Trip 7, Day nine and home

I found it really hard to get to sleep, despite his love and care on our last night.

I woke at 4am. Someone had gone to the bathroom and (I say this with absolutely no shame) thinking it was Wildcard, purposefully got up to go myself.

I was correct and rewarded with him coming to sleep with me. We held each other for the remaining hours of the night, and he reached for my hand in our embrace, every part of us locked together. Precious moments.

When we heard his parents stirring at 6am, he snuck out, a bemused look on his face as he made the dash out the door. I think we’d both be stupid to think his parents don’t suspect or know we are intimate. He is certainly much more careful about rules when his Dad is around though.

I finished packing then went out to the lounge to sit with him. I choked down a breakfast I had no stomach to eat then went back to my room. He didn’t follow.

Agter a time, I went back out and he was in his place on the couch. This time, he opened his arm and beckoned me to lie next to him, not at his feet end as normal.

I know he was concerned with my silence and my occasional tears. I can’t help it.

At 7.30am, we both got up to get changed and he hugged and kissed me through my tears, reminding me that this was not the last time we would see each other. I, unfortunately, know only too well that no one knows what life is in store.

By the time we had got to the airport, his emotional armour was back on. Whilst not cold, his demeanour had changed. He was beinf positive, keeping it together. He told me he loved me, again, out loud and to my face. This has been one of the major developments of this trip. He always messages it, says it on the phone at the end of a call, but I can count only maybe two times previously – and likely only one – where he has actually said it to my face. This trip, he’s said it many times.

I feel numb. Dead inside. I can’t even tell you that my mind is working overdrive, because it’s not. I do think however that I have much to discuss with my counsellor. As before, my emotions have swung like a pendulum. It needs to be sorted. I need clarity, not excessive thinking and overpowering emotions.

As suggested by my Facebook Bestie, I have written him a letter. It’s short and to the point: thanks him for his love, shares my own; apologises for the crying but suggests I may cry less if I knew when I was next going; reiterated my career advice but also said that I wished we had talked about our future too. I hid the letter in a pile of my drawings in his room but told him about it on the way. I wonder if he can understand my writing, never mind its language.


It’s now early Monday morning and I’m home. I got home late – 13 hours of travelling in the end.

I spent most of the journey home thinking of him. I always do. I guess Tolle would call that living in the past. Would he accept my reason for it? Because in that moment, reliving it- replaying moments of it over and over again – that’s what kept me together. Music on, I stared at the passing trees, fields…life, and in my mind I was back with him and those soft kisses and the feel of his hand in mine.

The word ‘missing’ isn’t enough.

He called me a few times and I just felt overjoyed at seeing him. This time yesterday I was still with him.

Will he feel it this morning too? The sense of feeling like you’ve put on an old pair of slippers – back to your normal life, whilst your heart yearns for what is missing.

Yes, maybe yearning is the better word.

Will he regret that I am not there this morning, turning to see him as he opens the door, hair dishevelled? Will he wish that he was sliding in to bed to kiss me, before wrapping his arms and legs around me, and just holding me. Making me feel so safe and warm and loved. Will he miss that too?

Will he yearn and long for me, as I am for him?

Nothing else seems important. All I want is him.


Trip 7, Day eight

Last night we argued. It removed a fear that has plagued me for 3 years. It was uncomfortable for a little while but we soon were back to normal.

What we didn’t talk about, and I wish I had, was a conversation about the future which he brought up. He was talking about his career prospects and asking my opinion, telling me I was the only one he could talk to.

That I loved, and I was objective as I could be. I told him that thinking about doing something was often worse than the doing. He’d told me that he hated making decisions and hated change. Don’t I know it.

What I didn’t love was that I was not one of the options we discussed. Granted, we were talking career, but some of the options mentioned would not encourage him to come to me any sooner. It was like a hot knife of pain in my chest. What does Tolle say? Don’t focus on the future. Really hard not to when you desired future seems to have dismissed you some what.

Short conclusion to that: I couldn’t look him in the face and brought up something else as an excuse for my behaviour which then caused the disagreement. Great stuff.

This morning, despite all being well by bed time (he locked me to him on the sofa and wouldn’t let me go until late), he didn’t come to me. Which was really unfortunate, as I’d had a bad dream, woke up knowing it was the last day and we’d had that dusagreement…I needed those morning embraces more than anything. I didn’t get them. He had to rush to work.

