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My fibroids love the way he loves me

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does he love me yes no card

I chose to sleep on the couch last night because I just wasn’t in the mood to pretend that I have a healthy enough marriage to justify sleeping in the same bed with my husband every night. The full details are probably more appropriate for sharing on my marriage blog. I’ll leave out the back-story because I’ll end up writing another novel length post. I woke up about a half hour ago. Usually when I go to sleep on the couch I don’t get to stay there very long because Sir Gallahad comes down and orders me to get up and go upstairs; and he does not quit insisting until I do as he requests. Last night I guess he either never turned and woke up or he chose to pretend to be unaware I wasn’t in bed. But at around 5:30AM he did come down stairs and do a run-through of the script.

I had never paid too much attention to the tone of voice that he uses before. I have always just played my own role, because that’s all we do around here. We live by a script. We have these roles we play. We have recurring themes or scenes I guess you can call them. In this theme/scene, I go to sleep on the couch because something has happened between us and I have come to realize for the millionth time plus one that my husband is my enemy; and I cannot bring myself to getting into the same bed with a man I know deep in my heart and soul does not love me. I don’t want to be sleeping with the enemy. He’s usually already asleep. At some point he turns and realizes it’s late and I’m not in bed. He comes marching downstairs. He starts insisting I get up and go lie in my bed. I protest. He insists some more. I protest some more. He further insists. I eventually get up and go upstairs.

Today though, I realized for the first time that he does not insist I go upstairs to my bed because he’s concerned about me resting comfortably or because he’s concerned about the state of our relationship. He’s just pissed off that I would dare act as if he has done something to run me out of the bed. It’s more like “How dare you be down here sleeping on the couch? I didn’t do anything to you. Get the hell up and go lie in your bed.” And he speaks in a raised voice that is filled with irritation.

This morning I was alert enough to realize how much he sounded like someone speaking to a dog. I envisioned someone kicking a dog and shouting at it. I picked up the disgust that was always there but somehow I had previously missed it. And I changed up the script. Instead of my usual lines I yelled back at him. He showed his true colors immediately. The moment I yelled he no longer cared where I slept.

So that brings me to the title of my post.

My fibroids love the way he loves me

I know that fibroids have a scientific explanation behind their growth. But I do believe that the things we do or don’t do contribute to improving or worsening our condition. I believe fibroids or no fibroids, an unbalanced life can be traced back to your core–to not having a strong center. I’ll try to avoid speaking generally because I don’t really know anything as it pertains to the world and to life at large; but speaking for myself, I know that when I feel emotional pain my stomach is where most of that pain gets processed. It’s my core that takes the abuse. And I believe that fibroids thrive when stimulated in that way. So, when I say that my fibroids love the way my husband loves me, what I mean is that everything he does which hurts me emotionally starts that pain processing at the center of me and it inevitably activates and stimulates the fibroids.

I wrote another post titled “Did my bad marriage give me fibroids?“. Like I said, I know that fibroids result from some type of chemical and/or biological issue. I know I didn’t grow fibroids because of my husband and my marriage; but I do believe that the size of my fibroids and the problems they cause me result from the abuse to which my core so frequently gets subjected; and much of the pain and anguish that I’ve had to wrench my gut for years fighting to endure has been inflicted by my husband. Not that I am blaming him. Because at the end of the day I had a choice. I have a choice. It’s no one’s fault but my own that I stay in this marriage and continue to damage myself at the core by accepting whatever pain my husband inflicts upon me.

 

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My name is Monica. I have fibroids. My fibroids are large enough that they have transformed my figure into something I am still trying to learn how to live with. In the meantime while I try to learn how to live with my fibroids I am also trying every possible method I can find to try to shrink them naturally because I am afraid of the idea of a hysterectomy. I lived with fibroids from 2007 - 2016. I started documenting my experiences on this blog in 2012. On March 7th 2016 I had a hysterectomy out of concern that I might have ovarian cancer. It did not turn out that I had ovarian cancer. The cancer scare forced the hysterectomy I was trying to avoid, and so, I became fibroid free as of March 7th 2016. I will try to keep this blog up and running in the hope that it will be of some use to others going through what I went through.

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