Not Quite Betty Crocker

We talk a lot about trust in relationships in a rainbows and butterflies way.  You know, as if “trusting someone” and “having trust” and “remembering how important trust is” are easy actions.  Actually, we talk about trust as if it’s a natural weightless free and happy state, not an action or series of actions.

But trust is an action and an uncomfortable one at at that.

My husband has a thing for weapons that rivals my thing for furniture.  We’re in the middle of paying off a lot of debt in a very short period of time so money discussions happen frequently (but, I am happy to report, with little argument or drama).  The other day he got a call from a friend during lunch, and because I couldn’t very well turn off my ears, I caught on pretty quickly that this was a great deal on a coveted item.  The call went on for a few minutes, giving me time to think through my response to the whole situation.

First response: Are you kidding me?  We’re two weeks away from our goal and four weeks away from our celebration spending.  Cheater!

Second response: I don’t get to spend that kind of money just because it’s a good deal!  So this means we’re going to find me money to blow now, too?

Third response: Do I want more weapons in the house?  Would I do this?  Will he put the money back in two weeks?  Do I trust him?

And right there, folks, in that last sentence… that right there is the whole point.  Do I trust him?  I want to say, “Yes, of course I trust him.  I married him, right?”  But we’re not talking rainbows and butterflies trust.  We’re talking Trust.  In this case, To Trust Him = To Back Off.  I’m neither his mother nor his accountant and how he spends money we agreed we’d have to blow is not for me to decide.  What was for me to (help) decide was whether it was okay to break our rules and spend it early.

Sometimes, trusting my husband means I have to stay out of the way, keep my mouth shut, support an idea that was not mine, accept that he does things in a way I wouldn’t -- let go of the oars.  Trusting, as an action, is an uncomfortable one because it means not doing things, not having control, not being the boss of my life.

Trust, as an action, is a lot of inaction.  And it’s hard.

On the bright side, it has meant that I don’t have to get involved in every little detail or care about every individual thing.  If he wants to call in a plumber, I remember he has the best intentions.  If he thinks we need to have a tree cut down, I don’t bother to research.  If he decides that the landscaping is crap and must be changed, I’m all for it.  Tell me what we’re buying and off we go. 

For a long time I fought him every time he wanted to spend money because his priorities weren’t mine, then I realized that our goals are the same even if our methods aren’t.  Being married is like running a three-legged race: neither as fast nor as easy as running alone, but more fun if you let it be.  And if you fall down, someone else’s body might cushion yours.