I know that I am guilty of it. He bears it, sometimes acquiescing, other times kicking out at it. I want control. Control over myself and him. I need things to be in order, to be what I want them to be. It is appalling really. I hear my voice, and feel the tightening of my chest. I want to control something, somebody that isn’t me and that I have no right to dominate. I know this and am ashamed by it. And yet, I persist. Bless him for what he has to manage. And make me softer, more yielding. Please.
