The Sacrifice of One Seahorse

Seahorses are unique creatures. Not only do they swim upright, unlike most other fish, they are also monogamous and mate for life. Even more unique, they are among the only animal species on Earth in which the male bears the unborn young.

They are mainly found in shallow tropical and temperate waters throughout the world. These fish form territories, with males staying in about 1 square meter of their habitat while females range about one hundred times that area. They bob around in sea grass meadows, mangrove stands, and coral reefs where they adopt murky brown and gray patterns to camouflage themselves among the sea grass. During social moments or in unusual surroundings, seahorses turn bright colors (according to my friend, Wikipedia).

My brother, Brock, is a seahorse.

Each male seahorse has a brood pouch in which the female seahorse deposits her eggs into his pouch. From then, he carries the eggs until they emerge, expelling baby seahorses from his pouch into the water. Once the seahorse babies are released into the water, the male's role is done and he offers no further care.

Likewise, Brock is a unique creature. Like the seahorse, he turns bright colors in social moments. In addition, not only has he entered into a monogamous relationship with his wife, he also rears his children. Brock calls himself Mr. Mom. In fact, he has his own theme song which goes a little something like this:

"Mr. Mom,
"He's got it going on.
"Mr. Mom,
"He's pouring bottles all night long."

(It's cooler when he sings it.)

Brock's interpretation of the male seahorse is that the father explodes as soon as the babies are released into the water and dies. Unlike the seahorse, Brock did not deteriorate when his baby seahorses were born. Rather, he flourished.

I remember one afternoon as I walked home from the school bus stop, I passed through our garage to see the window smashed in on a gray spray-painted, Subaru Brat. As I entered the house there was a bright, blinking, red light on the phone. It was a message from someone that my brother was in the hospital. I still remember as I sat next to Maxi and Kelly on the restaurant booth-like seats, my dad describing how bipolar disorder was like a roller coaster. He used his hands to demonstrate moods rapidly going up and back down like the stomach turning Space Mountain at Disney World. Eyes glazed and head pounding, I still remember staring into the colorful fish tank of the waiting room as I tried to grasp the intensity and reality of what was going on from my dad's description.

I remember actually going into the psychiatric ward where they put my brother in a cold, concrete room. Wearing gray sweats and doped up on lithium or some other mood stabilizer, I remember staring at my brother not knowing what to think. Would he recover in a few weeks like he did when he broke his arm?

I was in the sixth grade when this happened. I remember because I was reading The Hobbit and when we went to visit him again I brought in my book. Brock took it from me and started to read the first page of the introduction. He started to underline irregular words and sparked up a conversation that was way too deep for an adult, let alone a sixth grader. He was in another world that day. A world doped up on meds. A world that I hope he or no one else will ever have to endure again.

I can't remember how long he stayed in that facility. Years following his rock bottom moment, Brock ventured on the long road to finding the right medications and lifestyle.

Brock is a seahorse. He is a warrior. I don't know that anyone will ever understand what it is like to battle this mental impairment. Even though I have studied bipolar disorders and other mood disorders, I still can't comprehend what it would be like to battle daily highs and lows. Brock is not like that lithium-doped up person that I saw years ago. He is much better and now has a beautiful wife and two beautiful children. I remember when Maxwell was born I asked Brock, "What is the best part of being a father?" He responded, "I feel like I have a purpose now."

As illustrated in his drawing above, Brock compares his life to a seahorse. But unlike a male seahorse whose role is done when the babies are born, Brock continues to offer care to his baby seahorses. Brock is Mr. Mom. He is Mister Seahorse as Eric Carle so beautifully illustrated. I love what an amazing father, husband, and brother he has become. Bright or dull colors, I am grateful he is in my life.

Radical Acceptance

At what point in a marriage does either person stop caring? At what point does the woman or man decide to "let go" of her or himself and one morning come to find themselves with a double chin, belly bulge, and cellulited butt cheeks? At what point does the woman just stop caring about putting on makeup in the morning and looking pretty for her hubby like she once used to when they were dating? At what point does the competition to please each other stop? No more spontaneous dates, no more flowers, no more long talks followed by passionate kisses.
As I start to think of these questions, I am very scared of this happening. Have I already let myself go? I know at times my double chin appears, my tummy pokes out, and my bum looks like there was a hail storm. Maybe that's a little dramatic, but my fear is there. Have I stopped trying? Do I have an anxious concern for the well-being of my hubby everyday? Some days I feel like there is a volcano in my tummy just waiting to erupt. The slightest move of the tectonic plates inside me could set me off and like a manic bi-polar I just go-go-go until I hit a wall.
Tonight was one of those nights when my brain would not stop circling. Staring blankly into space, I caught my eyes captured in a zone that I often forget exists. Bystanders stretched and ran around me as I sulked in my aura. And here is a picture of my thoughts:

Two circles intersecting just like this. And because of my lack of artistic abilities, please imagine the word "Me" in the circle on the left, the word "You" in the circle on the right, and the word "Us" in between the area that the two circles share. Tonight I was reminded as I stared off into space how marriage is like this illustration.
There is me-time, him-time, and us-time. There needs to be a balance between independence and dependence. Not only do we need to feel like each other is needed in the relationship, we both need time apart to grow as individuals. For example, I need Daveed to provide for the family as I have learned fathers and husbands ought to. I need Daveed to tell me I'm beautiful. I need Daveed to scratch my back. I need Daveed to fix things around the house. On the flip side, I'm guessing that Daveed needs me to also provide for the family. He needs me to cook dinner. He needs me to compliment him and give him attention. This is "us-time." This is us showing our dependence on one another.
The part I am struggling with tonight is me-time and him-time. Tonight I desperately needed a running buddy. I asked Daveed earlier this morning if he would be mine later tonight. However, it did not turn out like my mind wanted it to. What happened to his desire to run with me when we were dating? He used to always run with me when we were dating, why not as much anymore? Was he only doing that to get my attention and to court me and now that he's got me he doesn't have to run with me anymore?
One thing I do in my job is teaching my clients emotion regulation skills. (Side note: some days I feel like I need these skills more than my clients). One of the skills we emphasize is "Radical Acceptance." This skill is all about focusing on what you can control and letting go of what you can't. It's taking a situation that may not be the way you want it and saying, "It is what it is," and dealing with it appropriately. Although the volcano in my tummy wanted to spit out lava tonight, I decided a more appropriate response would be to stare off in space and remind myself of this marriage illustration. Neither one of us is "letting go." (I had to take a deep breath and realize that). Tonight I had to radically accept that Daveed does still care about me, but that he just needed "him-time" and I had to adjust appropriately. It was a sad epiphany, but much needed. I'm sure there will be us-time to run another day.