This afternoon there have been plenty of hugs. My mind is on overdrive, though. I’m trying to Tolle it out but it’s not working so well.


It’s now midnight.

It’s been a weird day of high emotion. I suppose that isn’t surprising. We cuddled for most of the day. I was bored and frustrated a little but it was more about being uncomfortable about leaving than anything else. Again, digging deep to the real feelings is helping.

After dinner, I lay on the bed. I was putting off packing my case and even now it’s barely done. He’d been washing something but came in and shut the door.

We lay on the bed, hugging and then had sweet sweet kisses – real kisses. The kisses he won’t give me often because they always lead to something. Which they did. It was beautiful, connected love making which was so special. It was tender and loving and a moment I will never forget.

We showered and then relaxed some more. It was a weird evening in some ways as I was so on edge. I got jealous over something he showed me which is nothing new. He annoyed me when he wouldn’t answer a question which he had asked me earlier and I had answered, but at least it made me leave him to half pack.

When I came back, I put my back to him it what can only be called a childish move. He tapped my shoulder to show me something on his phone and told me if I followed the instructions, I would see someone who loved me. It was one of those trick of the eye things and yes, weirdly, it did look like him. He was quickly forgiven after that romantic gesture.

We drank tea and then a programme came on which we all began to watch. Luckily for me there were French subtitles and my A level French came in useful a little as I was able to understand quite a bit. It was funny and his mother watched it with us. Wildcard told me what was going on too which helped.

What I loved was the way he sat with me. Normally, he lies on the sofa, head at the corner, and I sit feet end. His feet are often in my lap and I love it as it feels intimate without breaking cultural protocol. But this time he moved so he was sat right next to me, leaning on the same cushion. Respect means we couldn’t be too close but I’d argue that we broke that a little. It was, again, a romantic gesture and another moment I won’t forget.

As soon as it finished and his mum left, he tickled me senseless. Then after tidying up, time for bed.

As always, he came in to check on me and ask if I needed anything and to say goodnight. His kisses and hugs were lovely. And when he walked away, quickly came back when he sensed my tears.

And here I am. In the queue, waiting for the plane. Trip 7 is practically over: just a flight and a few train journeys then I’m home.

Trip 7, Day seven

Last night, a thunderstorm clouded the sky and sent beautifully dramatic streaks of lightning across the sky. I don’t know whether it’s because I was on the third floor or because there is less light pollution here or even the fact there are less trees than home, but the sky was spectacular. And for once it wasn’t me making a storm.

I didn’t wake at a silly hour this morning either but that’s often the way when I’m here. It seems to take me quite a few days to settle- in every sense of the word. That’s part of the reason that a week never seems enough. Or maybe it’s the long gap in between. I’m not sure.

I woke at gone 7am. I washed and went back to bed. I could have fallen back to sleep but I’m conscious in a few days I will be back to work… I can hardly believe it.

I felt morose this morning. One of the things my reading has taught me, and I’m working on, is taking time to scan your body. Where are the feels? What emotion is creating them? Today’s moroseness is not something self-imposed from my overactive and demanding mind. No, It’s just genuine sadness that my time here is coming to an end. I can say that with all confidence because I’m beginning to see how true sadness feels different to the imposed sadness of my mind.

This morning’s kisses were firm and loving and repeated. I think he’s feeling it too.

We had our usual morning routine of bed and hugs and phone but when I tried to move away, he pulled my face back down to his chest. So I happily complied. There were more kisses from him too, snatched between videos. And then he showered my face with kisses like a firework going off – sparks of lips and beard all over my face. He told me after that I was to no longer as for kisses as he was now in credit by a thousand.

I can’t explain the pure joy that emanates from my solar plexus when he comes home. I feel like my whole world lights up when I see his face, and hear his voice.

In the evening, he took me out to a cafe – the one he took me to that very first night I came here, over three years ago. Unfortunately, it didn’t go as well this time.

Trip 7, Day one (and two) – the positive one

And so, following on from my last post, here’s to positivity!

I arrived in London safely. Unfortunately, despite my scouring, I hadn’t really found anything wanted to do in the free time I had.

Yes yes, that sounds a bit weird since I was visiting the capital. But most of the tourist places I wanted to go to would have been unavailable by the time I arrived, and the rest I wanted to visit when I had my children with me.

