I had a great a-ha moment.
Which, honestly, is not that big, but these things must be celebrated regardless of size. And the fact that I believe it’s big enough to call an epiphany means I also get to celebrate my ability to celebrate small wins. Double win.
I often know, in my head, what I do and don’t want. I’m a keen observer of other people’s body language, but sadly, not always my own. More often than not, I completely ignore it. I’m just… ill-practiced at it. Especially compared to how much I’ve practiced sorting through thoughts.
That imbalance exists for a lot of reasons. I won’t get into them here.
For now, let me tell you about my celebratory double whammy.
My husband and I were going to work on a project together. I walked into the garage in a t-shirt and immediately realized it was too cold, so I moved into the sun located about 15 feet away from the project table.
This seemed perfectly reasonable to me, and in many ways better than next to the table because I love that spring sun warming my skin.
He stood next to the table, looked at me, and I said I was cold.
“Are you going to go get a jacket?” he asked.
“No. I’m in the sun.”
He paused. Looked at me again. “Are you going to go get a jacket?”
I was confused. I had just answered this.
“I’m in the sun. I don’t need a jacket now.”
We went back and forth like this. Same question, slightly different language. My irritation started to rise, which meant my confusion was deepening. I could feel the spiral coming.
This is a danger zone for me. If I get too confused, I shut down—either freeze or fight. But this time, I caught it before I fell all the way in. I stopped. Didn’t respond. Didn’t ask anything. Just gave myself a moment.
Something clicked: He’s asking me about a jacket…but this isn’t about the jacket. This is about something else.
I started searching for it: We’re doing a project together… together. To do it together, do we need to be next to each other? Is that what he’s saying, just not directly?
“Do you want me to stand over there for this project?” I asked.
“You said you were cold and needed a jacket. I’m just asking if you’re going to get one.”
“Yes, but I don’t need one if I’m in the sun. Is standing in the sun not an option for this project? I’m okay to be over there, but it feels like you’re telling me indirectly I need to be. Is that right?”
We circled this for another five minutes.
At some point, I found humor in it. He did not. He moved away into something I won’t name for him, but it wasn’t humor.
We resolved it eventually. The specifics don’t matter. Honestly, they’re kind of boring.
The story only exists for one reason… because I realized something profound: Holy shit! Our bodies don’t speak the same language.
I do not translate love through proximity, and, if I’m being honest, I don’t particularly like it as the primary way. My husband, however, does. For me, love is eye contact. For him, eye contact is optional, but proximity is not. I can be sitting on his lap, looking off into the distance, and he feels loved. I do not. He can be 10 feet away, staring at me like a hungry animal, and I feel loved. He does not. I don’t feel love—close or far—without eye contact. He doesn’t feel love—with or without eye contact—unless we’re physically close.
Jesus. No fucking wonder we struggle to communicate.
When the words are circling like they were earlier that day, this unspoken language—our bodies—is shouting, and I’ve just… never been listening. Until now. This is when solutions flood in. Conflict? No problem! I can take a step closer. I can hold his hand.
DUH.
In reality, it’s not that simple. Because my default is not to step closer or reach out. If anything, I move into his line of sight to get eye contact, which, for him, is not the same thing.
So here I am, asking: How have I missed this for so long? How have I gone 20 years without seeing something that now feels so obvious? Where the hell was this information hiding?
And also: I am a fucking champion. Because now I’ve seen it, and now I get to work with it differently. Not perfectly. Certainly not all at once. But the doorway is open, and I am not someone who ignores an open door—even if it takes me another decade to take the first step. I will always move toward it.
And so does he.
(thank god)
