2/13/2026
I made Keshav a quesadilla today with ham, egg, and cheese. He did not eat any of it, and instead gave it to me. I added it to the one I made for myself and ate them both. He did not have any breakfast. He told me that he couldn't eat because he felt that if he tried to do so he would be sick. I did not post a photo of the breakfast he did not eat.
The night before, I came home late from the office after seeing three clients in a row. Work went well, but I was tired and feeling a bit depleted. I have been trying to get a few new clients to up my income, and in the present economy it seems that people are more hesitant to book than they were a couple of years ago. I have also been doing a lot of shopping and planning for our Valentine's Day dinner this weekend. I do not expect Keshav to do shopping and planning as I do, but I have told him in the past that I very much would appreciate a card, and he has already told me that he got one.
During the work day I got a notification that my Amazon packages had been delivered, and as usual I texted Keshav asking him to take them in, as he was not working and spending the whole day at home. He texted back "Okay!". But when I got home after work, the packages were still sitting outside the apartment on the step.
Immediately a story began to form in my head, a story that was not kind to my husband. Despite promising, in my wedding vows, to give him the benefit of the doubt "no matter what, no matter what, no matter what", I did not do this in this moment (maybe I should have added one more "no matter what" to my vows?). Instead, I felt frustrated and sad (and a bit angry) that my one ask of him, one that he said he would do, had remained undone, despite everything that I do for him when he asks me.
I found him in the apartment, in bed, and I just showed him the packages, and he immediately knew.
*
Quesadillas are a glorious choice for breakfast because they are warm and cheesy. The one I made was not only warm and cheesy, but also eggy. Initially, I was not going to get up to make Keshav food and coffee today, not because I wanted to punish him, but because I felt I could not do so lovingly because of my upset from the night before, as well as lack of sleep from not wanting to come to bed.
But I ended up waking early as I usually do, even without the alarm, and the little sleep I got had managed to regulate me down to a point where I felt no need to not make breakfast anymore.
I am not sure what felt sadder to me, the thought of him waking and not having food and coffee, or the image of him bringing the untouched quesadilla to me and telling me that he could not eat it because he felt he would be sick.
My heart broke seeing his remorse and sadness. Not even a quesadilla could make this morning glorious. Not even a warm, cheesy, eggy quesadilla could do that.
*
Have you ever had a shit day get shittier? It is almost comical how the crap can pile on at times, or at least it is unless you are the one the crap is piling onto. I don't want you to think that the Amazon package snafu was a big deal, because in itself it wasn't. But my reaction to it was. When I saw the packages on the step, I went to that place where my needs don't feel important to anyone, and this is why I take care of all of them myself. (I recently read that not asking for anything from anyone is not independence, but grief.) It is possible that I would not have gone to this place had I been less tired last night, but that was not the case, so I cannot know.
Keshav knows that this is the place where I go, because I have told him this before and he has worked hard to not trigger it with his actions, or lack of actions. So when I found him in the bedroom, I did not have to explain too hard why I was upset--he knew. We talked about it rather calmly, which is to our credit--despite my reactivity I no longer raise my voice to him.
But then the weirdest thing happened.
A tenant in the building next door, whose windows are about ten feet from our bedroom window, suddenly said, "Can you close your window, I can hear your conversation and I am trying to sleep!". Keshav and I looked at each other, not actually sure if she was speaking to us, primarily because this woman has never said anything to us and we were not yelling. We hear her all the time though, usually talking with her boyfriend, having sex with her boyfriend, or screaming at her boyfriend. But when you live in the city in an apartment building, you are going to hear the neighbors.
There is a law that there needs to be quiet from 10pm to 7am, prohibiting "loud or unusual sounds". Outside of that window of time, anything goes, more or less, within a certain decibel range. This is why I get annoyed by another neighbor who sings Broadway tunes at the top of his lungs, but cannot do anything about it because he does it during the day and it is not unreasonable, just annoying. I shut my window.
Anyway, when Keshav and I were having our conversation, it was before 10pm, and we were talking in normal voices. So I pushed back on the neighbor's comments rather assertively (I won't repeat what I said to her). That got her goat, and she immediately screamed at us to "Shut the fuck up!!!!!!!"
Shit piling on shit. A painful night became more painful.
Keshav made his apologies to me for forgetting about the packages, and went to bed because he was working the next morning. But I could not go to bed. I was discontented and suffering, both from my conflict with him and the intrusive comments of the neighbor. I sat on the couch, unable to find peace, wondering how I found myself in this position at the age of 63. You know, feeling sorry for myself.
But I also felt somewhat powerless to find peace. I wanted to punish the cunt next door, but knew that her tirade had little to do with us--it came from her own state of suffering--and retribution would only pour gasoline on a fire that was already going out. But what troubled me the most was that the one person I wanted to find peace with was in the bedroom, just fifteen feet away, and I could not make myself go to him. I was like Keshav the following morning, with breakfast in front of him but unable to eat it.
I felt alone, unwilling to do anything about it.
*
There are a number of ways people relieve themselves when hurting. In many cases, these forms of relief do nothing to address the cause of it, and instead just cover up the pain. I generally default to just sitting in my pain. This is, by the way, the most effective way at those times when the only way out of pain is through it. But it's not a lot of fun in the moment, especially when one forgets to actually move through it.
In the scenario I described above, I felt unwilling to utilize the tools I knew could work to bring me back into a state of safety and connection. I could have gone into bed with Keshav and held him, first off. But I didn't allow myself to do this because I was upset with him and not feeling very well loved by his actions. It was like wanting to snuggle with the beloved pet dog that had just accidentally bitten you. I also knew I could have meditated, but I felt too dysregulated to try this.
I was playing a game of "What Comes First?" regarding my desire to be at peace. Do I wait until I calm down before taking actions to return to peace, or do I take the actions immediately regardless of how I feel about them? I think I knew that what I would instead do is sit on the couch until I could access some compassion for the state I found myself in, for Keshav's mistake, and for the cunt, uh, lady next door. So that is what I did.
It took a while, but eventually the compassion came. That, or exhaustion, I am not sure which. I finally stumbled into bed, next to my husband, where sleep gave my brain a chance to reset itself so that in the morning I could look at the whole mess with a new perspective.
*
In the morning, I made him a a quesadilla today with ham, egg, and cheese, as you know. The fact that he could not eat it does not diminish that action; it was an act of love. Fortunately, I was able to have compassion for his state of suffering even while feeling accountable for a part of it. That's progress, right?
After I finished both my quesadilla and his, I reflected on what I could take away from previous evening. What I came to was no huge insight or Aha! moment, but instead the gentle reminder that despite my insistence that I can take care of myself in all areas, I still need to feel cared for by others.
I recently read a quote saying that those who do everything for themselves may think they are "independent", but in many cases they are really just "in grief". That tracks. In grief for every time they expressed a need and were rejected or ignored, for every time they were told that others' needs were more important than their own, that they were being "dramatic", or that they are lucky to be so strong.
Sometimes I think we continue to grieve because it is all we know how to do. While I can never imagine not wanting to take care of everything myself, I can imagine "asking for help" from time to time. Maybe I have sat in my grief long enough. Maybe it is time to get up and move.
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