the awareness sank in that no one was coming to help me. I couldn’t even wallow in my misery because there was a crying, poo-covered baby on the floor in front of me. I had to handle it even though it wasn’t fair. I cleaned up every last drop.
At the ripe old age of 26 I became a man because I was confronted with the reality that fairness doesn’t enter into the equation when all you’re trying to do is solve a problem. I realized that saying “I don’t need this shit” doesn’t make it go away. More to the point, I realized that complaints and accusations about who’s fault it all is only serve to delay the clean-up.
Poop explosions aren’t fair, but they’re a part of having a kid. Having a spouse is kind of the same thing. Everyone has baggage — the mental and emotional things we carry that make our own metaphorical poop explosions inevitable.
If I’m not looking at what my responsibility is then I’m not cleaning up the mess … I can’t control anyone’s behavior but my own.
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When my wife and I argue, it’s sometimes because of that baggage. Sometimes hers, sometimes mine. But if I’m focused on what her responsibility is then I’m not looking at what mine is. And if I’m not looking at what my responsibility is then I’m not cleaning up the mess. I’m just waiting for someone else to come home and do it for me.
I can’t control anyone’s behavior but my own. I want to fix the things I have control over because that’s what I’ve learned “taking responsibility” means. When my marriage hits a bump, the same thing applies — if I want things fixed, I have to make my first step taking responsibility for my own actions. That can mean the actions I took that precipitated the problem or it might just mean the actions I can take to fix it. Sometimes the things I can do may not be enough and my wife will need to do her part. It takes two to tango, after all. But whether the problem is just a hilarious misunderstanding or a serious affront, I have to start by looking at myself.
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If you like reading about how Ben Martin struggles to be a decent human, husband, and father, check out:
5 Simple Steps I’m Taking To Become a More Thoughtful Husband
Why Aren’t We Rude to Grown-ups The Way We Are Rude To Kids?
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
Took my ex 18 years… and he still never got the “our” part… Damn… this hurt me to read but was healing at the same time.
I read this a couple years ago, and kept it to share with a friend who was in a bad relationship. I’ve shared it a few times since then because there’s a lot of truth to it.
There’s one caveat though- girls can do gaslighting too. This article is aimed at women living with narcissists, but guys surely don’t corner the market on these behaviors.
“Our vices”- you NAILED it. Well said.
http://thecurrentconscience.com/blog/2011/09/12/a-message-to-women-from-a-man-you-are-not-%E2%80%9Ccrazy%E2%80%9D/
Woah Ben… you and me are EXACTLY the same! (Except I have no sense of smell so I’ve always changed the nappies without trouble) But everything else is 100% spot on. And thanks so much for the heads up regarding this kind of behaviour! I’m slowly starting to learn to see things from her point of view when I can, but it is an uphill internal struggle… guess I can at least try
Best of luck with your life and family!
Rob
It’s funny – I have a slight allergy to cats, but still own 3. So my sense of smell isn’t all that great either usually! The thing is that my wife really isn’t always right about everything. She makes mistakes just like I do. But I found that when I was willing to take responsibility for my own mistakes she was more likely to do the same. Now, ten years after what I’ll call ‘the incident with the poop’, we’re even happier together than we were the day we married because we’ve both learned to take responsibility for our own… Read more »