Last week, I kept going. The small actions, the quiet shifts, the letting go. And for the first time, I felt a change—just a little, just enough to notice.
On Thursday, I offered dinner again. And this time, it felt lighter. No tension, no hesitation, just a simple exchange. I started asking small questions—How was your day? Did you sleep well?—keeping it casual, not forcing anything.
Then Friday, I made a deeper attempt.
Part of Jon’s love language is sitting down and watching TV together. Mine is… not. I struggle with it, feeling unproductive, restless. But I reminded myself—this isn’t about me, it’s about us. So I sat down, searching for a show we could both enjoy. I laughed about how impossible it was to find something, and for the first time in a while, I saw something shift in him. He looked… surprised.
Then I got interrupted—a call from my doctor’s office. While I was on the phone, Jon picked a show. He didn’t start it, just left it paused on the screen and said, This is supposed to be really good. You didn’t love the first season, but maybe we should give it another shot.
I made a mental note to really try. To be present. To give it a chance. And I did—I actually enjoyed it.
He was on his phone on and off throughout, which normally drives me crazy. And when I picked mine up for a second, he commented on it, like he always does. I bit my tongue. Let it go. This wasn’t about being right.
At the end of the night, we both went downstairs at the same time. I stepped into the bedroom, told him I was still sleeping in the other room, but I just wanted to say goodnight. I had a nice time hanging out with you tonight.
And then, as I walked away, he called my name.
I turned back. He looked at me and motioned for me to lay down next to him. I hesitated for a second, then climbed into bed beside him. And in that moment, everything else disappeared. It felt real, it felt warm, it felt… like us. Like something we hadn’t had in so long.
I let myself feel it. Let myself stay in it.
Saturday, he went rock climbing. Luca and I had a perfect day—zoo, Costco, just us. I felt light. A renewed energy inside me.
Sunday was my day. A long nine-mile run, breakfast alone, a walk on the beach. I gave myself space to breathe, to recharge. When I got home, I was so happy to see Luca—I had missed him all morning.
Then the shift.
Jon asked me to help with dinner. I said yes, just wanted to shower first. We actually showered together—it was nice, another small moment of closeness.
But then I went to the store. And when I got home, I walked straight into the fire.
It’s too late to cook now.
You’re going to get mad at me if it’s not done in time.
You never want to eat late.
It hurt. I felt like we were on a good roll, and I didn’t deserve that.
But this time, I didn’t react.
Instead, I did what my therapist suggested—I grabbed ice from the freezer, pressed it to my face and neck. It was uncomfortable. It didn’t fix anything. But it helped. Just enough.
I took a breath. Said, I don’t feel like I really deserve that. And then I let it go.
The rest of the afternoon, he sat on the couch—drinking, on his phone, watching TV. And as much as I love my morning alone, I hate coming home to this. The imbalance. The expectation that I’ll handle everything while he just… exists.
He was snappy. And when he raised his voice, I saw it happen again—Luca ran straight to me, grabbed my face in his tiny hands, pressed his forehead to mine. Mama, Mama.
And I wondered—Has he heard us yell so much that he’s afraid? That he thinks he needs to protect me?
That thought crushed me.
I turned to Jon. Stop it. Stop yelling at me.
I bit my tongue. Let it go. Told myself—don’t argue about today. It’s not worth it.
I made dinner. He ate. Didn’t say thank you. Just grabbed his plate and went back to the TV.
These are the moments that hurt the most. The ones that make me feel invisible. Unappreciated.
But it’s only been a week. And I refuse to let short-term emotions derail me.
So I let it go.
It’s hard. It makes me sad.
But I let it go.