So, instead, I braved a new, previously unexplored underground route and went to Oxford Circus and to one of the major shopping streets in London:

And whilst you could argue that most of these shops are also up north, the fact that I braved them and wandered around on my own in what I can only describe as a stampede, well I think I should be praised. So, well done me.

I bought nothing. Ah well.

I contemplated eating somewhere but everywhere was so busy…gluten…nah.

I headed back to the underground and made my way to the hotel.

It’s amazing how confident I now am with this. I remember my first trip to London 10 years ago, feeling totally lost and bewildered by the underground. Whilst it’s definitely true that manners down here are different to those up north, its not as bad as I once imagined. Whilst one slightly crazed Londoner was ranting all over the train, another caught my eye from the other end of the train, rolled his eyes, and smiled at me .

It’s 3.48am. I had planned to wake at 4am but it turns out that I wasn’t able to do that.

Premier Inn has the most amazingly comfortable beds so it wasn’t anything to do with that – you know me, I can’t sleep when I have stuff on my mind.

I’m aiming to be at the airport for 5am in the hope that I have a smooth check in before my 7am flight.


5.54am and I’m now sat in the lounge, waiting for my gate number.

Security was a bit hairy – I can’t believe how busy it was! – as my suitcase was checked for the first time. As I waited my turn, I wracked my brain, thinking what I could possibly have left in my suitcase: I’m a seasoned pro now! In the end, it was the gluten free flour. In 3.5 years, it’s the first time someone has checked it.

I’m feeling the first fluttering of nerves and excitement and anticipation.  Would you think me weird if I told you that I’m trying not to think of him?

I’m now sat on the plane, waiting to taxi to the runway. The butterflies are now a full ballet troup pirrouetting in my stomach.


My first day was just…wonderful.

From holding my hand in the car whilst waiting for his parents, to kisses and affection and hugs, to flirting and passionate intimacy: he’s shown me that he has missed me and loves me.

Happy happy day.


I’ve done the grand sum of nothing this morning. Actually, I dragged myself out of bed to buy milk. And then ate two chocolate bars, one after the other. It didn’t help.

It’s now 11.35am and I’m sat in the relative quiet of my home sipping a late coffee.

I’ve been a hive of activity the last few days and I’m really proud of myself. My little porch is pretty much finished, and I get a gush of happiness every time I see my front door. The last job is to paint the floor but it’s not quite warm enough to do that so I’m keeping an eye on the temperature. Hopefully, this afternoon’s sunshine will be sufficient. I’ve asked my sister to make me a lavender wreath for my now beloved door. I can’t wait.

Today, I don’t know where to start. I could start painting the hall way. I could do some gardening. The kitchen needs cleaning again. I’m frozen. One of those days.

Today, I’m tired. And, ok WordPress, I’m sad too. More like numb and frozen this morning, but there’s sadness there too.

My head feels weird. As I’ve been so analytically introverted this last few years, trying to fight my way out of this thing I’m going through, whatever it is. And so, of course, I’m trying to name my feelings, acknowledge my state and unpick it.

The problem with this self analysis and self help, as I said in an earlier post this week, is you often go looking for answers in places that are not always helpful. You look for patterns, similarities, forgetting that your mind has already come to a conclusion – right or wrong – and is simply searching for verification it is correct, not searching for other answers.

My Facebook friend – I really need a new codename for her as she has become my best friend over the years – is really struggling in her marriage. We are a source of support for one another, our situations similar in so many ways. We are similar in so many ways. She has understood and supported me through every anxious tirade, talked me down when I’ve let my emotions dictate good sense. She’s clarified the culture and traditions of Wildcard as her own husband is of the same culture. The past six months, I’ve noticed she is not as positive towards Wildcard as she was. I don’t think she believes he will ever propose as, per his customs, it should have happened by now. Anyway, I digress.

Her marriage has been struggling for a few months for a variety of reasons. A long bout of ill health across the family, followed by some mental health concerns for her husband. His moods have fluctuated violently. She’s scared as this is final Visa year, that he is going to leave her. She’s suspicious and anxious. She’s also madly in love with him.

Of course, whilst there are similarities, there are lots of differences too and I would be well placed to remind myself of that.

However. Seeing her struggles terrifies me. She’s made many contacts over the years and is party to many stories from other women married to men of that culture. The issues seem to be along the same line. It’s too frequent to be coincidental and I can only gather it is a cultural norm in reaction to conflict with their women.

