Conceding defeat

I’ve resisted writing this post, but, for reasons that now escape me, I think the time has come. I’ve resisted it for one reason; it requires conceding an argument to Mr G. And not a one off argument but one that pops up often enough to classify as a Routine Household Dispute. Until now I’ve defended my position because, well, because I like being right. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’m going to put my pride to the side and confess in the hope that you may provide some insightful tips to remedy the errors of my way. Or, tell me, in all the circumstances, I'm actually right anyway. Up to you.

Here it is. I very frequently occasionally take my frustration at the girls out on Mr G. There. I said it. (That noise you can now hear is indeed Mr G whooping for joy, so sweet is this admission to his long-suffering ears.) I can’t tell you how many times Mr G has gently suggested this might be the case; that perhaps my sudden frustration at his bowl in the sink has more to do with the general chaos in the house than his bowl. I have been steadfast, offended even, in my refusal to accept his suggestion. Ever. The implication – that I can’t rationally separate my emotions from the culpable party to a blameless one - infuriates me. Probably because it’s precisely what’s going on. And in a moment of obvious weakness who likes having their shortcomings pointed out? Not. Me. 

It’s apt that the occasion, which provided concrete proof I really was barking (literally) up the wrong tree, happened in the car because the car is my Achilles heel. It happened back when we were still rolling as a family of three (yes it’s taken me this long to admit it). We were driving to the central coast. To say Miss I travelled badly would be an epic understatement. She slept for about 25 minutes and then yelled for the next 40. Being in a confined space with a screaming toddler is exquisitely painful and when it’s your own flesh and blood your heart and head actually start to bleed. At least it feels that way. We sang to her. We fed her. We pulled over. We passed her toys and books. We tried everything but she was just miserable. And loud. So very loud. By the time we were both equally miserable we were too far gone; we were closer to our destination than home so it made sense to plough on. (Or just shack up in Gosford, sell the car and say put for the rest of our lives). Being the rational and stable person that I am I decided to get loud too.

Me: How much further do we have to go?

Mr G: Hmm maybe another 30 k’s.

Me: Are you serious?? You said it was only an hour from Sydney and considering we’ve already been in the car for OVER an hour we must be closer than that?

Mr G: Did I say that?

Me: YES. You DID actually. Why would you LIE to me?

Mr G: Er I don’t think I did. It’s usually about an hour but the traffic is pretty heavy.

Me: Well you obviously tried to trick me. Why would I make up that you told me it’s an hour?

Mr G: Why would I try to trick you?

Me: Well you know what else? You’re driving really badly. If I was driving we’d be there by now.

Mr G: You’re being a bit crazy.

Me: I’M BEING CRAZY?!?!? WHO DECIDED TO EVEN DRIVE HERE AND TELL ME IT WAS ONLY AN HOUR WHEN IT’S OBVIOUSLY ABOUT THREE??

Mr G: I know you’re stressed about Miss I but I don’t think we should have a fight because of that.

Me: Oh yeah that’s really mature to try and blame this on our child. I admit it might seem a little coincidental that Miss I is also going crazy at this moment but actually I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages that the way you hold the steering wheel/indicate/change lanes/breathe DRIVES ME MENTAL.

Mr G: You’re being crazy.

Me: [Internal blinkers are now flashing. Maybe I am being crazy because Miss I is going berserk? CONCEDE NOTHING!!] Look you can blame this on Miss I if you want but I can see straight through it.    

Now that, my dear readers, is what I believe they call projecting. Projecting my anger and frustration at Miss I’s distress straight on to Mr G. I’m not proud of it. I try to avoid it but sometimes I just can’t help it. I know from friends and family that I’m not the only wife or mother who occasionally succumbs to this trap. I mean, if I really were the only person on this planet who did this, my god, Mr G got unlucky in the whole wife lottery. Plus the term ‘projecting’ wouldn’t even exist would it? So, for those playing along at home, let’s assume some other people do this too.

 

What’s curious though is that when I’m alone and one of the girls is causing me some distress there is no outlet for that angst. It just dissipates quietly. Because it has to. It takes patience but it’s patience I seem to have less of when Mr G – my co-conspirator in this whole family fiasco – is around. In his presence I let it boil over. Because I can.

 

You might read this and predict that my marriage is going to crumple. I sincerely hope, and also believe, that’s not the case. Without getting too carried away, routine household disputes aside, we have a very happy time together.  And while technically I’ve never conceded fault I certainly put it out there afterwards that things got a bit hectic earlier and perhaps I wasn’t playing with my A-Grade saint game. Hahaha.

Now it’s over to you. Do you ever take your frustration out on someone other than the true target?  Or more importantly if you don’t HOW did you learn not to???