I swear my wife has a Doubt Gene in her. Sometimes it is dominant, sometimes it is recessive, but always it is there lurking.
During that time of the month it makes brief appearances, but she knows that it is just her hormones rebelling, so she is able to make a conscious decision to not feel bad about herself. Lord know that if I had eggs popping inside me and bloaty tissues around the middle I would feel a little self-conscious too.
Sometimes I bring out the doubt gene in her. I do it by telling her things like, “Yes your butt does look fat in those jeans” or, “Whew, hon, your cookin’ gives me gas”. Brilliant me. (I have a dominant stupid gene, but that is way too big a subject to cover in one blogpost). Seriously, I do say stupid hurtful things sometimes but one of the benefits of being together a long time is that we work it out quickly. She quickly launches cooking implements and I duck. She quickly clams up and I quickly beg for forgiveness. . . You get the picture. Even my thoughtlessness (because it is not chronic) does not bring out her doubt gene for very long.
Often it is the things we don’t say that bring out the doubt gene in our wives. For some reason I have to consistently remind my wife that I’m not going anywhere. I thought that when we got married and said those vows she would just remember them. I told her then that I loved her and would care for her through sickness, etc. (I do and I do). I promised to cherish her (I do). Honor her (I do). I promised to do all those other things that I can’t exactly recall just now (And I am probably doing just fine). Why do I have to repeat myself? The doubt gene is why.
The doubt gene is most noticeable when we are getting along poorly. The little guy works especially hard at convincing my wife that I would rather be with someone else. The doubt gene tries to convince her that my life was so much better for me pre-marriage. The doubt gene whispers that my love is fading. It says, “See, he doesn’t love you at all anymore because he doesn’t tell you ‘I love you’ very often”. The doubt gene resides in stretch marks, grey hair, and cellulite. It incessantly tells her that I am looking for a younger, firmer, smoother model. (And I confirm this thought every time I notice a younger, firmer, smoother model). The doubt gene tells my wife that her husband is bored with her because he doesn’t engage her in conversation like he used to. The doubt gene feeds her belief that I prefer __________________ instead of her(you fill in the blank: kids, work, ESPN, Xbox, golf, sleep, sex, a good book…) .
Repetitionis the antidote to the doubt gene. Doubt cannot be cured but it can be gently flogged into submission. Unfortunately the antidote requires daily administration. This is not a one-shot vaccination like for rabies, parvo, mad cow or any other childhood disease ;). Repetition is repetitious. It happens over and over. How often, you ask? Let’s think about how we might like to have sex: Daily, for prolonged amounts of time, loudly, in different positions, in different rooms, night, day, enthusiastically, willingly, creatively. That’s the flavor of repetition I’m talking about: Quantity and quality.
What is it that bears repeating to my wife? What should I be saying to defeat the doubt gene? Merle says it so well. This is the gist of what my wife needs to hear repeated to her:
- No one holds a candle to her. Yes I see the wrinkles and stretch marks on her, but I am privileged know her inside. I can say with sincerity that I wouldn’t trade her for anything or anyone. I am blessed over all men because of her.
- I wouldn’t go back in time. The richness of the life we share causes memory of all others to fade to insignificance.
- I have no regrets about marrying her. Even the “bad times” are good when experienced with her at my side.
- I choose you. Just like on the wedding day when you told the world that you choose this woman over all others- Again, today, “I choose you over all others”.
Men, have the tools to conquer this terrible disease of doubt that plagues the hearts of our wives. Will you sing along with Merle and me? . . . Old flames can’t hold a candle to you . . .
Blessings
Stumble It!