Family events

I used to dread family events. Not because of my family. Not because of his family. Because of everything that came before them.

The anxiety would start days before.

There would be arguments over things that made no sense. The kitchen not being clean enough. Me apparently saying something in the wrong tone. Something I had implied that I had not implied. Conversations that would go round and round until I genuinely did not know what we were arguing about anymore.

It was like something changed.

Birthdays. Christmas. Weekends staying with family. Holidays. Anything where attention was not fully on him seemed to come with this build up.

The atmosphere would change days beforehand.

He would talk about outfits for days.

What he was going to wear.

What looked right.

Then the morning would come and he would pull on old jeans and a scruffy t-shirt. Almost like he wanted me to say something.

Go on.

Say something.

Start something.

Or maybe so he could say I had started something.

I do not know.

Getting out of the house was agony.

Especially after we had our daughter.

Packing bags.

Finding spare clothes.

Getting snacks together.

Trying to remember everything.

Trying to get everybody into the car.

Trying to keep things calm.

Trying to move quickly enough that we would not be late but not so quickly that I would somehow do something wrong.

And then the drive.

God, the drives.

Arguments the whole way there.

Sometimes over things so small I cannot even remember what they were.

Or things where I genuinely never understood what the issue was in the first place.

A tone.

Something implied.

Something I had apparently meant.

Something I had apparently not cared enough about.

There was one birthday.

His sister's, I think.

We argued the whole drive there.

I cannot even remember why.

I just remember walking in and having to smile.

Actually physically smile.

Speak normally.

Make conversation.

Pretend everything was fine while feeling like I might cry.

He barely spoke.

Sat there in a mood.

Did not engage.

Then disappeared outside.

Sat in the garden.

People checking on him.

People checking on me.

Me trying to talk to him.

Trying to fix it.

Trying to work out what I had done wrong.

Threatening to leave.

He could not even leave. He did not drive.

But suddenly the entire day revolved around him.

Family members going outside.

People trying to calm him down.

People trying to comfort me.

Everyone else's day slowly becoming about managing his feelings.

I remember thinking at the time that it felt messy.

Just messy.

Exhausting.

There was another birthday years later.

His niece's.

We argued the whole drive there.

Again.

Outside the venue he was shouting at me.

Swearing.

Telling me to eff off.

People getting involved.

People stepping in.

People trying to calm things down.

Standing outside somewhere children were having a birthday party while feeling like your world was falling apart is a strange experience.

There were holidays.

Journeys where he refused to get back into the car.

One time I had to call family because he would not get back in.

Another time we stopped during a journey and he just walked off.

Another journey where I remember sitting there thinking please just get in the car.

Please.

Can we just get there.

Can today just be normal.

It sounds ridiculous writing it down.

Small things.

Arguments.

Stress.

People have bad days.

People argue.

But after years of it I stopped looking forward to things.

I started bracing for them.

I would feel anxious before birthdays.

Anxious before Christmas.

Anxious before holidays.

Anxious before family visits.

Not because of where we were going.

Because of what it took to get there.