Dodging eggshells

I saw Junebug last night.

Gosh, I loved Amy Adams' character. I could see where she'd play a Disney princess.

The movie was set in NC, which isn't far from where I'm from. The people were so familiar, even if the accents were fake.

The family was like too many. They're telling instead of asking people. And they never listen. They're bubbles that bounce off each other, but never merge. Chips on the shoulder and woundedness are the norms.

It was eggshells. Nobody really wanted to set the other off, so nobody connected. They loved each other in the most hollow of ways, but it was the best they could do.

I have a bad habit. It's especially at issue in the holiday season, although I talk about it in therapy almost each week in one form or another. I always make others out to be happier than I am, thinking that the rest of the world boasts sparkling existences while I waste away in loneliness. Other people have perfect, thoughtful spouses and they truly communicate effectively about everything. They have beautiful homes and rich lives, lots of friends and family they actually want to spend time visiting. They take trips and cull fascinating ways to spend their time. And they produce the exact number of children they want.

I've made P's ill-fated, jiffy marriage out to be all happy and shiny. Given the man who went into it, there's no way it isn't full of eggshells, known or unknown to his poor wife, but that's my head talking. In my anxious and sad heart, he's so happy without me. Rainbows and sunshine. Everything came together for him in bliss. I was the fool who patiently waited so long for him, then he finally got it together with someone else reaping the rewards. I am not over this hurt. But I know he's not really together, either.

During the movie, I remembered those eggshells, though; it flooded back what it felt like when I was with him, his daughter, and his parents. I had to acquiesce to the princess and tried to zip it around his mother. Everybody else's peace was more important than mine. I was pragmatically polite, honest without judging. I was the glue until I finally blew, then they didn't understand me in that role.

I know there is actually no real family life with him. Their cute house's exterior hides a lot of misery. Although he's full of superficial laughter and fun, his life didn't suddenly become joyful and his daughter mature. He's a tortured soul.

But he has a mate and I don't. So that casts it all pretty.

However, re-experiencing the eggshells, the land mines just waiting to explode, I had a sense of relief in being free. My house isn't like that. My son and I have no eggshells. Not having a man in my life makes it easier. I appreciate the purity and the lack of complication. I don't have gnawing in the pit of my stomach that I've made a mistake or might make someone angry inadvertently. I don't have to decide when to speak up and when to hold my tongue, a frustrating dilemma when I'm in a relationship.

I like not having eggshells. I am awkward enough without someone else imposing their issues.

Does this make sense to you? How shiny is your life? How many eggshells to you dodge? How sensitive are you to eggshells, or do you really care?