I don’t look forward to weekends much and it’s not even cause those are the days I don’t see or hear from Ray.
During the week I leave my house and head off to work, I get to dress up, do my job (which I’m very good at), socialize, have lunch with friends. I am in control and I get to be myself. It’s a completely different story at home. My husband (John) is under the impression that I am his 4th child. He wants a say in everything I do. I don’t remember him always being like this, I remember a time when we used to actually get along. It seems that those days are over.
I work in a very professional setting where professional attire is a must. Skirts can’t be too short, pants can’t be too tight, cleavage is frowned upon, etc, but even so the office guidelines aren’t the only ones I have to abide by. My husband is never pleased with my wardrobe choices, they rarely pass his inspection, he has appointed himself God’s fashion police. I am only half joking when I say that maybe I should start wearing a burqa. He does not find this humorous. Big surprise.
On my way to work I turn on the radio and have a dance party for one. This is a big No-No as far as John is concerned. I am not allowed to listen to “secular” music at home or in the car if he is with me. All the indecent song lyrics are displeasing to John. And to God. During lunch with my work friends, I go ahead and order a glass of wine, that’s something else John frowns upon. I am not a big drinker at all, but nothing tastes as good as something you’re not allowed to have. My work friends try to convince me to join them for Zumba classes during lunch time, John flatly refuses for reasons that only make sense to him and I am not allowed to Zumba. I guess the joke is on him, had I been taking Zumba classes with friends, I would not have had all that free time to do my naked workouts with Ray.
John thinks the pictures I post on my Instagram are stupid. He criticizes my need to post pictures for attention. He finds something wrong with pretty much every single picture. I don’t care what he says cause Ray likes them all.
Life at home is rough. I cannot be myself. I have to watch what I say to John during our casual (and infrequent) conversations, if I am not careful I will get a lecture for using a “bad” word or for saying things that aren’t pleasing to God, to John, I never remember which of the 2 is more disappointed in me. When we go out with friends or family, my outfit has to pass inspection, and if I decide to order a drink John will spend all night monitoring how fast I am sipping on my (ONE) drink, waiting for me to do or say something out of character so he can say I am drunk. If he feels that I am acting “drunk” another lecture will await me at home. I am not the wife and mother he envisioned, but I am the one he picked.
I miss the days during which I was in control of myself and of my life. I am not quite sure about whether John has taken control of my life from me or if at some point I willingly handed it over, whatever the case I want it back.