Don't be brave.

[LovebirdsFlying]

If you have pain, tell your loved ones. There is a good reason for that.

This morning my husband and I had a controlled discussion (because we both did our best to keep it from becoming an argument, and we did a great job at that) about the condition and appearance of our house. You can definitely tell a difference between when I'm feeling well, and when I'm not. Hubby is certain he picks up after me just as much as I pick up after him, but he could not cite an example when asked to. I, on the other hand, could point to several specific times I have picked up after him. He's not lazy, by the way. I thought maybe the issue is that we have different standards as to what's acceptable. I like for things to be neat and orderly, although my physical abilities don't always allow for that. He seems content to just shove anything anywhere there's room.

For examples, we don't wear shoes inside the house (his rule) and I bought a shoe rack to store them on when we take them off. His habit is to kick his shoes off and leave them *near* the shoe rack, but not *on* it. We feed the cats on small paper plates (his insistence; even if I were to buy reuseable containers, he said he would continue to do that) and then if it were up to him, he would let them pile on the floor instead of picking them up each day when we put down new ones. I could go on. I'm not saying I never leave things out of place, but I know that sooner or later, usually the next day, I will put it away. If it were left up to him, it would stay out indefinitely. I have seen things wait weeks and months to be done.

I told him I was trying to be philosophical, not crabby. I assured him I'm speaking in general, and this applies to everyone everywhere. (I didn't want him to feel attacked.) So, in general, what is gotten out stays gotten out, but what is put away doesn't stay put away. What is dirtied stays dirty, but what is cleaned doesn't stay clean. I wonder why this is?

Bear in mind, I have a history of physical disability due to post-traumatic arthritis following a car accident. In the years since I've met my husband, I have needed anything from a cane to a wheelchair because of mobility issues. This has greatly improved, thanks to him taking care of me and seeing that I had my medical needs met. I can even work now, whereas when I met him, I was on disability. Thank him very much, and thank God for sending him to me. I couldn't have recoverered to this point on my own.

Then something occurred to me. He has a history of scoliosis himself. I told him I've noticed lately he's been mentioning a lot of back pain.

"Have I?" he wondered, seeming uncomfortable about it. He's said before, "I have pain too, but I don't talk about it like you do."

Well, he should.

I recommended he should tell me when and if he's having pain. Otherwise my assumption is going to be--rightly or wrongly--that he just doesn't care and can't be bothered.

As much as I've recovered, I realize that now I can bend over more easily that he can. Oh, goodness, do I ever understand pain. He tells me he hurts, I am going to sympathize.

Any resentment I started out feeling is gone. This morning, I swapped out one of the litter boxes and filled it with fresh litter. I gathered up some worn out clothing I had set aside to dispose of because they're in such bad condition, even Goodwill wouldn't want them. Then instead of leaving the filled trash bags outside the back door as I usually do, I took them all the way out and put them in the containers. While I was out there, I even picked up some clutter in the yard. Things we have no use for. Broken pottery, feeding dishes we used to set out for a neighborhood cat who no longer comes around, etc. Because now I know, the shoe is on the other foot. I have become better able to do these things than he is.

Don't be brave. If you hurt, please tell your loved ones. They care. And they need to know.