My husband says I give him the best compliments. His favourite one is: “I’m so glad you’re not a useless husband who doesn’t know how to do housework.” This endearment might seem strange and blunt to some, but not to him. He has always loved my honesty. To him, I have never been “too much”.
We don’t celebrate Valentine’s because we dislike the consumerism. I tell him not to get me flowers because I prefer food. What we do celebrate is each other, showing up every day, through the haze of parenting our young daughters. My perpetually postpartum body is still beautiful to him, and arguably, even more beautiful now than it was when we were newly married.
He has been with me through my pregnancies, births and postpartum recoveries. Over our years together, even though we have had our arguments, I am safe with him. I am so attuned to his moods. It upsets me to see him upset, even when I’ve learnt not to instinctively attribute any low moods as “my fault”. I’m grateful that I’m more grounded now and it’s easier for me to give him the space that he needs to decompress.
As a neurodivergent partner, rules and rituals are my love language. We have daily and weekly rituals to help us both manage our non-stop lives. Date night is Friday. This is our once-a-week anchor throughout the hectic days, months and years of parenting our vibrant daughters, which in turn helps minimise overwhelm and cultivate loving kindness. I’d take that over a bouquet of inedible flowers, any day.
This is our once-a-week anchor which helps minimise overwhelm and cultivate loving kindness.
I still get anxious when my husband gets sick because he is my rock, and it worries me to see him unwell. Ironically, this manifests as me getting grumpy at him. “You cannot scold a sick person!” he once said very firmly through a cold. I agreed that it is indeed a very good rule. Now, I apply this rule to my own daughters, and they apply it back to me.
Sometimes, he breaks the rules. After a particularly taxing day, my husband would occasionally step into my study while our kids are fast asleep, with a hesitant expression. He might say something like “I bought a nice treat… but you have to come downstairs first.”
But rather than feeling touched, I glare at him, mystified. Usually it’s because 1) It wasn’t a Friday (our designated “together time”); 2) I was just deep diving into my latest special interest. When this happens, I can feel the gears in my brain shifting. I would have to close my eyes, remember to take a deep breath, and ask him, “Do you want another date night?” At this, he would grin sheepishly. “Yes.”
When I don’t remember to catch a breath, I would practically storm down the stairs, irritated that my solo plans are being interrupted. “Did you trick me into date night?” I would scowl. But his laughter would make me relax.
When I’ve had an incredibly overwhelming day, it can be too hard for me to even make eye contact with or talk to my husband. That’s when I know I do not have the margin to sit down with him while he watches his favourite Korean dramas. That’s when I send him a Whatsapp from the darkness of my dimly-lit study and say that I need to be alone for 30 minutes before I can talk to him. He understands, and doesn’t knock at my door. He shows his love by respecting my need for space.
I say that I need to be alone for 30 minutes before I can talk to him. He understands, respecting my need for space.
As much as I love my husband, I am relieved when he goes out at night to do the groceries – not only because he might come home with something tasty but also because I get to unfurl in the presence of my safest person – me. I am my most loyal friend. I have been with me from the beginning of my life, as I will be at the end. I have been through so much, moving through this world as a late-diagnosed autistic Muslim woman of colour. I can only hope that by supporting my daughters, especially my autistic one, I can spare them the traumas I’ve accumulated over the decades.
But sometimes, even I break the rules. “Can we debrief?” is my “safe phrase” when it’s not a Friday. When it’s too hard for me to talk to my husband due to , I either Whatsapp him, or email him. When I’m ready to talk, he makes time to listen and hold space for me.
I have instructed my husband not to die before me. He chuckles and says he’ll try. I cannot imagine a reality without him in it. But if that reality comes to pass, then I hope to have decades of memories to keep me company. In the safety and security of our marriage, my husband shows me how he values me, every day, just as I am – love language and all.
*Real name is not used.
