The Victorian-esque Parenting of an Emotionally Unavailable Man

English Victorians were a stoic bunch; they believed strongly in minding ones own business; they were serious, non-emotional and the upperclasses prided themselves on rationality. 

I see similar traits in Peter and his parents, in some ways. They will mind their own business to an extent by never sharing their own negative business, but I've always been certain that they revel in gossip. However, they will never gossip about their own children or their personal lives, treating them as an extension of themselves far, far into adulthood. 

I had to think long and hard about how to write this post, how to word it, how to get my point across. Firstly, I don't believe that any parents should interfere in their adult child's relationship unless there is danger or harm being incurred. Then, I find myself thinking, at the same time, that perhaps there are instances where an adult child's parent should have a word or two with their own child. To direct them onto the  path of giving and sharing in marriage and parenting.

Relationships and raising families don't come easily to our men, what is natural for most, needs instruction for others. Our men are so used to prioritising and pleasing themselves, thinking of another human's needs before their own is a foreign concept for them.

I discovered during my relationship with Peter, when I was on better terms with his sister, that conversations had taken place between his mother and sister about his inner selfishness. They were aware of it. But they never said anything TO him about it. I find myself wondering, if he'd had some direction, some "parenting" in the verb-sense, from his family about how priorities change when you have children, how you can't down tools when children are poorly and skulk off to tinker with car engines for the day. How sometimes, plans have to change. How WE have to change. Would our lives have been better? He looks up to his father, which is obvious to all and the one person who could have imparted a wise sentence or two which would undoubtedly have impacted on Peter and our lives for the better, is him. 

Instead, his father advises him on what to spend his money on, on the practicalities of caravanning. But he has never once shared wisdom on his role in raising a family. I see this as missed opportunity, missed change, missed impact which could have made all our lives better. Peter's father has always prioritised family above all; is there a reason he didn't nurture his son into doing the same? Am I being idealistic to imagine his father putting an arm around him and saying "you have a family now son...?" Or is this sort of openness just for the movies?

I remember Peter's father once telling me how unnerved he'd felt in a car with Peter once due to his fast driving. It was rare for his father to share anything with me, so this came as a surprise. "Did you not think to just ask him to slow down?" I said. The answer seemingly obvious to me. 

"No" he responded.

Peter currently lives with his parents and scoops up the best parts of two lives. 

1) Sitting in his adolescent bedroom pleasing himself. 

2) Dipping in and out of family life as we still have family holidays and do family days out together. He also still comes to the house to help with the children (but he obviously then gets to escape again!)

He is living rent free and his parents do not question or  disturb him.

His mother washes his clothes, cleans his sheets and changes his bed. When our children stay with him two nights a week, he has live-in childcare and they accept any request Peter makes of them with regards to practical help. 

He is evidently dipping in and out of two lives and his parents say nothing. Peter has openly told me how no conversations at all have been had about our separation, the future, his plans, nothing. They don't ask him a thing and just accept his double life and his avoidance of responsibility. I know that this is true. They avoid initiating any sort of emotional connection with him whilst continuing to carry out practical tasks at his request. Is this their silent permission to live as he does?

Although of course we have to allow our children to make their own mistakes as they grow and develop, I can't help feeling that there is a significant neglect issue in the imparting of wisdom, emotional connection and direction in their adult child's life. I think of all the wisdom handed down to me by my elders during pregnancy, not meddling, just basic wisdom, kindness, care and love. Yet, in Peter's world, practical interference equals care when emotional connection and nurturing is non-existent. Ironically, both his parents tried to tell me how to parent our first-born, primarily his mother, but they say nothing to Peter. He doesn't get angry, his mental health has always been good, so why not? Why won't they ever confront him or be honest with him about anything? Why do they fear upsetting him? Because he's male?

I see some autistic adolescents who are surrounded by love, connection, empathy from their parents and they show a motivation to grow, develop and mature. They're able to think of the future, create goals and work towards them, they show empathy. These are the parents who sought out a diagnosis for their struggling child in the first place and with the support and guidance as their brain is maturing, wonderful things can happen. 

Peter's father once told me that he'd always realised that Peter was a little different and joked that he'd often wondered if it was his fault for accidentally dropping a mirror on his head when he was young. He then swiftly changed the subject. Another missed opportunity. He knows that professionals have voiced openly that Peter has some sort of "disconnection possibly caused by neurodiversity" and he remains quiet. He knows that Peter has refused any sort of formal diagnosis. And he still remains quiet. He has not at any point, mentioned anything to Peter about his own views.

