I’ve recently had a huge realisation about myself – and it’s agonisingly difficult to swallow. I am controlling, I am an enabler, and I’ve been acting like a martyr. For years.

As a result, I have grasped the twisted thread and followed it backwards – and I can completely understand how and why I became this way. Programming, self-protection, survival. But, it’s time to be honest with myself, for my own well-being and future happiness, and that of other people. I’m a good person, but I can be better. I want to be better. Anyway, I need to set the scene and explain the situation. It’s going to be a long read, so settle in or leave it until another time. But don’t miss it – you might recognise aspects of yourself here.

My partner and I have been together for almost 20 years. I am 68, he is 57. We were both battered souls when we met, though I don’t think that either of us recognised just what a bad state we were both in. Suffice to say, there were many ups and downs. However, years passed, and there we still were. And although I could write an entire book on the subject, I’ll cut to the chase. 

Last week, my partner and I had a row. Well, initially, he had a row with me over something I had accidentally done, for the second time in 10 months – I caused damage to our car. I was devastated, of course – and I understood why he felt so angry and frustrated. He let me know, in no uncertain terms,  how he was feeling and eventually I snapped… and reciprocated. It ended up becoming pretty nasty, as you can imagine, and we slept apart that night.

At this point, I should explain something. This kind of explosion is a pattern in our relationship. Around four times a year, he will hit the roof over something, I’ll end up striking back (not physically but verbally), and the whole insidious situation drags on for days. We both end up exhausted, disappointed, and resentful. And then things return to ‘normal’ and we get along well together… until the next time. 

This recent blow-up was arguably the worst ever. It involved him telling me how stupid and thick I am, and how I had wasted money on ordering and paying for a paint repair kit, because it wouldn’t work. That led to me flipping my lid and reminding him that I bring more money into the house than he does, so if I want to waste it, that’s my business. He felt demeaned by me, and insulted me back… and it spiralled from there. We slept apart again.

The following day, the atmosphere was calm but uncomfortable – until a small conversation went south – followed by an outpouring of resentment on both sides. He refused to let go of my comment about the money and weaponised it. That became the major problem, and I ‘reminded’ him of everything that I do for him, and how I expected him to show me more respect. I accused him of being ungrateful. And then I dredged up the subject of his now deceased ex-wife (they were childless, and had divorced before we met ), and how he’d placed her on a pedestal and had treated her with more respect than he did me… after everything I had done for him. More than she ever had, from what I’d heard (I know, not my finest moment, and not her fault). Of course, that elicited a pretty strong reaction. He yelled at me to stop doing things for him then, and that I wasn’t his mother… and I shouted back something along the lines of “Well, stop taking out your hatred of her on me!” Even worse accusations and insults were flung between us and we slept apart again that night… and the next. At this point, we have both retreated, the house is silent, and I am typing this post. And you will be thinking, “Oh my God, you toxic pair of maniacs! Get the hell away from each other!”… and quite rightly so.

The bottom line is that he appears to absolutely hate me, right now – and I have been feeling stupid and sorry over my carelessness, but also victimised… by him.

So, now, we come to my sudden ‘aha’ moment. Whilst having my first mug of tea, I played a YouTube video about over-functioning, and how, as a woman, we can believe that the more we do for another, the more they will love us. And I immediately recognised myself in that. And not only that, but I’d been doing it for nearly 50 years. Well, it started around 50 years ago, but gathered momentum with the passing of time. I became, unconsciously, an expert over-functioner and mother-figure. It became my ‘thing’. 

In my defence, though, there are some very valid reasons for this aspect of my personality developing – and they all started in childhood. Little to no emotional support from the adults in my life, I learned that I couldn’t rely on others. Life was filled with anxiety, uncertainty, and rejection. I still remember my father, whom I was desperate to please, accusing me of trying to replace my stepmother, when I was around 14 years old. I’d had to go and live with them when I was 11, and it was very clear to me that my stepmother resented and disliked me. Most (not all) practical needs were met, but never emotional needs. My stepmother’s parents had become ill and she’d travelled to stay with them for a few days. I was the eldest of 4 children (including two step-siblings and one half-sibling), so I took on the housework, expecting to be appreciated and praised… instead, I was accused of trying to take over. I felt heartbroken. Whilst living with my mother as a younger child, I’d had to take care of my baby sister and do the shopping, so I was accustomed to being ‘useful’. Now I recognise that it was my stepmother’s voice my father was channelling that day – but he should have been stronger. 

