How to stop picking fights when you’re scared

One of my kids’ credit cards is maxed out. I planned on paying it, and then I didn’t have the money.

I have mastered dissociation in the face of not having money for very important things. I mean, that’s been going on for twenty years. But this feels different. Worse.

I’ve never had a steady income. I surprise even myself with the ways I make money now: managing IEP meetings, getting kids research positions. Maybe we are all surprised by our work. Because it’s not just our earnings that top out at age 40; so does our sense of control over our career. If I’m being honest, I already knew that, but who wants to be honest about career erosion?

Also in the category of “duh,” though some professor still got funding for it, is a study about how women’s earnings decrease after menopause. Does this mean that menopause is worse than turning 40, or does it mean that if we keep using birth control then our earnings will last a little longer?

It’s the night before the credit card payment is due, and I’m having to admit that I’ll be paying the minimum. I sulk while I start making chili for me and Nino. Plus rice, in case the chili is bad. I cook without recipes, so I always have rice.

While telling Nino that I’m upset about the credit card, I try to decide if I’m going to throw a fit. I have the fit-throwing urge that I get when I think about how Nino didn’t pay any child support and still gets to have a great relationship with the kids.

But then, before he even sits down, he says: “I’m really sorry I can’t help more with the money.” His voice cracks.

I tell myself that he is giving me emotional support so I can support the kids financially and emotionally. I tell myself that I can choose to receive the emotional support, or I can be a big fat baby and push everyone away from me and then complain about how bad the world is.

I ask him how his day was. I bring myself down from the handle I want to fly off of, and now I’m on the ground, asking the questions you ask if you’re high functioning. I am showing interest in another person. I say, “Do you want more chili? More rice?”

He says no.

I finish the rice because the chili is gross.

Nino says he likes the chili. I’m touched. My kids are so sick of my let’s-see-what’s-in-the-cupboard cooking.

Then he says, “Is there more rice?”

He always says this, because he is unable to connect his physical needs to what he says. Every night he says he doesn’t want more rice, and then he does. But tonight I ate it all.

“Why did you say you didn’t want rice? I ate it.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need more.”

“I wouldn’t have eaten it. I should have known you always want more. It was stupid of me. I feel bad.”

“It’s okay. This is not a big problem.”

We watch TV on the sofa. Or whatever you call it when you save videos to watch together. Nino has a lot of downtime at work, so he finds fun stuff for us to watch. But he likes having a record of everything we’ve seen. We always have to scroll through hundreds of videos to find ones to watch, and I feel like I’m dealing with an electronic hoarder.

“I want to delete the ones we’ve seen. This is crazy.”

“You can’t. It’s my account.”

“I’ll do it while you’re here.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t mind scrolling.”

“I mind. It’s a waste of time. We can never just pick one.”

Then I remember what it was like when I didn’t spend evenings with Nino. I have to remind myself how lonely it was to scare myself into behaving.

I tell myself it’s not the rice or the videos. It’s that I feel so out of control that I cannot pay off the credit card. I want to control something. Anything. I can’t even control the rice portions.

Nino picks a parody of keynote presenters, and I’m triggered. I miss making so much money from speaking.

He tells me that maybe I can start doing that again, but instead of the kids I could bring the dog. I laugh. I like that he knows it was completely ridiculous to fly all over the country with little kids crashing keynote speeches. I love having a shared history and a shorthand to talk about it. So what if I funded all of it.

We decide to just walk the dog. And I realize I am not trying to be a normal person with money; I have never tried to do that. But I’m also not trying to be a normal person with my need to control. I’m trying to be a normal person who treats the person I love like I love him.