I spoke to his mother after our second-born came along about my need for more support from Peter, following my autoimmune diagnosis. "Peter's life has changed enough" she said. Why all the pandering? Was she frightened to take away his pleasures and his treats as a child? Was she inflicting her own parental guilt for returning to work when he was three months old onto our lives now? Was she making her mistakes my responsibility? "Peter needs his down time" was another response I got. What about my down time? Little did she realise that I'd been a svelte and sexy party-going, beer guzzling, disco loving career girl pre-Peter and now I had a part-time job, saggy skin, saggy boobs, 3 stone weight gain, a hormonal imbalance, zero social life, blocked milk ducts, shit pension and reduced career prospects. But Peter's life had changed enough because he had reduced his hobby time. His job was the same, he still lived in his home town. I'd moved into his life, his hometown and neglected my plans to live abroad again, but I didn't matter. I was nothing to her. Peter's life had changed enough. Why all the pandering? What was she making up for? Is there a reason why nobody seems to want to upset Peter? The only reasons I can think of for her chronic avoidance of even minorly upsetting her son are fear and guilt. I'll never know the backstory and they'll never know mine because they've never cared to ask. 

I know that they know he's different.

But like Victorian parents, they stay out of Peter's business and stand back, quietly, perhaps approvingly, as he lives his newly found bachelor lifestyle, never saying a word. Maybe they think he's beyond help, or maybe, they're just glad to have him home. 

Special needs? Yes, I have them too.

You can't be in a relationship with someone who has special needs, without you becoming part of a special needs relationship. There is no way around it. 

The problem is that because their needs are special, more important, more prone to meltdowns, outburts and shutdowns if they aren't met, our needs must be deprioritised in their world. When you are navigating the world together, you become deprioritised in your world too. Nobody is an island. Nobody is immune to the levels of neglect that are inflicted onto neurotypicals in these relationships. You can't not be affected, no matter how many spa days your take yourself on.

For many years, when the children were babies, his needs gave me anxiety; stretched me far beyond my comfort zone; took me to depths beyond my limitations of exhaustion; caused a desperate loneliness; made me invisible, unworthy. Unimportant. 

I have health needs, but they are always subordinate to his special hobby needs. Just yesterday, Peter had a quiet, passive aggressive tantrum. He yet again failed to communicate his request to swap our weekend days with our children this weekend because he has a special hobby event which he has known about for months. When he suddenly raised this with me, quite literally days before the event and I told him that this wasn't acceptable, that I had plans, he turned all responsibility onto me:

"You're happy for me to lose the £50 I paid for my ticket?"

"I've swapped with you before when you've asked me to." 

"You know how much this means to me. Why do you resent my hobby so much?"

"Communication is the issue," I said to Peter. 

"What plans do you have?!" 

I told him that I have plans to do housework and rest. But he doesn't value these plans. This is also a feminist problem- my work, my plans, my hobbies are never quite as special as his. "Rest on Sunday" he said "I'll have the children that day instead."

"We have plans with friends Peter."

After this conversation escalated to me shouting as he repeatedly protested "there is nothing wrong with my communication!" I walked away crying in pure frustration and upset at the loss of my own choices and freedoms, a pattern which occured regularly when we were together. He took away my choices. How is it happening now, when we're not even together anymore? 

I began deliberating whether to just not be at the house when he delivers the children to me on his day. But I know that my life would be made much more difficult. Despite the 6 weeks notice I always give him for a change of day, he would play games and make himself very unavailable to me in the future. He also threatened to take the children with him to his special hobby event if I'm not there to provide childcare for him as and when he says I should be able to, despite it being his day with the children. This would mean the children being dragged around a race track until midnight. He would do this, because his hobby is more special to him than their wellbeing. However, their wellbeing is more important to me than my own rest and grievances with him, and he knows this, so he has me morally trapped. 

His special needs trump everything and everyone and I have to lose out on rest, whilst the housework waits another week. I am tired of his selfish needs. 

Which still seem to prevail over everything and everyone, like a snatching, sleep thieving toddler who just doesn't know any better. 

But they do know better, don't they?

ASD in denial

Aside from the challenges of living with a man who has ASD, sometimes is their blind denial of even having it. 