And, even though we are not married and Wildcard isn’t even here, I’m living through that now. If it’s like this now, what would it be like if he actually came?

One thing in my favour, and I can ironically thank Wildcard’s hesitance here, I’m aware of this issue before he comes. The longevity of our relationship and his integrity in being true to himself means I’ve seen him, warts and all. Many women have had a heart aching shock when their husbands have moved in: they have been thrown off cloud 9, reality hitting them hard.

Similarly, a blog I have followed for 6 years has given me food for thought. I’ve read as this lady has started again after her divorce. I applauded as she met the love of her life and it gave me hope that it could happen for me too (long before I met Wildcard). But, recently, I’ve been similarly shocked by the relationship’s demise. What sends warning signals is how she describes how she felt about him. Her words could be mine, so easily. Despite that connection and happiness, despite her loving him like no other, it’s over.

Last night, I hit my limit on Wildcard’s coldness. I’ve mentioned it a few times to him this week, and he’s responded with a short reprieve each time. But by the next day, we are still firmly in Antarctica even if the sun is shining a little.

This behaviour is what I’m referring to above. The silent treatment. Iceman. And for some reason, this is Wildcard’s (and his fellow countryman’s) go-to when there are relationship issues. But understand, whilst many people do this in the height of an argument, they seem to prolong it for weeks. Indeed, the slow thaw is exactly that.

In the meantime, there is little attempt to resolve or discuss. They punish with their coldness and silence. I don’t know if it continues so long as a form of punishment. Maybe their inability to emote and share means their healing takes longer. Maybe they are waiting for that finite proof that you truly love them, when you are finally broken and distraught by their continued coldness and love withholding- because who else would put up with that, than a woman truly in love?

My friend is currently living through this and spent the afternoon in bed, distraught and heart broken. Maybe that’s why I finally called Wildcard out on it.

He pushed me, in his cold indifference and non committal responses to putting the phone down on him, me sobbing, and then refusing to answer the phone. I rarely get that bad – perhaps 2 or 3 other times in the course of our relationship. Other than these moments, and my anxiety, we don’t argue.

When you’ve hit breaking-heart-sadness, your mind is in overload. Rushing thoughts of: it’s over, he doesn’t love me; why the hell are you putting up with this?; he will call again, he will; I can’t speak to him.

He did call back again. He always does. And I finally answered, like I always do.

I couldn’t look at him. I continued to sob. He asked why I was crying and I struggled to speak. He told me he had given a stupid answer to my stupid question. He then, of course brought up the root of the issue.

As expected, he brought up the issue from last week. He again reiterated that he didn’t believe what I had said. I asked him what he thought I was doing then, if I was indeed lying. He didn’t answer. “You thought I was talking to another man?” He didn’t answer.

Of course it was that. Because if it was the other way round, I would think that too. So is the insecurity of a long distance relationship.

I exclaimed my love for him in as much detail as I could. I told him that I had never, ever, betrayed a man like that and never would. I told him that he was the love of my life and I had eyes for no one but him. And every word I said was the truth.

I then told him, that if in fact I was telling the truth, then he’d been cold with me for a whole week for no reason. He’d withheld his love and made me sad and nervous for nothing. I think that hit home.

He asked for a kiss and the argument ended. As always, he wouldn’t let me off the phone until he was sure I was calm. I know he loves me. Despite his coldness, there have been many signs that he still loves me in our calls this week.

One issue that I have, and I think it represents a true cultural crisis, is that I have no model relationship to aspire to. My parents separated. All my siblings, bar one, are divorced. Many of my cousins likewise.

Why is that?

Do we marry too soon? Do we not hold out for real love? Are we too quick to give up? Is it too easy to divorce? Are we too immoral and quick to have affairs? I just don’t know.

I’ve messaged my friend and she hasn’t replied. I hope she is OK.

I hope I will be ok too.


The warmth of the sun is caressing my neck, even though my hands are cold. If I block out the near sound of a Fortnite game, I can hear song birds and the throaty call of a pigeon or the whistle of their wings as they flap to the next branch.

In literature, pathetic fallacy is where the weather replicates the tone or action of the storyline. Think, heavy rain at a funeral or thunder storm as a malevolent force rises. 

