It happens every Friday morning.
As everyone around you is celebrating “FriYAY”, talking excitedly about their weekend plans, or expressing their general relief at the very thought of two whole days off, the pit in your stomach starts to grow.
Let’s face it, it’s always there these days, that worry. But it’s worse on Fridays. From the moment you open your eyes in the morning, the sense of dread grows all day.
Because you know what the weekend means: it means more time at home with your partner.
That used to be a good thing, but it hasn’t been that way for a long time. You used to look forward to seeing each other, love your down time together.
But now you know he’s always unhappy with you. Or the kids. You don’t know what it will be, but you know it will always something. What’s bearable in after-work hours during the week, becomes unbearable during a 48 hour stretch on the weekends.
He might come home drunk from Friday night drinks, frustrated you’re not ‘up for it’.
Tomorrow morning, he might become outraged at your child’s soccer game, and take it out on you.
Tomorrow night, he might explode about the meal you cooked, or that you are eating together at a restaurant, and you’ll hear about it for the rest of the night.
On Sunday morning, you might gently remind him that the you’re going to see your mum, and he might not-so-gently remind you that you need to make him a priority.
Or you could remind him that he promised you could have a turn at sleeping-in and not get up for the baby – and he will break that promise by reminding you about how hard he works for the family, and needs his rest.
So on Friday, when it feels as though the whole country is winding down, you know what the weekend will look like for you; you’ll be walking on eggshells to make him happy, and have that horrible, sinking feeling, because it’s easier when he’s not around.
On Monday morning, you’ll lie to people who ask you about how your weekend was.
You’ll say, “We had a lovely date night”, and that will be the truth, but you won ‘t tell them he threw a glass of wine in your face, picked a fight with the waiter, or called you a “selfish bitch”.
You’ll say, “Sammy won his tennis match”, but won’t admit his dad told him he could have done better and broke his heart.
You’ll avoid the direct or whole truth, because it’s hard enough to admit to yourself, let alone anyone else.
It could be just a phase of your relationship. Or it could be the beginning of the end. You’re not sure what’s happening, and you don’t want it to happen, and you don’t understand.
But understand this, lovely, lonely lady: I see you. I was you, for too long.
You are not alone.
I see you, and I am thinking of you, and hoping you will be ok this weekend.
If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence or abuse, please seek professional help and contact 1800 RESPECT on . If you are in immediate danger, call 000.