It doesn't matter to Peter that I spend a considerable amount of my working life with children who have autism and that I'm trained to refer them for autism testing where I deem it appropriate. It doesn't matter to Peter that three therapists have now either directly said that they believe Peter has neurodivergent traits or implied it by referring to a "disconnect." The first therapist we ever met implied it by asking Peter if autism ran in his family. 

Peter is adamant that all of us are wrong. He is not autistic. However, when we get into the details of Peter's challenges, he will openly admit to feeling "different," to being hyper-focused on facts and details, to not needing the same level of intimacy that others need, to finding emotions "uncomfortable," to wanting to wear the same clothes everyday, he admits his  resistance to change... but Peter will not admit to autism. 

At some point, I think that he's developed the belief that an autism label is a negative thing. That autism is a flaw and one in which he can't possibly have. In the last 10 years, Peter's denial has been worse than the autism or ADHD that I believe he also has. I can point out to Peter that he ought to put the meals on the dining table before proceeding to wash up whilst his freshly made meals sit going cold on the kitchen worktop, but he accuses me of being intolerant to his "ways of doing things." He will not ever comprehend that often, things need to be done in a certain order; that meals should be eaten warm and that the washing up comes afterwards. He says I'm controlling. 

This has been the worst part for me, knowing that he genuinely believes that I am the problem. The verdicts of the professionals have never made him even consider changing his point of view. I believe that this is the real reason I had to separate from him. I would have accepted the adhd and the autism had he have explored it and been open to finding ways to navigate through life together in a better way. If Peter had sought some help and support, if he had prioritised our relationship. But he never did, instead he prioritised his fragile ego and focuses on preserving the view he has of himself as unflawed and completely functional. 

Nobody can work with that, let alone find a way to have a loving relationship.

The pros and cons of separating, almost 9 months on...

So many Cassandras ponder over the benefits of leaving. Those of us with children know that there will be sacrifices that need to be made if we leave, we also know that exposing our children to his recklessness and/or negativity, without us there as a buffer, is going to be tough. 

When he lived with us, I used to stress over the house a lot. I'd get anxious about whether or not it was clean or tidy, I'd be quite stringent about my cleaning mornings, Peter would vacuum on Saturdays and we have a lot of floor space to cover. I even had a cleaning itinery. I was nervous about becoming a single parent as I knew that there would be more to do and likely, less time to do it. Peter is highly practical and I hate vacumming. He would also over-see breakfast in the mornings with the children whilst I showered and got myself ready for the day. The thought of being solely responsible for this made me so anxious and yet, our mornings our now calmer than they've ever been! No shouting. No upsets. No stress. 

My house now is messy and nowhere near as clean. But I don't use my cleaning itinery any more! And I don't stress if I don't have time to clean either (I'm currently lying in a warm bath having not cleaned the house in 8 days). It will amaze you how much control you'll endeavour to seek over the things that you are allowed to control. Because, quite frankly, often, they are the ones in the driving seat. Whether that is passively, manipulatively or directly. Cleaning was something I could have control over because he never valued it.

I have asked Peter for the passwords to our utilities accounts, which he has shared with me. I have also tried to switch the accounts to my name. Surprise, surprise he never responds to those requests because Peter is sitting in the background overseeing all our useage and all our spending. He is also still deciding which companies we're registered with and he does not communicate any of this to me. I am still, to some degree, under his control. He is reluctant to sell the house and financially, fully go our separate ways. He walks in and out of our house and our lives as he feels. He has his own private space at his parents' house who he lives with for free and his space is completely separate from me. He tells me he would be happy to continue this dynamic indefinitely. But I would never be free, would I? How would I ever move on and meet someone else? Get married? Is this part of his plan? 

Mortgage rates are at an all time high and it makes financial sense for me to continue living in this house for the time being. I feel like his lodger. Both of us have increased our salaries this year to accommodate our future separation, but financially, we will still be worse off.

Sharing the children with him devastates me at times. Twice a week, they stay with him and his parents over night, I lose a weekend day every week with them, but the space away is needed when I'm doing everything else on my own. I worry for their welfare when they're in his care, I worry for their safety. I worry he won't respond to illness or injury. His driving terrifies me.

Everything is messier and harder practically, because he was so practical at times. Emotionally, I miss my children when they're not with me, but I don't miss him. I don't miss the miserable hope and disappointment of connection everyday, the sexual rejection, the sulking and passive aggressive remarks, the obstructions. The acceptance of a rubbish, stagnant relationship. Ironically, I do miss adult company and sometimes his adult company because often, he was the only adult I'd have a full conversation with some days.

