I find myself wide awake in the dead of night, frustrated and exhausted, staring at the ceiling of our bedroom. A nasty sinus infection is tormenting me, my period is in full swing, and the constant interruptions from our little ones have pushed me to the brink of fatigue. But this time, it’s not the kids keeping me up.
Curled up on his side of the bed, my husband Alex is snoring like a wild animal in the forest. Over the five years I’ve known and loved him, I’ve discovered various tricks to silence his nocturnal noises. Usually, I just shift him over or gently pinch his nose, but tonight, nothing is working. Reluctantly, I resort to my most embarrassing tactic.
I attempt to snuggle him into silence. While this technique often does the trick for Alex’s snoring, it leaves me feeling oddly isolated. By nature, I’m a clingy person while my husband is more like a solitary grizzly bear. I’ve learned the hard way that if I show any mid-sleep affection, he’ll likely growl, shove my hands away, and roll to the far edge of the bed.
As soon as I feel the coolness of his back turned to me, I’m met with a blissful silence. Yet, instead of feeling triumphant, I’m sprawled out awkwardly, longing for that cozy “little spoon” moment that just won’t come. Normally, this would be the perfect time for me to launch into a 10-minute speech about why I need him to step outside his comfort zone in our relationship, but it’s far too late for that. Sleep is a lost cause for me tonight.
I wish I could say that our differences end here, and that we’re two soulmates who effortlessly finish each other’s sentences while binge-watching the same series on Netflix. But that would be a complete fib.
While I’m trying to get our toddler to eat broccoli, Alex is perfectly fine with her munching straight from the Ritz cracker box. When I’m in the mood for a thoughtful indie drama, he’s itching to watch another action-packed movie. We struggle to resolve conflicts because I want immediate solutions while he takes his sweet time to process everything. And while I could dance the night away with friends, my husband is more than content to stay home, unnoticed.
Let’s not even start on the cleaning habits. Some days, my neat-freak tendencies drive me to watch “Hoarders” for motivation, while other days, I simply need to glance at the scattered action figures on our bed or the trail of socks he leaves in his wake.
Our contrasting personalities can be both infuriating and hilarious. However, there’s one area that has required significant vulnerability for us both. Two years ago, Alex opened up about his struggle with ADHD since childhood. A year later, I was diagnosed with complex PTSD. Navigating our opposing mental health challenges has been quite the frustrating comedy of errors. Yet, thanks to therapy, we’re both learning to manage our differences.
One of the symptoms of Alex’s ADHD is forgetting crucial tasks like doctor appointments or insurance payments. Meanwhile, my PTSD has led me to micromanage every facet of our home life, including Alex. These issues may seem minor, but they are deeply rooted in our larger struggles.
His occasionally scattered thoughts have caused him immense shame over the years, stemming from bullying in school and unkind partners. In contrast, my trauma has conditioned me to seek perfection and please others at all costs. When Alex met me, I was covering my wounds with optimism and strict diets, completely unaware of my PTSD.
In an unexpected way, we’ve been navigating different types of pressure cookers. Acknowledging this reality has helped us find common ground. Despite our differences, our shared mental health journeys have ultimately united us instead of pulling us apart, even though they almost did.
Over the past year, Alex demonstrated his unwavering love by agreeing to move us closer to his family for support. After my diagnosis, we realized how challenging it was to maintain our lives on one income while managing my mental health. He even walked away from a great job directing an animated show to prioritize our family’s well-being. His loyalty and generosity have left me in awe.
Since the day we met, Alex has chosen me again and again. Whenever my PTSD tries to convince me that he no longer loves me, he skillfully counters those thoughts. He’s always there, always striving to understand me, and consistently my biggest supporter. Even though his way of expressing love is different from mine, I can always feel his steady hand in mine.
I might never get used to seeing him in those ancient shirts he refuses to toss out or being patient with him when he forgets to call the preschool. And oh my goodness, the socks! But after this past year, I’m starting to think that maybe I should embrace a few Ritz crackers right out of the box, too.
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In summary, while my partner and I may be polar opposites, our journey through mental health challenges has brought us closer together, proving that love can thrive amidst differences.
Keyphrase: polar opposites in marriage
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