July 31st, 2009

Communicate, communicate, communicate. Nothing could be so important.

A failure to disclose what we each really thought was going to happen is how I ended up in a commuter marriage.

Both Mr. J and I are 2nd timers to this marriage gig.

His previous wife was a stay at home wife. Therefore, in his prior life, when he came home and said, “Honey I’m interested in a job somewhere else.” She responded, “Okay, I’ll start packing.”

One of the things that drew Mr. J and I together were that we were both very driven at work. We shared the same passion for our areas of expertise. I assumed we both recognized that.

When he came home and said to me, “Honey, I’m interested in a job somewhere else.”

I think I responded, “How nice.” (I’ve been told by a reliable source that any time someone from below the Mason-Dixon Line says, “How nice,” they mean something else entirely.) While I’m not below the Mason-Dixon Line, trust me: I meant something else entirely.

Frankly, I didn’t really say much else. Other than “I don’t really want to move.”

Somehow he didn’t hear, “I won’t move.”

Perhaps because I didn’t actually say that?

After the ink was signed on the contracts and we both had the shocking realization that he’d just accepted another position in another state and had resigned from his (then) current job imagine the joy in our household when I stated that I wouldn’t be joining him.

Long dis-cuss-ions ensued. Tears, recriminations.

“Why didn’t you say something?” “Why did you just assume I’d go?”

Suffice it to say there was gnashing of teeth, a midnight run to the emergency room due to a flare up of stress induced issues (mine).

Later we’ll discuss why I wouldn’t just pick up and move. But for this post let me say it again:

Communicate, communicate, communicate.

Save yourself some heartache. Say what needs to be said before it is too late.