Confession: I broke through a door last night

Oh how I wish this title wasn't literal.

Us, 2009.

I’ve been married for almost 13 years, and with my partner for almost 16. It’s a stunning length of time, especially when you consider just how formative our twenties and thirties are. Who was I when I met my husband at twenty five? Melody at 25 loved concerts, party dresses, fast luxury cars, traveling to faraway places, and going out dancing. She was bursting with desire. She was a law student with a clear path ahead. She was light — in all ways, and so was he. Who was my husband back then? A surfer, first and foremost. He was either heading to the ocean or coming back from it half the time I saw him. He was an agent trainee at a big Hollywood agency. He wore an H&M suit to work that is forever ingrained in my mind. He dreamt of writing screenplays and producing movies. We both dreamed, big and without disclaimers. We had endless fun, and endless passion. We chose each other at a time where we were completely free from all responsibility — and I mean completely free. We both lived with our families, we didn’t even have rent to pay.

Today we have rent to pay and then some. Three kids, two careers (that have strayed more than a bit from law and agenting), and no trace of the lightness that once carried and connected us. Rather than try to reclaim our solo selves from 16 years ago, we’re pushing to be who we are today — together. It isn’t easy.

I don’t go to concerts anymore, or travel to faraway places. He hardly makes it to the ocean. We spend too much time on our respective devices solo screening. We worry about the future we used to dream about. Despite all of this, we still choose each other, every single day. We want what we have, even though it’s so foreign to what we had and who we were when we first chose each other.

While we’ve dabbled in couples counseling here or there, this is the first time in our marriage that we’re committing to it fully. During our first weekly session, the therapist asked us what our love languages are. While I’ve read the book and like to think of myself as someone who knows her love language, the truth is, neither of us knew our own love languages — or each other’s. So he had us take the test. When we both finished and he tallied our responses, we made a discovery: we both value quality time and physical touch, which are the two things that are missing most from our marriage. Therapy. Who knew? (I kid. Everyone who tries it knows).

So while we both sighed when the therapist said, “Have a date night!” (which is what EVERY therapist thinks will solve every marital woe) this time we decided to make it easy: if the therapist thinks fixing things is as simple as date night, why not just plan a date night?

Date night.

Of course nothing is ever that simple. Date night means finding a babysitter. And if you’re a parent, you know that finding the right babysitter is like winning the lottery. So when I had a new babysitter start last night who came highly recommended from a trusted friend, I was on a high. She was on time, asked about my son’s allergies and emergency contact list, and made sure she had a game plan for the night. My husband and I dressed up and went to Hollywood to see Arsenio Hall perform stand up comedy (at 67, he still killed — if you don’t know who he is, please look him up). We laughed. We connected. We made progress.

And then we came home.

At first it seemed like all was okay. Kids were all asleep, the house was intact. The babysitter mentioned that our son Teddy didn’t want to go to bed when it was time, so she told him he had to stay in his room or else she’d call mom. Bullying and threats are not my favorite tactics for dealing with a five-year-old, but okay. I paid her, she left, and I went — as I ALWAYS do — to check on my son.

But the room was locked. His door was LOCKED. From the inside. The babysitter had no idea, because she hadn’t bothered to check on him. For two hours. She forced him to stay in his room, and never went to check to see if he had made it to bed. We don’t know if the door locked by accident when she closed the door, or if he locked it out of spite for being forced into his room alone when he wasn’t ready. Either way, the door was locked and despite trying to pick the lock with every possible instrument we could find in the house, we couldn’t get it open. At first I gently knocked to wake him up, and then I banged, and then I yelled. My screaming woke up his sisters — but not Teddy. I started imagining the worst possibilities: my precious bouncing bubbling beautiful boy. Why wasn’t he answering the door?

I finally heard him reply to me at one point, but then he went completely silent. Now my alarm bells were really going off, and so were Aaron’s. We had no choice. We broke the door.

Inside we found Teddy hiding, crying and half asleep in his bed. My screaming and pounding probably made him think he was in the middle of a nightmare. Which is exactly what it was — a nightmare. In trying to heal my marriage by spending some quality time with my partner, I put my child at risk.

The Shift, page 24.

And there she is — my guilt. Panic immediately replaced with self blame. This was my fault. It had to be? How else could I make sense of this completely nonsensical situation. I shouldn’t have trusted someone new to watch him. I should have told her it’s okay if he stays up past his bedtime. I should have a camera in his room. I should’ve… I should’ve…. I should’ve… The heaviness I was trying to alleviate now even heavier.

This is a perfect example of the paradox we face each day as women: to reclaim the lightness and freedom of our youth, while seamlessly juggling the heaving, competing priorities of our adulthood. For a few hours in Hollywood, I remembered what my own laugh sounded like, and even more than that what it felt like as it danced in my throat. My guilt swallowed that fleeting joy right up.

The ABCs of Self Love.

The only strategy I’ve successfully employed to alleviate the intense self blame and guilt I often feel as a mother is this: gratitude over guilt. In The ABCs of Self Love, I explain:

“Guilt robs you of the moment you’re in. Gratitude reclaims it. When we focus on the moment we’re in and practice gratitude instead of guilt, we ground ourselves (and especially our runaway thoughts) in joy. And joy is what lights the way on our self love journeys.”

All throughout the day, every time I found myself feeling guilty about what happened, I grounded myself in gratitude for the night out I had with my partner. I still had a pounding stress headache and cried a few times about what we went through, but I was nonetheless focused on gratitude.

Last night, Teddy’s wasn’t the only door we broke through. We broke through the wall that has been slowly building between my partner and me as we’ve been treading water in our way too busy adult lives.

One of the things I had expressed to my partner in therapy is that it bothers me that he doesn’t plan dates for us lately. For me, him planning a night out is how he can show me that he’s thinking about me and prioritizing me. For our date last night, Aaron did all the legwork: he found the show, bought the tickets, and made it possible for me to laugh. No matter what happened when we got home, nothing is going to rob me of the joy I feel knowing that my partner not only heard and valued my needs, he immediately took action to honor them.

Self Love Poetry, 81.

You may be wondering what happened with the babysitter. I tried to text her at first. I wrote the text, but to avoid conflict, chickened out before I sent it. When I shared what happened with my best friend, she immediately said I should call the babysitter. So I summoned my courage and called. When I started explaining what happened after she left, I shocked myself by crying. I never let my emotions out; I even have a thyroid problem to prove it! But this time, instead of making it small, both what happened and how I felt about it, I spoke my truth. She explained that other parents ask her not to check on the kids out of fear that they’ll wake up (who are these parents?). She also expressed that she’s always learning and that she sees now that what she did — forcing him into his room and leaving him alone — wasn’t okay. I told her how I felt and she took responsibility, which for me is enough. This wasn’t my fault. It was hers. She won’t be coming back.

I’m still trying to figure out where this leaves me. Despite the trauma of last night, I can still feel that laugh in my throat, my partner’s hand on my arm. Melody at 25 would have approved. I don’t know who will watch my kids next time we need a night off, but I know there will be a next time, and soon. Because part of my self love journey, especially in this moment in my life, is igniting my desire: for myself, for my partner, for my life. I know healing my tendency to be in fight or flight plays a big role in this. So while my instinct may be to respond to this experience by becoming hyper vigilant, my intention is to relax, to trust, to forgive, and to move forward.

There will without a doubt be another date night, and another babysitter. Not only for the sake of my marriage, but for the sake of my ME — my essence. I need to know it’s okay to exist beyond my obligations as a mother. I gave them life, yes. But the life I give shouldn’t be mine.

Us, 2023.