This is the belt. It doesn’t look as scary in this picture as it is to me looking at it. It’s really thick and wide and heavy. He doesn’t even keep it hung alongside all the rest of his belts in the closet. He leaves this one sitting out on a shelf just so I have to look at it everyday when I go into our closet. It had merely been a threat, but was never more than that, until Tuesday night. Last night, Adam and I were talking about it, and he made sure to let me know that was the easiest he would ever go on me with this belt. He assured me that, next time, it will be much worse. I’m not exactly sure whether that’s “merely” a threat, or a promise? I’m not looking to find out, right now, though! I have been “softer”, more careful with my words and my attitude. When Adam tells me something, I’m listening. I don’t want to act a fool and give him the impression that he didn’t punish me hard enough. I want him to know that I heard him, I saw him, and I certainly felt him when he “corrected” me.
It’s so different, lately. It’s only been recently that Adam has been seriously holding me accountable like this. He was never afraid to call me out on my shit before, but he absolutely calls me on all of my shit now. Things I used to get away with. Things I wouldn’t have even felt particularly guilty about before now. He ain’t playin’. I like it, though. It isn’t fun having my husband lecture me and punish me, but it’s like, okay, he’s got me, and I believe that. We went through such a difficult couple of years when my mother lost her damn mind for the last time. I don’t expect her to ever find it back, either. I’ve accepted that she’s gone. In many ways, it would’ve been much less complicated had she had some terrible accident and passed away, instead. I could hang her pictures in our home. I could talk about her with my kids and not have the deep sense of fear and hurt that comes over all of us when she comes up in conversation. My kids wouldn’t have these memories of their grandmother terrorizing us, threatening, and betraying us. I don’t think this will ever just stop hurting. It’s just that, I’ve reached acceptance. While this was all happening and the shit just would not quit coming, Adam did everything he could to comfort me. His heart broke for me and for our kids. He couldn’t take the pain away for us. I’m sure that he felt helpless for awhile. I think this is how I managed to get so used to not having him call me on my bullshit. At least, not very often. Slowly, and then quickly, he’s become the king here. He’s still, and always will be, my kind and generous, my silly and fun, playful and thoughtful Adam. He’s still these amazing things, to me. He’s also my fierce protector. My rock. He can use his big hands to hold me, make love to me, to gently caress my back. He also uses them to “correct” me when I’m wrong. His hands cause me both pleasure and pain. His hands are always guided by his love for me, though. And that is something I absolutely respect. I have a whole lot’a trust and faith in Adam. It’s even still growing, recently. I think this is why I feel like I’m danged near constantly screwing up. I’m not quite used to this version of Adam now. It’s a difficult thing to put into words here, but I’m trying. Stupid crap I do that I wouldn’t have thought twice about last year, I now think over and over about. I want him to keep up what he’s been doing, but I also convince myself he won’t. I tell myself while I’m saying or doing something I probably shouldn’t eh, he won’t really punish me for this. Then, I go ahead and say it or do it. Then, I start to wonder and worry. But, what if he does care? Should I tell him now so it isn’t worse if he finds out? I get a glimpse into his mood when I talk to him and decide whether I should say anything about it. Finally, I either chicken out, or I just come clean. There are 2 reasons for each one of those decisions I make.
1) If I tell him, and he doesn’t punish me, or at least let me know that isn’t acceptable, I’m going to find it much easier to keep doing what I’m doing. I clearly feel some guilt, which suggests that I know I’ve fucked up, but if he doesn’t care, then the next time I find myself in this spot, I won’t have the guilt. I don’t want to see him as “weak”. So, I keep my mouth shut and don’t confess it to him. OR, I go ahead and tell him because, why not? He ain’t gonna be upset!
2) What if I tell him, and he does punish me? What if he brings that god darned belt out of the closet? So, I chicken out. OR, I throw caution to the wind and confess because, dammit, I should be in trouble for this!
Adam has shown me that he does, in fact, mean it. He is like the Adam I knew a few years ago, only stricter now. Maybe he’s making up for lost time? Whatever it is, I’m really trying to understand, believe, and accept that this isn’t temporary. He isn’t going to “go back” to the pushover husband he became while we processed the trauma that was happening because of my mother. I sometimes do “test” him, and I know I shouldn’t. It’s part of my learning how much of my crap he will still actually take now. A lot of the things I screw up aren’t really because I intended to “test” him, though. It’s only that I didn’t expect he would care that much or punish me. That I wasn’t expecting to feel guilty and either tell him, or get caught. I want to be a great wife to him. I truly do! He’s the best thing God ever could’ve given me. Because of Adam, I have these beautiful babies we created together. I have the most amazing life. I have a husband who lives everyday to make things easier, better for me.