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"After Rex left Saturday night, I sat and cried. Then I wept to a girlfriend, texted my mother, emailed my therapist (same person as my girlfriend) and dove head long into a bowl of Ben and Jerry&amp;#039;s. Actually, the old Andrea did those things. The one that confused caring about someone with co-dependence. The one who thought only with emotions, not with her head. The one who was so anxious for approval she&amp;#039;d also call Rex&amp;#039;s cell phone ten times in a row, knowing he&amp;#039;d be too angry to actually pick it up, but somehow the act of dialing would make her feel more contrite. Predictably the lack of answer would make her angry. And, like a tequila shot followed by a beer chaser, the mixture would churn and churn, making her practically vomit from the horrid combo of frustration and anger. The new Andrea - dare I say enlightened (and truly, I have you folk to thank for it... for how else in writing out my quirks could I ever see the dynamic of my marriage?) leaned against the recently slammed door. She didn&amp;#039;t see an empty room. She saw a night full of alone time. She didn&amp;#039;t dwell on something she couldn&amp;#039;t change - Rex&amp;#039;s current outrage (and dare I say, insensitivity, immaturity... don&amp;#039;t make me go on.) She instead refocused on what she could control - her evening. She sunk into the couch. She bypassed Modern Marvels, Star Trek, anything History Channel related or smacking of cars, and instead settled on an Oprah buried waaaaaaay at the bottom of the DVR list - under Scooby Doo, Strawberry Shortcake, Sid the Science Kid and the kids&amp;#039; newest obsession - The Smurfs. (Why all the &amp;#039;S&amp;#039; shows? Random.) Andrea was alone. But, practicing what she preached with this post, she was far from solo. She had herself to say, &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re not a bad person. Forgive Rex. And while you&amp;#039;re at it, forgive yourself. After all, you weren&amp;#039;t exactly the poster child for sensitivity.&amp;quot; Before long I fell asleep. Rex came home a few hours later. He apologized. I did, too. He explained that he wasn&amp;#039;t trying to make me feel guilty about going out with my friends. &amp;quot;I was just disappointed... I wanted to spend time with you.&amp;quot; I could have blasted him about how I didn&amp;#039;t want to hear he was bummed. What I wanted to hear was, &amp;quot;Go out! Have fun!&amp;quot; But I decided that I could still hear those supportive words - from me. I could give myself wild permission to get out of the house. As far as my husband goes, I could also give myself permission to love the great stuff about him - like the fact that he digs me so much he would rather I stay home with him. That night, we held each other. We didn&amp;#039;t have sex. But we had an orgasm of a breakthrough in our relationship. I&amp;#039;ll take that over a fight any day of the week. Though sex? That would be great, too. That&amp;#039;s Friday&amp;#039;s post! "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a22200/fight-club-part-3/?src=shelter_footer>