I suffer from selective empathy.
It's near impossible for me to feel frustrated or down on behalf of T. When he complains that he's tired, I'm annoyed because he's the one who chose the schedule he keeps. When he complains that he doesn't have any money, I'm beyond annoyed because I pay all the bills, and have just started asking him to contribute last week (two weeks after going full-time again). When T starts getting snippy at the kids and telling them things like "big kids don't do that" I don't automatically assume that he's worn out or frustrated because they are sometimes tough to handle, I get angry because of all the child-raising books I've read and what a bad thing it is to tell a child that they are acting like a baby. However... (and there's always a however...)
When it comes to my friends and my children, I am Miss Empathy (Capital letters required). On Saturday, when my daughter started crying because she didn't have her pink jacket with a hood, and it was starting to rain, T says, "That's nothing to cry about" and my immediate response is "But it is to her". That phrase has rattled around in my brain all weekend. How can I be so ready to understand and comfort my children, but not my husband?
Unfortunately, this time I know the answer. I just don't like it.
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2 comments:
Dad's are the first to expect their children to act like little adults. I know this all to well. However, the real issue is that you've been let down too many times to muster up any sympathy. You've disengaged.
Yeah...the whole why are we having to "raise-up" the husbands along with the kids? Not too interesting anymore is it? I tell you, I had so much more patience when I was younger (maybe not though...I think I yelled more) and now, it's not fun...not fun to tow them along with me kicking and screaming (even though it's something they said they wanted, and then look at you like you're killing them by the meer mention of fulfilling some dream they may have mentioned in passing) not fun to try to explain empathy, or patience...or to tell them to wipe their mouths,and lick that ice-cream before it drips down the side of the cone, and you get it all over your...oh, um sorry...I digress, but you get the picture! (and fincial contributions? You may as well save your breath in some situations)
On a happier note...you may come for a spin anytime in the new car...I am thinking an all-girlie evening or something of the like is in order soon, no? Let me or Ms. Dina know...
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