Anyway, it became a way of life. I have had two husbands, both overly fond of the booze, and I automatically took over. But why did I do that? Good question. Firstly, nothing would ever have gotten done if I hadn’t. Secondly, it gave me a sense of safety, of security. I felt more in control of my life, that way. Thirdly, I could distance myself from them. And, yet, fourthly, I wanted to be ‘seen’ and appreciated. I was the 14-year-old girl again, desperately trying to please the father-figure – the ‘man’. 

Throughout the following years I attracted, or was attracted to, a number of similar men. I was regularly treated as if I was nothing, before being rejected, and it became my ‘normal’.

Anyway, fast forward to the present day. Although my partner has a lot to address: impatience, failure to regulate his emotions, lack of empathy at times, and childishness, I too have been a big part of the problem. It just wasn’t obvious to me. We became parent and child. Not a sexy dynamic. We both entered into the roles, and both ended up resenting each other. Sometimes he has been the parent – a reflection of my father. I believe that we still love each other (although I can’t speak for him, only myself), and we’ve had some wonderful times together. We make a good team, in some ways – maybe not in others! 

Because he’s had long-term mental health issues, I evolved into the gate-watcher and the damage-control manager. I tried to shield him from all of the things that stressed him – telling myself it was purely for his good. And it was, partially – but not wholly. I was attempting to protect myself from the repercussions of him becoming stressed and angry, becoming, as a result, hypervigilant. Always living on edge, a busy mind, unable to sit down for any length of time. 

My partner had had a similar childhood to mine, but we processed the experience in different ways. I put myself through many crazy things, I fought against being reliant or dependent upon anyone, and moved around a lot. He lived constantly with anxiety, continuously going over his childhood in his mind, hyper-sensitive to criticism (real or perceived), and carrying a deeply ingrained expectation of abandonment. His ability and speed to rise to defensiveness has been breathtaking. We both need to be needed, but we express it in different ways. When I had a hip replacement op, we went through a horrible time. He wanted to take care of me in his way, I wanted him to take care of me in my way, and I felt powerless. It didn’t go well. 

At this moment in time, I’ve recognised the dynamic, and the role I have played in helping to bring our relationship to this point. I’m not suggesting that it’s all my fault. Hell no. I am accepting 50% of the responsibility. And here are my ‘crimes’:

I increasingly became the mother figure, taking on more roles and more duties. “Don’t worry, you sit and rest your foot/hip/back, I’ll do it” became my rally cry. Or, “no, I’m fine, you know me, I like to keep busy.” I gave myself the jobs of organising the finances, paying the bills, ordering the shopping, doing the washing and cooking, plus a large portion of the housework. Also, arranging appointments, getting up first to organise whatever might be needed that day, working, and gardening. And being there for my family. 

Did he put a gun to my head? No. Has he forced all of this upon me? No. Okay, he could have just gotten up occasionally and carried out a few chores, though he does have his own jobs: putting the recycling out, cutting our huge expanse of grass, cleaning the car, doing the vacuuming, tending to the lane… plus other ‘man’ stuff. And I don’t feel all of that should dramatically change. I like taking care of others, and the kitchen is my (chosen) domain. I’ll still see to the finances because I’m less terrified than he is, and I’m better at robbing from Peter to pay Paul, as the old saying goes. And he won’t let me do heavy lifting, even though I say I can manage it. I’ve done it all my life. He just comes back with “Well, you don’t need to now.”  

We’ve both played a role in this mother/child dynamic, and we both need to lovingly, reasonably, and calmly work through it. There are some important issues, though, that we both need to be willing to acknowledge and discuss, if we are going to achieve that.

Trust. 

He has a history of reacting. I’ve been on the receiving end of it many times. My father had the same habit, my first husband was just lazy and childish, whilst my second husband became increasingly aggressive, selfish, and cruel. I am not comparing my partner to these, only explaining that I have an ingrained sensitivity to reactive behaviour, especially from men. He has been, recently, reassuring me that I can trust him, that I don’t need to fear his reaction, and I can tell him anything. That was before I rolled up home with a damaged car. I was genuinely shocked because I knew he’d be upset, but not that reactive. I’d taken him at his word, and I felt sad and stupid. The trust was shaken.

On the other hand, he feels betrayed by me. He knows that my daughters and I talk often and share our problems. He believes it is just man-bashing and that he is being unfairly portrayed, in a biased way. That isn’t true. Of course, if I’m really mad, I’ll have a rant, but I soon settle down and try to be more objective. My daughters don’t just support me unconditionally; if I need to hear something or recognise something, they’ll tell me. And vice versa.

Control. 

Both of us are controlling, in our own ways. I control by over-functioning and trying to ward off trouble and strife. I control by doing most things for him – when I know he is capable of them himself. I think I even fear relinquishing some of the control… because that leaves me potentially vulnerable and dependent. And maybe not needed. It’s terrifying. 

