Early on into my husband’s recovery, I realized the weight of our lives was on my shoulders.  Paying the bills, dealing with insurance, scheduling appointments, and everything else in between became my sole responsibility.  After all, my husband had checked out.

At first, I struggled with this.  Balancing our daily life with the added stress of being a single parent didn’t come easily.  I had to discover new ways of doing things, new ways of coping and basically just the inner strength to keep going.

But I did it.

I discovered the alpha in me and over time it became easier and easier to lead the family.  I grew comfortable making the decisions and calling the shots.  There was a new sheriff in the house, and she wasn’t afraid anymore.

But slowly, over time and after months of therapy, my husband started to come back.  His consciousness stepped back into reality and he was ready to resume the role he once held.  He wanted to lead us again.  However, that position had been filled.

Through the months and years that I had struggled to manage it all, I wanted nothing more than for my husband to return and relieve me of all the responsibility.  All the decisions, all the chores, all the stress.  I begged for his help.  But once he was back and ready to take over, I couldn’t let go.

The kids came to me for answers.  The dog looked to me for love.  The dinners, the house, the neighbors, the holidays, I did that.  I managed that.  Even my husband’s affairs with his old job or doctor visits.  I did that too.

In my husband’s absence, I had grown stronger.  Too strong, maybe.

Finding a way to fit him back into our lives became yet another challenge as a result of his injury.  I had grown used to living without him, though he had always been there physically.

He didn’t like this stronger version of me.  Just as I wanted the old him, he wanted the old me.  The passive me.  The insecure me.  The how-can-I-please-you me.  And that’s the struggle of a tragedy.  It changes you, shapes you, whether you realize it or not.

I have learned to make room for him in our life again.  He helps out now, five years later, so long as his brain allows it.  There are still responsibilities he has never been able to resume, like caring for the kids the way he used to.  But it works.  It has to.

 

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