Since my introvert partner is a teacher, I know that he has to spend his energy on at least thirty other people all day long. And then come home to be a parent to two more people and a partner to one. Since I'm one of the only adults in this scenario, I try to make sure that when his energy reads of inwardness to me, that means he wants to listen to music or watch sports or read without me and my rays of loud energy that want constant reverb, playback, trampoline return...call it what you will....So, I've been going into our room to read when he's on the couch clearly relaxing. I've been trying not to take it personally when he just wants a little quiet and peace in the house. Event though I might want some togetherness and noise. It's been going well...leading us to more understanding I think.
The other night, Tad sat on the couch, turned on music and seemed like he wanted to talk. So I came in to join him.
"SO!" I said.
"I'm just turning some music on here." He said, smiling.
So I joined him and started talking about my day.
And he was listening as he drank his tea, relaxing, and the music played but I just got mad. I didn't want him to listen to me with his eyes closed. I wanted him to lean forward in rapt attention! I wanted him to ask me really interesting and probing questions. I wanted him to not look tired. Or even be tired. I wanted him to find me so fascinating and enthralling, that it was like he wasn't even teaching all day long without any breaks!
And frankly, I was very impatient. I didn't even wait more than thirty seconds into telling about my day before I sort of stormed off.. I was imagining the scene more like this:
Exploding onto Tad's force field of calm and tranquility.
So when I went into the porch area to get some sewing supplies together and then knocked fifty drumsticks on to the ground with a lot of loud clattering and then walked back through the living room without looking at him, he said, "Hey. What are you doing?"
Turns out, he did want to sit and talk. He did miss me. He was just tired and happy to sink into the couch and relax while we reconnected. Perhaps he could have opened his eyes and looked at me. But he didn't know how important that was to me. Perhaps I could have waited thirty seconds longer and he would have reacted more how I wanted him to. But I didn't know that he actually did want to hang out.
So funny how with just a little more communication...
Like if Tad had said, "Hey! I want to hang out with you tonight"
Or if I had said, "Do you want to hang out, or should I give you some space?"
We would have had a situation much more like this:
Like, I think, we both wanted in the first place.
Ah, what a lovely bunch of life lessons marriage can give us.
That's the sound of me making a loud, obnoxious noise.