The Husband and I are barely speaking right now. On Monday, we got a letter from the IRS about a screw up on last year's taxes. A screw up that I take full responsibility for, but one that opens up some old wounds. You see, I got myself into some serious debt because of running up bills and trying to take care of them without the Husband knowing about it. And I got further into debt as the money snowballed because of interest and the like. And when he finally found out about it last summer, the revelation was at a tense and awkward time (i.e., during a refinance on the house, right before we were facing a major health situation). And I completely forgot that I had screwed up some of the tax reporting in an effort to slip the information in under his radar last year, so in addition to the repayment of last years overpayment (i.e., we got a refund that was too high, so that amount will be deducted from this year's refund) we also have a year's worth of interest to pay on the extra money.
I suppose that all of the words he shouted at me on Monday night probably drained him of the ability to say anything more than absolutely necessary since then. Since "Good night" and "drive carefully" are not absolutely necessary, I don't hear those. Since "I fed the dog when I woke up, so you don't have to" can be said more succinctly and snippily as "I already did it", that's all I get. As restless as both of us are as we slumber, I didn't think we could manage to go so long with no physical contact at all, but he's managed to avoid touching me at all, no matter how briefly, all week.
I deserve some of the anger. But I don't deserve the accusation that I've reverted right back to the problems and behaviors I had before we sat down in September to work this all out and fix it. I have worked hard to earn back The Husband's trust with how I handle money. I closed all of my credit cards a year ago, and he has access to my credit report so he knows if an account is opened in my name. My paycheck is now deposited directly into an account where he keeps the checkbook, so he sees exactly how much money I am bringing in and how much I spend on my share of the expenses. The only discretionary money I have is when I get paid for my freelance writing or craft work, and he told me six month ago that he doesn't want to take away that freedom. But while my friends are talking about how they need to turn on the A/C because of our recent Spring temperatures, I only need to step into a room with the man who promised to love me for better or worse in order to feel a sufficient chill in the air.
I know I said I needed time for myself, but I didn't anticipate that all those unthinking pecks on the cheek or pats on the shoulder would be so conspicuous when they were absent. I wasn't ready to live in this bubble.