He’s controlling over how things should be done. He micro-manages at times. He controls through defensiveness – a master of twisting things around and then immediately throwing them back. And then denying he’s done such a thing. Emotional self-protection is paramount to him.

Grudges.

I ironically laughed to myself, a couple of days ago, at the thought of us engaged in a grudge match. I was brooding over the grudges he obviously holds against me, such as dragging up long-past stuff, in order to hurt me, during a row. Sometimes I’m shocked at the length of time he’s been harbouring a resentment. But then I recognised that I too have my own grudges. Usually connected to the times he’s been not only emotionally unsupportive, but unnecessarily cruel, to boot. The times he’s spoken down to me, pointing out the ‘right’ way to do things. The times he hasn’t had my back, even in small ways.

Blame.

We both blame each other. I blame him for not being empathetic enough at times, for not being able to regulate his emotions, for putting me through years of stress as a result of his mental health issues… whilst not genuinely recognising how much that has affected my own. He blames me for being head strong, and for riling him up at times, leading him to react to a situation. He blames me for bottling things up… although, in fairness, he does the same. Hence, his habit of exploding every few months, for whatever reason. In fact, the following explanation of this behaviour will probably resonate with anyone who works hard to keep their feelings in check for long periods of time, before either crashing emotionally or erupting with rage:

 Understanding the Three-Month Cycle

• The Accumulation Phase: Your partner quietly swallows small annoyances, avoids difficult conversations, or denies their own needs for weeks. 
• The Boiling Point: Cumulative stress reaches a physiological peak, often called emotional flooding, where their nervous system goes into a fight-or-flight response. 
• The Explosion: A minor event acts as the final straw, resulting in a disproportionate outburst of anger, yelling, or emotional shutdown. 
• The Reset/Honeymoon Phase: After the release, tension drops, and things return to a calm baseline until the quiet accumulation begins again.

Childish behaviour

I behave childishly by retorting with something like “Oh fuck off!” when he is getting on my nerves. I’m capable of sulking, at times. And when I’m mad with him, I stick two fingers up behind his head, or when he’s behind a closed door. I mimic him to myself, in a pathetic voice that’s supposed to be his.

He behaves childishly by throwing things. Not at me, but just down, or over there. He behaves childishly when he’s mad at me by pushing the cup I put out for him with a teabag in it, to one side, and getting his own. By ripping up and dropping on the kitchen floor the list of financial incomings/outgoings I had written out for him and then placed on the freezer door (following our row about money). And he, too, behaves childishly by sulking. 

What do we need to change?

I recognise that I have squashed him as a result of my busy-bee behaviour, throughout the years. Okay, he could have expressed this to me, but he probably didn’t know how to. He has made comments, several times, such as “I can do it for myself, you know”, or “You’re not my slave.” And I’ve brushed them off. I need to step back and stop trying to be so ‘useful’. If he stops loving me as a result of that, then it’s already too late.

He needs to start recognising his own signals. He’s relied upon me to be his self-monitoring system for too long. And he says he doesn’t feel the explosions coming until they arrive. They are ugly and painful for both of us, but they should be detectable, in advance, so that appropriate action can be taken. Each of us is responsible for our own mental health, though obviously we all need some degree of support, at times.

I need to grow a thicker skin. It’s thicker than it was, but I still take some things too personally, and I’d feel much better if I didn’t.  

He needs to realise that he doesn’t always have to ‘say something’. Ask himself if it is important enough to risk coming across as condescending or critical.

We both need to recognise when we’ve entered into tit-for-tat territory (should also be under the Childish category).

We both need to forgive each other for the hurtful things we’ve said, throughout the years, that still sting us. We’d both have a long, long list, if we were being honest. 

We both need to accept that we are different in a number of ways, and allow each other to be true to our (better) selves. 

We both need to handle conflict more maturely, and more forgivingly. Either one of us could suddenly die (it happens), and if the last interaction between us was one of blame and hostility, that’s how it will all end.

I can’t tell you that all of this will blow over and we’ll get back to ‘normal’. I’m not convinced that it will, as this episode feels more serious than previous bouts. Apart from one, that is, when I left and holed up in a dojo over the Easter holiday shut-down, some years ago. I’m genuinely sad because I feel there are two versions of my partner, and it’s as if Dr Jeckyl has died again, and I miss him. I feel that we’ve both deeply wounded each other. But even if we can’t work through it, at least I won’t be taking my over-functioning behaviour forward with me. I’ve left it very late in life, to recognise and acknowledge it – but better later than never.