The weather is pretty much summing up my relationship right now. There has been a marginal improvement in his mood: the sun is shining but it is still cold.

I’m trying to ignore it. Yesterday I put makeup on, threw on some feel good clothes and went shopping. I smiled. I sent him love. It was thrown back in my face every time. In fact, if he says thank you once more im response to my ‘I love you’s I might just scream. Fake it until you make it? No. Fake it until it wears you down.

As I often do, I’ve scoured the net looking for ideas, advice, support … something. This love withholding is apparently toxic/abusive/avoidant, depending on which website you read. Maybe it is all three.

Attachment style advice varies from ‘talk about it’ (are they kidding?) To ‘walk away, this will never improve’. Some sites talk about the avoidant with some sympathy: they want love desperately, but are fearful of it. So, what I’m seeing here is hurt and fear. He’s withdrawn to protect himself.

I’ve had no direct accusation. That is, he has not articulated exactly what I’ve done or what he suspects me of. I do know what started it, of course.

I also know that I have an anxious attachment style. I’ve learnt that it is very common for an anxious and avoidant to get together: they compliment each other, apparently, although not in a positive way. It’s a self-perpetuating cycle: one avoids, the other is anxious so chases. The avoidant stays because, actually, they don’t want the anxious to go anywhere even though they don’t want them too close either. A secure would just walk away, making the avoidant well, more avoidant. Unless, walking away is what makes the avoidant finally commit.

As a lot of this theory comes from psychological research ( and I’m currently living it), some this is undoubtedly true. However, type this in a search engine and you will get a raft of webpages spinning their own interpretation, many of which have no medical or official expertise. Social media labels pretty much everyone as ‘toxic’ or a ‘narcissist’ or whatever the current antagonist buzz word is.

Here’s what I know. His current behaviour is triggering my anxiety and it physically hurts. Last night I cracked. He saw I cracked. Whilst on the phone, he did nothing to console me or reassure me. That’s pretty messed up. But immediately after we ended the call, he sent me messages of love.

Today, his tone has warmed like the UK’s blue skies, but he’s still cold. Nonetheless, when I see all my drawings still proudly on display on his dresser; when I see him wearing his rings; when I know that he still wants me near with every call, no matter how hurt he is, I feel a little better.

Esther Perel states that “The cycle of connection, disconnection, and reconnection exists in every relationship. Terry Real calls it “harmony, disharmony, and repair” or “closeness, disruption, and a return to closeness.” “. She mentions how repair could be an angry silent husband still making his wife a cup of tea. Or, in this case, a sullen boyfriend still calling every day.

What I believe- what I have always believed – is that real, lasting love comes from knowing and accepting our partner’s flaws. It’s as simple as that. Pretending to accept them only leads to problems in the future. Thinking that one day you will change them is similarly problem-laden. Yes, some people change in time- a good relationship will bring two people together in harmony, but only when they have both whole heartedly accepted the other’s flaws in the first place.

I don’t know what is going to happen in the future. I know my anxious attachment is causing issues and that reading self help can create anxiety as well as soothing it, if it is from the wrong source. I also know there are women out there who would definitely not put up with his behaviour.

I know that I love him, still, flaws and all. I know that something like this happens every year. I know that behaviour like this is few and far between, but enough to hurt. I know that I’m not Perfect either.

There are signs of repair and reconnection. And whilst that is what we both want, I’m happy with that.


Excuse my writing. I can’t promise this will be coherent or logical or valid, or even rational.

I can feel the anxiety and emotion and angst bubbling like lava in my solar plexus. My breathing is shallow.

I’m writing to get it all out. To purge it from my system in the hope that clarity will remain.

I’ve learnt enough about myself recently to know that this has been a slow build: a collection of evidence and concerns that my brain has stored, just waiting for the last piece of the mismatched puzzle.

And it will be mismatched. I’ve learnt enough about myself to know that, too.

It’s been the two months of being on edge, not knowing if my actions have ruined my relationship.

It’s the two months of him being on a cycle of busy and ill and therefore, just that little bit distant.

It’s the fact that he won’t commit to a time for me to visit.

It’s the fact that the plane prices are rising.

It’s the fact that my friends don’t seem to think he will ever commit to me.

It’s the fact that he’s different on the phone. Just a little. Less smiles. Less talking.

It’s how I’m beginning to lose hope. My dreams dying.

