Here I am, wide awake in the dead of night, frustrated and exhausted as I stare blankly at the ceiling. A relentless sinus infection is wreaking havoc on my sinuses, my period is making its presence known, and the constant interruptions from our little ones have pushed me to my limits. But tonight, it’s not the kids keeping me up.
Curled up in a ball on his side of the bed, my husband, Eric, is snoring like a bear in hibernation. Over the five years we’ve shared together, I’ve come up with countless strategies to hush his nocturnal symphony. Usually, I’d just nudge him or gently pinch his nose, but right now, nothing is working. So, with a sigh, I resort to my most embarrassing tactic.
I attempt to cuddle him into silence. While this trick often does the job of silencing his snores, it leaves me feeling oddly lonely. By nature, I’m a stage-five clinger, while Eric is more like a solitary wolf. I’ve learned the hard way that any attempt at nighttime affection results in him growling, pushing my hand away, and retreating to the edge of the bed.
Once his back is turned to me, the blessed quiet settles over the room, but I don’t feel victorious. Instead, I’m sprawled out awkwardly, yearning for a cozy “little spoon” moment that will never come. Normally, I’d launch into a lengthy lecture about why I need him to step out of his comfort zone, but it’s way too late for that now.
I wish I could say that our differences stop here, and that we’re the perfect match who seamlessly finish each other’s thoughts while binge-watching the same shows on Netflix. But that would be a complete fib.
For instance, while I’m persistently encouraging our toddler to eat her greens, Eric is content to let her snack straight from the Ritz cracker box. When I crave a heartfelt indie film, he’s itching to dive into the “Fast and Furious” saga (no offense, Vin). We’re also mismatched in how we handle disagreements: I want resolutions immediately, while he prefers to mull things over for days. And let’s not even get started on our preferences for socializing; I could dance the night away with friends, while he’s perfectly happy to stay home and not be missed.
Then there’s the cleaning dynamic. On some days, my obsessive neat-freak tendencies are so strong that I find motivation in watching “Hoarders.” Other days, I simply have to look at the scattered action figures Eric leaves on our bed or the trail of socks he drops around the house.
Our opposing traits make us feel like a modern-day “Odd Couple,” but there’s one area that has required immense vulnerability to navigate. A couple of years ago, Eric opened up to me about living with ADHD since he was a child. Just a year later, I was diagnosed with complex PTSD. Navigating the challenges posed by our differing mental health struggles has been quite the comedic journey, to say the least. Thankfully, therapy is helping us learn how to manage it all.
One of Eric’s ADHD symptoms is forgetting crucial things—doctor’s appointments, important deadlines, bills. On the flip side, my PTSD leads me to micromanage our household, including him. These might seem like minor annoyances, but they’re part of a much larger battle we’re both fighting.
Eric’s occasionally scattered thoughts have led to a profound sense of shame throughout his life. He faced a bullying principal, a school system that didn’t cater to his needs, and partners who were unsupportive. This resulted in him burying his diagnosis and striving to appear “normal” for years. However, once we became parents, the challenges of ADHD became more apparent.
My PTSD, rooted in childhood trauma, has conditioned me to meticulously control my surroundings and the emotions of those around me. Growing up, I learned to achieve, please others, and pursue perfection, all while shame lingered in the back of my mind. When Eric and I met, I was masking my wounds with radical optimism and restrictive eating, completely unaware of my PTSD.
In an unexpected twist, both of us have been living in very different pressure cookers. Recognizing this truth has helped us find common ground we didn’t know we had. Even with our contrasting natures, our shared mental health challenges have brought us closer together, when they could have easily driven us apart. In fact, they almost did—until we realized we were fighting the same fight.
This past year, Eric demonstrated an unparalleled love for me by agreeing to move closer to his family for the support we desperately needed. After my PTSD diagnosis, we both recognized the strain of living in a city on one income while managing a growing family and my declining mental health. He even left a fantastic job directing an animated series to prioritize our well-being. His loyalty and selflessness have truly amazed me.
From day one, Eric has chosen me time and again. On the days when my mental health tries to convince me he no longer loves me, he skillfully combats those thoughts. He’s always there, striving to understand me and being my biggest supporter. Despite our differences in expression, I know his steady hands will always hold mine.
I may never get accustomed to seeing him wear the same tattered shirts for years or patiently endure his forgetfulness regarding our child’s preschool. And oh my goodness, the socks! But after this year, I’m starting to think that maybe I could learn to enjoy a few Ritz crackers straight from the box after all.
In summary, my husband and I are two very different people navigating the complexities of life and love. Our contrasting traits often lead to frustration, but they’ve also forged a unique bond between us. Through our mental health challenges, we’ve learned to support each other in ways we never expected.
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