Neglect's Toll on a Wife: Perfection's Grip on My Husband's Attention

By Lila Meadowbrook

When a woman marries a man with Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD), it rules their lives. His preoccupation with order, control, rigidity, and minutiae leaves no room for emotional, conversational, or physical intimacy. Friendships, laughter, spontaneity, trust, and flexibility are eschewed for the sake of verbally managing myriad daily details and rules, such as avoiding buying slightly bruised bananas at the store, making sure the heater at home is never set above 64 degrees, and never touching the walls in the house lest they get dirty. When the wife reads that marriages with a spouse who has OCPD typically end in divorce, she is determined not to end up that way. This book chronicles her journey over the course of almost 20 years, describing her emotional hardship and loneliness as she copes with a husband who glacially transforms from a clinical robot to a caring yet still sometimes oblivious companion. This book is not meant to advise, but to come alongside other spouses, children, parents, siblings, family members, and friends of people whose OCPD rules their relationships. While there are therapists who specialize in helping people manage personality disorders, there are very few non-textbookish materials out there on the subject of OCPD.

Characteristics of OCPD, according to the Merck Manual website:

"People with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder are preoccupied with order, perfectionism, and control of themselves and situations. To maintain a sense of control, people focus on rules, trivial details, procedures, schedules, and lists. This preoccupation interferes with their ability to be flexible, effective, and open to different ideas. Rigid and stubborn in their activities, these people insist that everything be done in a specific way.

"Because they are so dedicated to work, they neglect leisure activities and relationships. They may think they have no time to relax or go out with friends. They may postpone a vacation so long that it does not happen, or they may feel they must take work with them so that they do not waste time. Time spent with friends, when it occurs, tends to be in a formally organized activity (such as a sport). Hobbies and recreational activities are considered important tasks requiring organization and hard work to master. Their goal is perfection.

"These people plan ahead in great detail and do not wish to consider changes. Their relentless rigidity may frustrate co-workers and friends. Expression of affection is also tightly controlled. People with this disorder may relate to others in a formal, stiff, or serious way. Often, they speak only after they think of the perfect thing to say. They may focus on logic and intellect and be intolerant of emotional or expressive behavior.

"People with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder may be overzealous, picky, and rigid about issues of morality, ethics, and values. They apply rigid moral principles to themselves and to others and are harshly self-critical.

"These people are rigidly deferential to authorities and insist on exact compliance to rules, with no exceptions for extenuating circumstances.

"People with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder may be reluctant to spend money, which they think should be saved in case of future disasters."

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350902341

Book preview

Introduction

We look like the perfect couple, or so I’ve been told. We’re healthy, happy people. We love life. We love our children. We aim to make wise choices and treat others well. We love nature and being outdoors. We walk and bike all over the place all the time. My husband did his dream job while I got to stay home and raise our kids. He retired early so we could move to a more remote place. We’ve lived in and traveled to amazing places. We’re smiling in all of our photos.

What photos don’t tell you is what has been missing.

I have lived many years without daily outward expressions of love from my husband.

I have yearned to be held, loved, enjoyed, conversed with, whispered to, looked at, listened to, and cherished.

I’ve longed for him to pull me near or whisk me up, grab me close or hold me down.

I’ve longed to see the look in his eye that says he loves me more than words can say.

My story is for you, reader. It’s so hard to write because it means pulling up deep wounds I’ve had to shove down each and every day in order to get by. But I write this for you in case it helps. I don’t have answers; I don’t have advice. All I know is that you might need to hear this in order to endure.

I know why it’s hard for others to write about this: how do you publicize a difficult union without jeopardizing it?

It’s a risk.

He never meant to harm. But how do I do married life without daily expressions of a husband’s love?

I’ve asked myself that every day.

1

A Charmed Life

Okay, that intro was heavy. Let’s back up for a minute.

I grew up the fifth of five children and have lived a charmed life. My brothers and sisters wore my parents down, so by the time I came around 11 years later, life was easy. My siblings gave my parents a run for their money in all kinds of ways, but they were almost out of the house by the time I was almost out of diapers. I was loved well by my big family, and I don’t ever remember watching or experiencing much discord.

What I do remember is an abundance of laughter and warmth. All the time. Home was a place of happiness, security, peace, and love. My mom has always been positive, almost to a fault. She won’t even let herself see the negatives in a negative situation. She loves people, she loves celebrations, she laughs at herself when she makes mistakes, and she never hangs onto anything hurtful. She forgives quickly, and she always encourages. Judgment was practically foreign in our house. I can’t ever remember my mom saying anything that hurt my feelings or anyone else’s. She never let us go out the door to school on a bad note, even if we deserved it. She always sent us on our way with positivity, swallowing any frustration in the air.

My dad, an engineer, was always practical, responsible, kind, and hard-working. I got lucky; because I came along later, I got to grow up with a retired dad who was always there for me. No busy-ness, no stress, all wisdom all the time. My parents were total right- and left-brain complements, and even though they were so different, they never criticized each other when they didn’t align. They were respectful, loyal, and lighthearted with each other. Argument and tumult didn’t exist in our house, at least by the time I came along. My parents ruined things for me. I remember thinking as a kid, What if I get used to being loved so well that the rest of the world feels hard after this? The thought was scarily prophetic.

