Nothing is worse than getting into an argument with your spouse or significant other just before stepping foot into a social situation. Your fangs are out, your blood pressure is up, and the next thing you know, Bob from accounting and his sweet hair plugs are coming your way for a conversation about bathroom tile. You have no other choice but to grin your way through two hours of small talk, faking your way through every conversation, just waiting to get back into the car so you can be yourself and deal with what’s happening.
When I try to explain to people what it’s like living life holding your sexual abuse to yourself, this is the only analogy that I can come up with that makes people get it. Imagine that happy hour extending for decades. That’s what it feels like. Eventually, you will snap. Either you talk to your spouse and head for a private conversation to clear the air, or you jack Bob against the wall and rip out his hair plugs with your teeth and head to his house to sledgehammer his bathroom. I’m choosing to talk it out with my spouse. It think it’s the right thing to do.