I am also more free than I've ever been. I somehow have more space and time for swimming, yoga, meet-ups with friends, social groups. Peter used to tell me how he'd never stop me from doing anything I wanted to do, that he would always care for the children (provided it was convenient for him of course!!). But, when you feel like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, time doesn't feel very free, even when it is. Emotionally, I was always busy. My free time was spent researching him, his quirks, his ways and trying to work out what was wrong with us as a couple. Always wondering, is it me?

I've started listening to music again, which is highly healing. Pink's "All I know So Far," and the lyrics "you throw your head back and you spin in the wind, let the walls crack, 'cuz it lets the light in" gives me goosepimples; my nervous system, beginning to light up again instead of shutting down out of self protection. At first, I was daunted at the prospect of cooking for one and I lived on eggs and toast when the children weren't here. But now, I'm making myself the meals that they would never eat, looking forward to adult, nutritious food at the end of a long day. 

I believe that Peter made life difficult when we were together, playing on my anxieties. I could never make myself vulnerable, because I felt he used my vulnerabilities to get at me. If there was something I didn't like, he would do it more- antagonise me. Then make me feel ridiculous. 

"I was only helping by doing x, y, z." He gave me more work to do. He would mindlessly load the washing machine and then go out for the day with his father, tying me to the house all afternoon- drying, folding, putting away when he knew that I had plans to go out too. If I left it all for him, he'd leave it in a creased up pile and eventually put everything away in the wrong places. Our daughters' clothes all mixed up in each other's cupboards. Mine hanging loosely over a chair in the office.

"Just leave the washing to me," I'd say, but he wouldn't. I'd be labelled "controlling" despite my primary desire just being that he refrained from putting extra work load on me. Surely, I have the right to control that? Because really, he was the one controlling me and my time. I genuinely believe he took great enjoyment in messing up my systems in a bid to cause heightened stress and anxiety then he could call me crazy. I don't miss any of it. 

Part of me just accepts the way things are  currently. He's finally out of my space (most of the time). It isn't perfect, but maybe this is just how it needs to stay for a while. I can keep my girls close and support his regular, short bursts of time with the children to keep them safe and him content and civil. I don't think he enjoys fathering deep down anyway, he's just endeavouring to do what's right. If he gave in to his true desires, aside from his need for control and possessiveness,  I don't think we'd see him for dust. 

Overall, I'm glad he's gone. 

There's a clearing in the dull skies overhead and the sun is shining on my face at last. Hope and future love awaits. 

My therapist said to me once, "sometimes, you have to prioritise and safeguard future you and that means doing things that present you may find uncomfortable."

I knew that I'd made the right decision when she said that. 

The difference between autism and arseholeism

A friend of mine has a husband who is autistic. He has his quirky ways, his prized possessions, he likes his routines, his diet is pretty unimaginative.

But, he adores his wife. 

And if she tells him she's upset, he believes her and works to find a solution; he advocates for her in public; he has her back; he cooks and cleans; he shows her that he loves her.

I know that autism affects people in different ways, but it has made me consider that autism isn't a built in excuse to be a bad husband. That if a husband is unwilling to work on himself or his marriage, then actually, that's arseholeism. 

-When you tell your autistic husband that you're unhappy and you want to work with him to find a solution, but instead he sulks, closes the door on you and focuses purely on himself. That's arseholeism.

-When your autistic husband is verbally and physically abusive towards you. That's arseholeism. 

-When he 'forgets' or dismisses your birthday? That's arseholeism. 

-When he refuses to help with the children or housework or anything that causes him any sort of inconvenience either by avoiding it or arguing the toss out of his responsibilities. That's arseholeism.

-When he can spend quality time with his friends or his special hobbies but not with you? That's arseholeism.

-When you have to convince him to share his finances with you. That's just arseholeism.

-When he diminishes your opinions and feelings because he doesn't like them or they don't fit his confined way of thinking? That's arseholeism.

-When you repeatedly attend therapy because your level of wellbeing is so low in this marriage and he refuses therapy himself? That's arseholeism.

-When he keeps you all for himself and refuses to leave or makes it difficult for you to leave, yet he refuses a loving intimate relationship with you? That's emotional abuse caused by arseholeism.

-When you have to remind him that your time is not up for his taking, that you need time out too because he hasn't even considered that you are a human with needs outside of family life. That's arseholeism. 