It’s how, I can no longer imagine a time when this works out.

It’s because I see my fb friend struggling in her marriage with a man from Wildcard’s country.

It’s because my London friend contacted to say her three year relationship is over.

And it’s because, nothing has changed about how much I love him. I still want him. And I fear deep down, that I’m going to get hurt.

I’m tired of the unknown and the anxiety and the overthinking and he think he is too.


I called after work as I always do. He was fine, we were fine, and passed the time of day. He told me his brother had just called and wanted to know if Wildcard could take a week off in the summer so that they could all travel to a holiday resort in the North of his country.

This is going to be hard to explain, so stick with me. I’m going to sound paranoid and selfish too.

My immediate thoughts? Well, there goes the time he would have spent with me. He will use his holidays with his brother and will work when I’m there. We won’t go travelling. I will be in the house waiting for him. I’m an after thought, I’m not important. His life with me and his relationship now come second to what his brother wants. And maybe, that’s because – as I have long suspected – he doesn’t feel like I do. There’s no urgency to see me. There’s no missing me or wanting me. I feel like he could wait no end and not be bothered. (I’m crying again, btw)

So of course, as he says this, my eyes fill up. I try to hide it, as I always do, and fail also as I always do.

And he got moody. What was wrong? Why was I getting upset?

How to explain… how to get across how I feel without painting myself in a terrible light?

I just said, I was nervous that he would have no time for me. That he would have no holidays to be with me – (keeping in mind that he had 9 days off with his brother in February. He took 3 days off when I was there in January. )

He started by saying he had plenty of holiday left, then got angry and said what was the problem if he had to work? That we just stayed in his town and he worked and I stayed in the house?

And I felt devalued, again. Not important, again. And part of me knows he’s testing to see if all I want is a holiday, not him. And I know he’s in a difficult position. But why can’t our life together come first? Why can’t his brother fit around us as he was there less than a month ago?

And why was he angry?

At the same time, he talked through times when I could come and didn’t rule out my holiday in May. He wants me to come in summer, it seems, but I got the impression that was because he wanted to travel, but now that might not happen as his brother will supercede it.

He ended by telling me I had interrupted his programme and he was going, followed by the usual niceties.

And here I am.

Everything changes

I’m happy at work. I like my new school. I feel appreciated and valued. I like my colleagues. I’m starting to feel confidence in myself and my abilities, again. It feels good.

It’s good that one area of my life has changed positively. It’s important to remember that life is never static. Everything changes – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly.

I hope, that when my fixed contract comes to an end, it is able to change to a permanent position. We can only wait and see.

My relationship with Wildcard has changed. I’m not sure why or how. Is it him? My last trip did not go as smoothly as we’d hoped. Then we had a huge row. Then he was ill. Then he was busy. Now he’s ill again.

I keep seeing his hurt expression from when I was there. He’s never shown that level of emotion before. I’m scared I broke something then.

But then, the same could be said of me. That trip made me really evaluate my life. I still love him – goodness how I love him – but part of me has given up. I don’t know whether it’s like the growing nothingness in The Never-ending Story – threatening to destroy any hope and love and happiness I feel. I want him to prove me wrong. I want him to destroy the Nothing and restore how I felt before.

Without a doubt, I feel the passage of time much more keenly to him. It’s probably my age. I’m watching the prices go up and up and just want to book. Yesterday, I dared to mention it. Stupid, really. I knew he was unwell. But I just wanted to ‘sew the seed’. That’s a half lie. I wanted him to tell me to do what I wanted.

Relationships change. We have hit 3 years and 4 months. We’re not children. Something has to change, and probably soon. And the way I see it, it can go only two ways: we will commit or we will split up.

False smiles hide what the face doth show

By rights, my cheeks should ache. My laughter lines should be deeper. I have smiled and laughed and oozed sweet happiness all week.

Underneath I’ve felt loneliness and jealousy and angst.

He’s tried, I know that. Late night calls on walks where he is exhausted.  Snippety calls to show me where he is. And, once, a message acknowledging that he missed me too and recognised how we hadn’t spoken that day.

Maybe I am a bad person. I’ve hated every moment. I’m so happy that his brother has finally visited, for them and him. For me, it has just hurt. The pain of missing him. The anxiety of feeling he isn’t missing me.

