Sheltered

Author:Mary Gable (Pseudonym)

I last wrote about my new Christmas plan—the one where I exited my home the

night before Christmas Eve so there would be no schedule surprises for 48 hours. It

worked.

In many ways, I can honestly state that I enjoyed a stress-free holiday week. For

instance, after my bold departure, I opened the door to my son’s home and heard my

grandsons erupted into giggles. I soon realized they were watching the movie, Home

Alone, for the first time and the burglary scene had just begun. Watching those boys fall

on the floor, rolling in laughter, I thought, “This is what I wanted… holiday joy.”

However, while 2024 rolled to a pleasant end, January doled out one hit after

another. Bronchitis. Confusing schedules. Arctic cold. And non-conversations that left

me on edge.

One day, I walked in after lunch with a friend and heard an abrupt, “You owe me

an apology.” Stunned, I asked, “Why?” “You changed plans,” my spouse retorted

Since we’ve both changed plans on multiple occasions, and I had kept him

informed as my day progressed, I was confused. When I expressed my confusion, he 

shifted from complaining about the schedule change to accusing me of blaming and

shaming him. But even in the fight, I experienced a specific change that’s helping everything.

The change didn’t happen overnight. The emotional muscle has been building for

months and even years. I liken it to building a house: You start with the foundation; then

the walls; and then at some point, you build a roof overhead, providing shelter from the

Storm.

And that’s what I surprisingly felt at that moment… sheltered. Held. Protected

Even. For years, when I expressed a different opinion, my husband would shoot back

that he felt shamed and blamed. And that’s been the rub. For a very long time. His

accusation would make my insides rattle. Feeling accused of hurting him or putting

blame on him stirred up my own feelings of unworth and my ugly self would surface.

I once told him I felt like he has an emotional basement vault where his feelings

reside as precious gems. And when he decides to pull one out and share it with me, I’m

supposed to stare in awe of its beauty—even if it’s derived from false interpretations of

my words and actions.

In all fairness to him, when he shares his emotions, I believe he feels vulnerable

and scared. For one, simply learning to share his side of any story has taken years.

Regardless, progress can’t truly be made until he can put his emotional gem on the

table next to mine, value them both, and work for compromise.

But on that particular Sunday afternoon, when his words flew at me sharp like an

arrow, I didn’t cave. The accusation didn’t hit. Sheltered, my reality didn’t crumble due to

his. Stunned, I replied with peace and calm.

Who I am and what I’d chosen didn’t require his approval or understanding. And

that’s a life skill I’ve been struggling to learn for more years than I can count.

Who I am in Christ mattered more than who I am as a wife, mother, daughter,

sister, aunt, teacher, etc. Will I always make everyone around me happy? No. And there

will be times I need to apologize.

But having spent a lot of life scrapping for understanding and bowing to pressure

from others, feeling whole and free despite my husband’s anger has proven to be a

pivotal turning point. In fact, within a month of that encounter, he listened to a podcast that made him realize he needs to spend more time in my emotional well, connecting to my feelings, struggles, and pain. But that’s worthy of another blog.

For now, I you’re reading this and remain frustrated that another’s harsh words

still crumble your insides, don’t give up. Don’t stay in abuse. But also, don’t give up

believing God can still grow your insides—at any age—to the point you can face your

accuser with grace and calm.

I’ve still got a lot to learn. But I’m not giving up.