In July Mr Miller and I will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. On our 25th I gave him that Trump mug, among other things I can’t remember. We do small gifts mostly, plus dinners. That kind of thing. Anyway. Point is, even before my political awakening, I clearly didn’t loathe Trump with a passion that would prevent me from seeing the endearing, affectionate humor in this mug. The little feet. The double chin.
Koochie Koo!
Mister did. He confessed a couple years later he couldn’t even look at it.
Which speaks to our conflict of the past two years. It pretty much sums it up—why he could not join me past a certain point, which was agreeing that our daughter wasn’t trans.
Last month when I reached out to you in a state of panic and desperation, Dear Readers, I got a plethora of advice. A couple of you advised me to start saving for a life on my own. A few suggested ignoring politics for a while and others recommended, based on their own experiences, couples counseling.
I can’t save money for the life of me. I inherited a few bucks from my mom’s estate, for example, and immediately booked a tattoo—the ultimate symbol of fiscal responsibility. Plus, Mister and I have been together, as I’ve described before, since the dawn of time. Too many of you admonished me never to let politics destroy a marriage for God’s sake. And you’re right, even if there seemed to be something sinister simmering below our political arguments that I was so afraid of—that I’d accidentally married a dick.
Luckily for us both, he admitted as much. And when I surmised the course of a divorce through to its logical conclusion, the suffering I’d endure seeking out a life on my own at 55, let alone all the other tendrils—kids, extended family, etc etc… simply could not compete against triumphing together over our poisonous thicket.
Plus, no one else in the world will put up with my bullshit.
I resolved to ignore politics and get a counselor.
Ignoring politics was refreshing. I still dream about Matt Walsh sometimes, but I’m okay not checking in on my Daily Wire guys and Megyn Kelly every other minute. Ditto so many Substacks I follow. It’s beneficial to not sow my own apoplectic outrage on pretty much every level. Very zen.
Getting a counselor was easy-ish. I knew where to look based on a commenter who reminded me of the organization formerly known as GETA. I recommend them for EVERYONE. Full stop.
One Zoom session with the nice lady was all it took to remind Mister and me that we share a deep bond.
The counselor had us tell the story of how we met, diarrhea and all. It was so romantic.
Then we recounted the moment where Mister approached me after our most recent fight and asked, trembling, “Do you really want to separate?”
I was in bed, where I go in my freeze states. I said, “No. I want us to get through this.”
We realized we each felt rejected by the other and were terrified. I assured my husband that I still loved and wanted him. He laid his head on my chest and wept. I stroked his hair, soothed by his devotion.
Something fundamental shifted. Returned.
The counselor told us we’d be okay. The solid foundation we’d built over millennia spoke for itself, so she was not surprised when we opted not to meet weekly but reach out if we hit another patch of thorns.
Now as it stands, Mister still hates Trump while I think he’s a rock star, and, for now anyway, it doesn’t matter.
My husband can recline once again into the security of my love and I into his, whilst I return to my true crime obsession and actively refrain from huffing the news of the day.
Now who wants to hear my JonBenét Ramsey theory?
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It's as though many men have channeled all their loathing of the perverts we see all around us onto one man, Trump, who they call a r*pist, spitting the word out. That seems to absolve them of having to react to men in women's prisons, spaces, sports, surgical and medical atrocities etc. It doesn't make sense.
I’m really glad you’re not separating and are getting through it. This is the best thing I’ve read today!
What’s your JonBenet theory? That documentary was interesting. I think it was a pervert who saw her at one of those stupid pageants. How the cops didn’t check that out first is mind blowing.