Week Three: Apparently the Universe Wasn't Finished With Me Yet

Well, apparently whatever bug moved into my body last week decided it wasn't ready to leave.

I thought maybe I'd wake up feeling better.

Maybe a little stronger.

Maybe ready to tackle all those goals I was supposed to be working on.

Instead, this illness apparently unpacked its bags, signed a lease agreement, and decided to become a permanent resident.

Because having a cold wasn't enough.

Apparently coughing, congestion, exhaustion, and feeling like I'd been hit by a truck wasn't quite the complete experience.

So naturally, the universe looked down and said:

"You know what would make this more interesting?"

A bladder infection.

Of course.

Because when life decides to pile on, it doesn't just pile on.

It hires a moving company.

One minute you're blowing your nose every fifteen seconds, and the next you're discovering that every trip to the bathroom feels like a personal attack.

And not a subtle attack either.

More like:

"Congratulations. Every time you pee, it's going to feel like fire ants are escaping from your body."

Honestly, who designed this?

Who looked at the human body and thought:

"You know what would really complete this illness package? Let's make one of the most basic bodily functions feel like a crime scene."

Needless to say, this week has been rough.

I also went to therapy.

That was just lovely.

And by lovely, I mean I'm being completely sarcastic.

My partner and I were trying to work through some arguments that had gone sideways, and there is nothing quite like paying someone good money only to discover they're not automatically going to take your side.

I know.

Shocking.

Now intellectually, I understand that most relationship problems are probably not 100% one person's fault.

Emotionally?

I'd really appreciate it if my therapist occasionally looked me dead in the eye and said:

"Fina, you're absolutely right and everyone else is the problem."

Apparently that's not how therapy works.

Instead, she started talking about accountability, communication, perspective, and then had the audacity to assign homework.

Homework.

At my age.

And I'm paying for it.

I have to tell you, that feels suspiciously unfair.

Sometimes I wonder if I speak an alien language.

Have you ever tried to explain how you're feeling, how something affected you, or why you're hurt, only to watch the other person completely misunderstand what you're saying?

Not disagree.

Misunderstand.

Like you're standing there speaking what you believe is perfectly good English, and somehow it's being translated into complete nonsense before it reaches the other person's ears.

I find that one of the most frustrating experiences in the world.

Not being disagreed with.

Not even being told I'm wrong.

Being misunderstood.

It's that feeling that no matter how carefully you choose your words, they arrive on the other side twisted into something you never intended.

You say, "I'm hurt."

They hear, "You're attacking me."

You say, "I need support."

They hear, "You're failing."

You say, "This affected me."

They hear, "You're being blamed."

And suddenly you're not even having the same conversation anymore.

You're trying to explain your feelings, and they're busy defending themselves from something you never actually said.

Sometimes I sit there wondering if I have antennas growing out of my head that nobody told me about.

Because what I thought was clear feels completely foreign to everyone else.

Maybe that's part of being human.

Maybe we all spend our lives trying to translate ourselves to one another.

Maybe every relationship is just two people desperately trying to say, "This is what I mean," while the other person hears something completely different.

One thing my partner and I have always struggled with is that he's not very good at telling me what he needs from me.

Trust me, the problem is not that I can't communicate what I need.

If anything, I probably communicate it a little too well.

But him?

Getting him to tell me what he needs can feel like trying to crack a secret government code.

Last night, though, we had one of those conversations that makes you stop and think.

He was telling me about a podcast he listened to and said that what they were describing was exactly how he feels.

He said he gets his happiness from my happiness.

Now, for years, I thought that sounded like a burden.

That's a lot of responsibility.

If your happiness depends on my happiness, then doesn't that mean I'm somehow responsible for keeping both of us happy?

But as he explained it, I realized I may have misunderstood what he meant.

He told me that he actually wants me to tell him what I want.

That it excites him.

That he genuinely enjoys making those things happen.

In his words, he'll run around, put me in a wagon, take me to the zoo, take me to the beach, let me play with alligators, put my feet in the ocean, or do whatever ridiculous thing I've decided sounds fun that week.

And suddenly I realized something.

When he asks me what I want to do, I've often interpreted that as him not planning enough.

Not leading enough.

Not creating something special.

I wanted him to magically know.

But maybe that's not what he's asking at all.

Maybe he's asking because helping create those experiences is what brings him joy.

Maybe giving him direction isn't taking something away from him.

Maybe it's giving him the opportunity to show up for me.

What still confuses me is this:

How do I meet your needs if your needs are met by meeting mine?

That part still feels like a riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in relationship homework.

And trust me, after therapy this week, I am already overloaded with homework.

But what I did learn is that maybe I need to get a little more comfortable receiving.

That's not something that comes naturally to me.

When you've spent most of your life taking care of yourself, fighting for yourself, and making sure everyone else's needs come first, it can feel uncomfortable when someone genuinely wants to put you first.

It's unfamiliar territory.

Truthfully, I don't think many people have consistently put my needs first, from childhood right through adulthood.

So when someone does, my instinct is often to question it instead of accepting it.

Maybe that's the lesson here.

Maybe I need to spend less time wondering whether I deserve to be treated like a princess and more time simply enjoying the fact that someone wants to treat me like one.

And let's be honest.

What girl doesn't enjoy being the princess once in a while?

As for the rest of the week, my goals are still sitting there waiting for me.

The gym.

The healthier habits.

The self-care.

The version of me that had all these grand plans a few weeks ago.

She's still there.

She's just currently buried under tissues, antibiotics, therapy homework, and a body that's staging a hostile takeover.

But I'm still here too.

And maybe this week that's enough.

Love, laughter, and a little bit of chaos,

Fina

Veni, Vidi, Vici