My husband got pissed at me this evening. He was already frustrated because of his job, and when it was time to make dinner – which he had offered to do earlier – he stomped into the kitchen, loudly grumbling about how much he does around the house, how unappreciated he is, how someday he’s going to just take a break and then what will we all do?

He does do a lot around the house these days. And many of his complaint sound like things I was saying prior to the onset of this depressive episode/near–complete breakdown. As he grumbled, I was on the couch, recovering from a day spent making numerous calls about our daughter’s new diagnosis and the medical equipment she needs, driving her to an appointment, helping her shower and manage her grooming, and an hour or two of researching her new condition.

Listing these things helps me remember that his feelings are not my fault, and I’m being very productive in ways that have nothing to do with housekeeping. That has to be enough for now.

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