A charmed life I lived, not only in the love sense, but also in just about every other way. When my siblings were all out of the house, my parents decided that the three of us would move to a tiny coastal town several states away. It was paradise compared to our hot, flat suburbia. My mom, a tree lover stuck in lifeless concrete for 20 years, longed to live in the woods with a view of the ocean. I think she thought something like that didn’t actually exist. But it did. We found a beautiful house among the pines, overlooking the sea. It was dreamy, and I spent my middle and high school years biking along the ocean, hiking through the woods with our dog, and feeling like every bit of our beautiful little town was mine.

2

First Love

I’ll never forget my first kiss.

I was 13 and there was a little youth center in our town, just down the hill from where I lived. A bunch of us would hang out there after school and on the weekends to play pool and watch movies, and I’d bike back home whenever I felt like it.

One night, I remember sitting outside on a log near the youth center, talking with a boy I liked. We had natural chemistry. I was strongly attracted to his intelligence. He was quick-witted and conversationally sharp, and he was also the first guy I felt physically drawn to—his looks, his athleticism, his masculinity, and the way he looked at me. As we sat there, he was frustrated with me for no apparent reason and I couldn’t figure out what was going on. After going around and around, trying to figure out what it was all about, he finally said something like, Okay, I want to ask you a question, and I know you’re going to say no. That got me intrigued. After another 20 minutes of trying to pull it out of him, he eventually said, I’m afraid you’re going to say no, but ... will you kiss me? I felt my face flush with a redness the dark sky thankfully hid.

Yes, I said. I’d seen it done in movies a thousand times but had no idea how to do it, and I was nervous and excited about what was about to happen.

We concocted a plan, presumably since the log we were sitting on faced the road and cars were passing by now and then. Behind the youth center was an empty gravel firing range. He would walk through the youth center and out the back door into the poorly-lit firing range. A few minutes later, I would walk nonchalantly through the youth center, chat with a few friends, then slip unnoticed through the back door as well. My heart still skips a beat as I write this, and it was over 30 years ago.

He followed the plan. He walked into the youth center and I waited a minute or two. Then it was my turn. My heart beat and my face could hardly hold the secret as I stood up and walked toward the door. I walked in and casually chatted with a few kids as I tried to conceal my nervous excitement. My whole inner world was suddenly fluttering like a hummingbird and I didn’t want my frenetic anticipation to get the better of me.

As I slipped through the back door, my heart began thumping. The loud activity of the kids silenced as I closed the door. There he was standing alone in the quiet chasm, partway down the firing range, as the light from where I was standing dimmed and disappeared behind him. I walked slowly over. He put his arms around my body, and we began kissing. It was unlike any feeling I had ever felt. It was beautifully daunting. I wanted to stay in that moment. I was more than attracted to him. In that moment I was changing from a girl to something else. I was overtaken by the gnawing attraction I felt for him, and I loved how his tall, strong masculinity enveloped my smaller, feminine frame.

While kissing, I wanted to continue, but I also needed a breath. I can’t breathe through my nose very well, but I didn’t want to stop. We finally did, and I put my head on his shoulder, my wet lips on his neck. If I had been a savvier type, I would have initiated more kissing after that much-needed breath. But I only knew myself as a simple, innocent girl, and we walked back in the youth center door, unable to hold back our embarrassed smiles. Everyone noticed immediately, and we were teased for the rest of the night about it.

After that night, I didn’t know how to make the quick transition from girl to girlfriend. I only knew what it was to be a daughter, a sister, a kid. I liked him. Man, was I attracted to him. I wanted to look at him, gaze at him, drift into the depth of his eyes, be next to him, feel him next to me, sit on his lap, feel his voice vibrate through his chest, and have his arms envelop me whenever we found ourselves watching a movie at the youth center. At the time, I couldn’t articulate my feelings verbally, so I remained shy. We kept strangely distant, like an awkward mating game between two birds. Except every now and then, when we’d kiss and kiss. I even remember some friends timing us kissing out in broad daylight in front of the youth center, which seems odd, considering that once we went inside to watch movies, I didn’t even know how to be forward enough to sit by him. How I wanted to be wrapped in his arms.

I know what I was thinking, though, even if I couldn’t say it at the time. I didn’t know where it was leading, and I wasn’t prepared to go further. I loved what was happening, but a lot of kids around us were diving into sex and I knew I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to wait until I was married. We were just 13, which meant there were at least seven or eight years before that point. How could I feel so strongly for someone, knowing he might not be the type to want to wait until marriage, and expect that we’d only kiss for the next decade? I couldn’t imagine him going for that. I wasn’t mature enough to be able to explain what I can now, so not long after, I broke it off. With no explanation given, he hated me. He never spoke to me all through high school, and we went to a tiny high school where we saw each other all the time. Through the years, I’d see him kissing other girls near my locker. I’d silently ache over what I hadn’t been able to say, and I’d wish that we had open lines of communication. I not only cared about him, I also respected him as a human being, and I wanted to continue knowing him. His avoidance of me made it abundantly clear that would never happen.

I still have letters he wrote to me back in those days. We were each other’s first love, each other’s first mint chocolate-flavored kiss. He must have snuck that in before I got to the firing range. He made an indelible mark on my life, and our feelings for each other—made physical—marked my immediate transition out of girlhood. He’s always had a place in my heart and probably always will. I’m just sorry I couldn’t say the simple words that would’ve told him of my apprehension about the future. Instead, my inarticulate immaturity miscommunicated a rejection of him.

While I had a handful of experiences with physical attraction after that, I didn’t feel that kind of overall chemistry with anyone again until my freshman year in college.

3

The Person I Thought I’d Marry

My first night at college, one of my roommates went around meeting everyone on our co-ed dorm floor. The