-When he refuses to celebrate special occasions like anniversaries? That's arseholeism. 

- When he knows deep down that relationships are difficult for him, but he masks and love bombs and ropes you into one with him anyway only to retreat from it once he "has" you, that's arseholeism. 

- When his family are disrespectful towards you but he can not see through his own obligations and loyalties towards them and expects you to be more tolerant of them. That's arseholeism. 

- When he closes down all communication with him around your unhappiness. That's arseholeism. 

- When he spoils holidays because deep down he doesn't like change and he takes it out on you rather than finding a healthier outlet for his own anxiety, that's arseholeism. 

- When you're ill and he doesn't care for you, or worse, punishes you through sulking, silence or outward disapproval. That's arseholeism. 

I'm sure there are plenty more scenarios that women have become exposed to whilst in these one-sided, careless relationships. But it's important that we don't pin all of his negative behaviour on autism. Some men may not feel the level of empathy that we might expect in loving relationships, but when we communicate our upset and dislike of something, he has a choice. He can choose to find solutions, he can choose to listen, he can choose to validate her, even if he doesn't feel it. 

Gaslighting, denying or arguing our feelings away is abusive. It's selfish. It's neglectful. Let's not use autism as an excuse for abuse. 

Getting Comfortable with his Discomfort

I find his discomfort incredibly difficult. 

But, this is what makes us Cassandras great lovers and partners in the first place: we want to make life lovely for the ones we love. Isn't that what anyone in a romantic relationship wants to do, initially anyway? If you prioritise them 100% and they prioritise you 100%, surely you can't go far wrong? This is my theory anyway.

It was at the point when I was exhausted, neglected, depressed and worn down that I realised that Peter was protecting his own comfort at all costs, leaving me in intense discomfort a lot of the time and nobody was looking after me. I realised that I needed to become selfish to survive. I had to stop loving him purely out of survival.  This does not make for a successful romantic relationship. Ever. I'm well acquainted with discomfort, having grown up with an alcoholic parent. Despite tons of therapy and self help, I didn't realise that I was still tolerating my own discomfort so "well" until extremely recently.

It is still foreign to me to accept Peter's discomfort in return for my own comfort. I feel immense guilt, a sense of failure, self doubt, self loathing, selfishness. I feel I've wronged him. He makes me feel I've betrayed him: the sulking, the silent treatment, the body language. However, I'm having to tolerate Peter's discomfort to keep my children safe from his erratic driving; his lack of danger awareness, his emotional neglect and exposure to his mother's narcissism. It's a tough balance because no matter what I do, I feel a sense of unease at my decision making. This weekend, Peter had wanted the children to accompany him on a family trip and I told him no. I have thought of him alone, his cousins and sister all accompanied by their young children and him alone and a bit lost without any of us there. I have to remind myself that he has repeatedly chosen his loyalty to the FOO (family of origin) over his loyalty to me and our children and that this is his consequence.

Peter isn't used to consequences. 

He has been quite spoiled by his parents in some ways, having lived a rather privileged childhood filled with long-haul holidays; racing cars funded by his father; large houses; tree houses; play rooms filled with the latest toys and gadgets; deposits for houses and cars paid for in adulthood. Peter's childhood has lacked in emotion and love, but he has never lacked in material things and big experiences. He was supported and funded by his parents to partake in a range of hobbies and outlets as a child and I doubt if he ever asked for something, he was ever told no. 

Self entitlement is an ugly attribute, but it dominates Peter's motivations; he believes that poor people are born of laziness rather than circumstance, with this comes an innate superiority complex; he believes that he is deserving of a comfortable life. This mindset conflicts greatly when the man I know expected things to work in his favour always, despite the poor effort he made in love. He is an exception to his own belief systems. 

Yesterday, I received a text from Peter asking me to cut his hair for him having always done this previously. I didn't reply for hours. Intensely going over whether to agree or not to- my head knowing that this was not appropriate and my heart just wanting to please him, make him happy. I thought of the extra childcare he'd provided this week and had to remind myself that no, he's their father, I don't need to sabotage my personal boundaries for feelings of obligation towards him for purely looking after his own children! 

I responded eventually very authentically. I said that I felt very guilty for saying no but that I needed to protect my own feelings. In the past, I've stuck to my boundaries authoritatively at times and felt like I've been a hypocrit when I've needed him and dropped those boundaries again. This time was different. Telling him that I felt guilty helped me feel a bit more comfortable somehow. Peter actually responded with an apology for putting me in an awkward position, which felt positive.

