Dean and I had a discussion on Thursday night after he got home from work.

As it had happened, he had experienced a fairly boring and routine day. I had not.

I’m a very organized person naturally (and I thank my genetics for that, at least most of the time I thank them). I have to be very organized for my job and to swing my part time jobs efficiently also. I actually have lists for my personal life, because if I don’t put ‘clean the cats’ litter’ and ‘email mom’ on the list, they won’t happen.

These… are not all of them. They were just the prettiest. And most accessible.

I keep track of our household expenses and budget. This was something mutually agreed upon and embraced way before we were married. I’m also on top of my separate expenses. In general, it’s me who says, “we need to look at the gutters this weekend,” or “we need wasp spray, I found a nest.” And I’m also usually the one that keeps it in my head until it happens.

For the most part, I don’t mind this. I like to know what’s going on, and as long as I feel appreciated, and I do, I don’t mind taking on some of the messy tasks.

But everyone hits their limit, and I came close to mine on Thursday.

Work was a lot. I love what I do, but I’m also only four months into a role that was a big step up for me, so I’m still constantly learning on the job. There are also occasionally those days where you do everything right, and things don’t work, and you’re left trying to figure out how and why, and especially when it involves people or companies outside of your control, you don’t get the answers you want. And then there are just some days where everyone needs something from you, as well as things not working as they should. And Thursday was one of those days.

On top of that, a friend asked for fitness advice. They were fine with the fact that I couldn’t answer immediately, but when I realized that my answer was going to be long, and I couldn’t text back because I didn’t end up getting to take the lunch that I wanted, and I asked to FaceTime a few hours later instead, they didn’t have time. Normally, this would be no big deal, but on top of everything else, it made me feel … shitty.

At the same time, my husband was asked to dog sit. We share a car. He started sending me screenshots of texts and asking for my thoughts. I said, “as long as I have the car to teach my classes in the morning, do what you want.” I kept getting screenshots. Finally, I asked some key questions; is she expecting you to sleep there, are you going to try and work from home, when do you need to be there. He said ‘you know as much as I do at this point’ which kind of pissed me off. Eventually, he got it all sorted out, but only after I had asked these questions. Why did I need to be involved in this? Why was I getting screenshots of these texts and being asked what to do? Why do I have to manage things that only remotely involve me?

I knew that part of my frustration was because of the day that I had had.

Dean and I did sit down and discuss it after he got home and saw me drinking whiskey on the porch with my headphones in, blaring music like a surly teen.

People wonder how I get up at 5am every day. Honestly, it’s my favorite part of the day. No one needs anything from me. I don’t owe anyone anything. Even if I go to bed late, I get up at 5. This is my time.

I posited an opinion that it must be a little interesting for him to navigate. Our situation isn’t traditional. I’m almost ten years older. I was used to being on my own and taking care of my own shit well into my mid thirties. My dad was a contractor and taught me how to fix my own things and take care of my own place. When we met and got married, I knew more than Dean did about fixing most things.

We’re also post ‘#metoo’ and I asked him if he was just like, “well, I’m a straight white male, she’s got this, I better not step on her toes.” Because, goddamit, sometimes I really wish he would just take over ANYTHING. (We had an incident with the freezer this week and I just absolutely refused to get involved. He called a guy, he’s coming out Saturday. I don’t care if I could have fixed it myself. I don’t. Care.)

If the roles were reversed, and I was the ten years younger female, it would be expected that the guy would know everything. He’d know how to take care of the things that broke, know how to buy a house and get a car serviced or he’d know who to call to get it done. And if the little lady wanted to step up and do some shit on her own, well, great! How resourceful and impressive is she.

Dean sharing fries with me after I finished physical therapy on Thursday night. Sometimes it does help to throw food at me.

I’ve had that relationship. Just before Dean, I dated a man twenty years older than me, who was actually impressed that I knew my way around various types of saws. And you know what? He did know how to take care of shit. When something was broken, he knew how to fix it or who to call. When there was a problem, he knew what to do. If someone was hurt, he had medical knowledge. You know what he didn’t know how to do? Be honest. Acknowledge any boundaries that I had. Not be the smartest person in the room. And, it almost goes without saying, listen.

I definitely leveled up.

When I asked Dean how he felt about it all in that context, he said that he didn’t think he actually thought that hard. He wasn’t actively thinking, “this is my time to support my feminist wife in her actualization,” he was thinking, “she does this well and she’s good at it” or he just … wasn’t thinking about it at all because I was doing it.

He’s read this. He knows what I’m writing about. And I asked him what the takeaway was. He used a version of a quote that I like to throw at people. “Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you always have the capacity to do it.”

“That’s what I said to Dana when I was thinking of taking a break from acting,” I said. “‘Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you have to do it for the rest of your life.’”

Dean said, “Right. Just because you’re an amazing gymnast, the best in the world, that doesn’t mean you can’t reach your limit and need to take a break. Sometimes you reach your limit. Maybe today you reached yours.”

The fact that he was comparing my household management and general organization of life to Simone Biles’s gymnastics was a boss move on his part, I will say.

Now if only I could blow things up whenever I’d had a bad day.

I asked him again what the takeaway was. What had I learned? He mentioned me sitting on the porch listening to music ‘like a surly teenager.’

“I really liked that sentence by the way,” he said.

“But like, I didn’t learn anything.” I said.

“Well, did it help? Shutting down and listening to music?”

“A little, I guess.” I admitted.

“Well, there’s your answer,” he said and he began to talk more. And I don’t remember what he said, because I realized that the real answer was the fact that he had come home and accepted the fact that I was drinking whiskey and blaring music on the porch in a full on mood and come out to listen instead of being upset that I didn’t have the capacity to deal with his day, or defensive because I was annoyed with him.

Even though I had enough self awareness to realize that I had had a bad day, that I knew that the work stuff wasn’t my fault, that I knew that my friend was just really, really, busy and honestly didn’t have the bandwidth to FaceTime, and that I knew he just was involving me in the dog sitting stuff out of respect for the fact that we shared a car, didn’t change the fact that my feelings were sore and that I was done. And Dean was okay with me being done.

That’s the takeaway I think. At some point, everyone reaches their limit, and it’s nice when there’s someone there to take over when it happens.

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should