My friend has told me to step out of my feelings of rejection and consider it from his point of view. He’s done his best. He may see my negativity as selfish.

She’s right of course, on every level. An anxious person would feel this two weeks as rejection. Thinking only of how this is hurting me is selfish. And, he’d contacted more than was expected. Just not enough or as much as I wanted.

There’s nothing quite like finally hearing my phone ring, answering in a swell of happiness and love, only for the call to end after 4 minutes.

My mask has slipped on occasion. Most times I replaced it within a nanosecond or was even more Stepford Wife on the next call. I’ve aimed for understanding and caring and supportive. No pressure. But, I’ve told him I miss him, because I do.

The morning after the day we didn’t speak, he called me. It surprised me. And the moment I saw his face, I wept. I tried so hard not to, but I was just so happy to see him. I hoped that his tiredness and the bad light stopped him from seeing. I doubt it.

Tonight is their last night. Today and last night have been the worst for contact and I hit my limit. I’d had enough of feeling like an afterthought.

I didn’t hide it when he called but we didn’t talk about it either. The phonecall was 2 minutes because he was too tired to talk.

My friend talked me down after that. Once calm, I of course saw how I’d let my emotions take over. Luckily for me: moments later he called again and my smile was back in place.

Tired or not, though, he has called three times since then. I talked out of the explanation for my sad face with something about work. A half truth.

I await my last call. It’s their last night, so it overrides my insecure need for validation. He will be mine again, soon enough, I hope.

And whilst I don’t believe in hiding feelings as it only builds resentment, holding on to wildfire emotions is essential – instead of allowing them to blaze uncontrolled.

Calm, considered discussion of issues is better than emotion filled explosions that I later regret.

Love and Letters and Laughter

Valentines is coming and I have things to say. Important things that are lodged in my heart, crying out to be heard.

I miss his joking and laughter.

So why wait? I can disguise my need to speak with Valentine’s, my cunning mind decides.

Using “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus’ chapter 10 on love letters, I begin

I tell him how angry and sorry I am for my recent behaviour. I tell him how scared I am to lose him.

And then, I tell him everything I love about him. I pour my heart into my words with the sole purpose of showing my appreciation and love of who he is and my gratitude for all he has done. And, I acknowledge his situation and end with a promise that I understand and I will wait.

I then faff about with a heart background and send it in an email.

I have no idea how often he checks his account, but I figure in the next week or two he will find it. I vow not to mention it until Valentine’s Day, either way.

Five minutes later he calls: he’s on his nightly walk.

Except…he asks about the letter. I laugh and tell him i didnt exoect him to find it and that it was for Valentine’s Day. For a moment he questions me panic stricken, until i reasure his its not for another 9 days.

I change the topic and gabble on about my day, but at thw first opportunity he asks me to read it to him as he comments it is long and he doesn’t think he will understand it. I tell him that he could translate it easy enough but I do tell him it contains apologies, thanks and lots of love.

He’s quiet for the rest of the walk, but then, that’s how he’s been the last week or so. I silently pray that when he finally reads the letter, things will change. I realise he is probably wondering about it.

The latter part of the walk is silent, bar the noise of the street and his occasional cough. I’ve ran out of things to say and he is just quiet.

Once in the house, he turns on the camera and sits to drink tea with his parents.

But first, he starts to read the letter. Aloud.

“Stop stop stop!! No no no, don’t read it out!!”


“Because it’s everything in my heart.”

But instead he continues, commenting first on its two page length with a glimmer in his eye, and starts to read it in funny voices, thus hiding its content from his parents who barely understand English anyway.

And I laugh as he reads, covering my blushes with my hands and my t shirt. I relish in his happiness and his humour again.

He pauses at various parts to comment, and even tells his mum what he is reading.

“Well that’s not right, you didn’t hurt me. I hurt you.”

And although I continue to laugh, inside my mind race’s. Is that what he thinks? The book talks about how, when a woman explains her feelings, men immediately see that as a failure on their part – that they’ve done something wrong. Is that why he’s been quiet? Not because I hurt him, but because he feels like he hurt me? Failed me?

I don’t know how much of the letter he understood. Probably less than half, with reading it in a funny voice, my laughter and his parents questions. But all I know is, he was happy he got the letter regardless, happy that I had written so much and for that time, he was himself. He came back to me.

Knowing him, he has read it again since. I hope he has.

I need his love and laughter back.