I’m told they’ll be here Sunday morning, my mother, father, sister and her husband.
I still have no couch. I just unpacked the last of the boxes from the move. I didn‘t go get a haircut.
I wanted to convince them that we’re wonderful okay. That the move was successful and that we’re thriving. To give them the impression that we’re on top of things, loving our lives, relishing the new digs.
It all seemed too insincere.
Yeah, I am not perfect. There are dirty dishes in my sink, probably a towel on the floor in the bathroom. I still have paper reproducing itself all over my office. I don’t have much in the terms of decor, I didn‘t go furniture shopping. It does look like we recently moved in. I’m the only one who sees it, and honestly, I probably don’t care as much as I should.
It’s easy when you talk every ten days or so, to make things sound good. We know, I’m good at that. Them spending the next week with us, well, that makes it harder to pretend.
Part of me wants to crawl into my parents arms and cry; to let go all the tumultuous emotions and collapse. I can’t. They are here to visit, but they can’t be burdened by my drama. My predicament is of my own making.
I sometimes think back, wondering how I got here. I never thought I’d be married, much less contemplating divorce. When I did get married, I thought by now we’d be a busy growing family. Much of what I hoped and envisioned my life to be hasn‘t turned out. I’m sure everybody thinks that, but I feel lost. I wanted to be a good wife and mother. When I couldn‘t be a mother, my aspirations towards perfect wife seemed to fade. I began to wonder if I was meant to be a wife, since I wasn‘t meant to be a mother.
I haven’t replaced those hopes. I have no hope.
I was a perfectionist. Growing up, I was the perfect daughter, the good student, the best friend. I did everything as I was told, until I started feeling desperate about it all. I still didn‘t change too much. Up until I got married, I had to be good at everything. Since then, I struggle to be good at anything.
I don’t want them to see that I’m crumbling. I don’t want them to know that my marriage has soured. I still want them to see me as their perfect daughter, even if I can’t.