However, we all know how these types of men operate and I was soon to blame. He was unable to make an appointment at the barbers that evening as he was looking after the children. He tried to convince me to keep the children longer as they were "playing nicely" but I had my own plans, meaning that he couldn't go off and find a barber at the last minute. His demeanor suddenly changed as a result and I was met with sulking and one word answers when he collected the children. Because things hadn't worked out for him, because I hadn't facilitated his hair cut or a last minute barber dash due to his own disorganisation, suddenly I was to blame afterall. Peter's parents have always organised everything for him all his life, before I came along and now here I was, not facilitating his lack of planning and organisation anymore. How dare I? 

That old familiar feeling of guilt started to creep in again and I had to remind myself that his hair is not my responsibility. It should never have been my responsibility. We are separated, why on earth would it be my responsibility now?! 

I ask myself what will become of Peter in his newly found discomfort? Will he give up? Will he find his motivation after all? Or will his parents swoop in and save him at some point? One thing I know for sure is that if I don't look out for myself and notice my own discomfort and unease, nobody will and it is time to accept that this is bound to come at the detriment of Peter and the cushioned life he knows so well.

I know that he will be livid with me on his return from the family trip. He'll hate to have attended the event without the front of the family man to bolster his image. Surrounded by families, it will be completely my fault that he has felt uncomfortable and missed having the children by his side. I sit here now, reminding myself that his discomfort is not my responsibility anymore. He could choose to take responsibility for his experience over the weekend, reflect on his behaviour and choices over the years which have put him in this position in the first place, but he won't do that. 

I sit tight, knowing that there'll be an underhanded punishment for me at some point and that his parents and sister will be fuelling his entitlement over the weekend. But, life could have been so much different had he have chosen to lovingly and assertively prioritise his family over just thinking of himself.

Different

I think part of me has always been attracted to "different." When I was younger, if everyone was watching a certain TV show, I used to avoid it, if everyone was wearing a certain type of fashion, you would have found me being very unapologetically last year. 

I realise that I was owning the fact that I just didn't fit in. What I know now is that I didn't fit in because my self esteem had been so brutally knocked by my abusive father and that he'd created an inferiority complex within me. I wondered whether I was autistic for a time, but I have been assured by professionals that I am not autistic, just traumatised. 

Things are different now, I happily watch the same popular TV shows as everyone else, knowing that I'm worthy of doing so. I can see that I'm worthy of fashion (not that I care for it now), friends and good people. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case when I met Peter; I still had a long way to go in my recovery from a dysfunctional, neglectful upbringing. 

Being attracted to "different," I became attracted to Peter. I even remember saying to a friend around that time, "I've always been a fan of the underdog." 

Today, Peter and I attended our childrens' sports day and I looked around at the other parents in the crowd:

-well groomed

-interested in what their kids were doing

-chatting amongst other parents

- reacting to highs and lows

-some were hand in hand with their partners

-some leaned in for the odd casual kiss

I looked back at Peter:

He was staring into the clouds, watching birds fluttering about in the sky, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back, shoulders hunched, his bobbled shirt hanging off his frame, his trousers frayed at the bottom, his overgrown mop of hair, unkempt and overgrown, frizzy and styleless. His eyes squinting in the bright light, no sunglasses, no hat. 

He looked so different to everyone else and we were behaving so differently. Me at one side of the finish line, camera in hand, knelt down ready to take an action shot, him at the other side, oblivious, disengaged, disinterested. I part of me felt pleased that he wasn't stood beside me.

That's when it occured to me, that I'd been expecting normality, when the life I had created with Peter has been very different because he is different. Here were all these married couples- full of joy, intrigue, gratitude, warmth. Peter and I, unmarried, on opposite ends of the finish line.

I looked around and thought of how much I deserved to be with the sort of husband who was cheering, chatting and dropping casual arms over their wives shoulders and then I looked back at Peter, swaying, squinting at clouds. Self assured in his oblivious daydream, before taking out his phone to take a photograph- no. To check his work email. I glanced over at our daughter and smiled at her, before she diverted her eyes to him, her smile fading slightly when he didn't reciprocate.

It's not me who she hugs so tightly and fiercely when it's time to leave, it's him. And I find myself wondering if she is starting to feel the difference too.