My husband, oh that man, always yelling. Makes my ears ring, it does. I tell ya, it ain’t right. Yelling, yelling, all the livelong day. It’s like livin’ with a rooster that forgot how to crow and only knows how to screech.
First thing in the mornin’, before the sun even thinks about peekin’ over the hills, he starts. “Where’s my coffee?” he hollers. Like I ain’t got two hands and a pot. And if it ain’t the coffee, it’s his socks. “Woman, where’d you put my socks?” Like they got legs and walked off on their own. Honestly, a body would think he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed on tight.
- He yells about the food. Too hot, too cold, too salty, not enough salt. Can’t ever win with that man.
- He yells about the kids. “They ain’t doin’ their chores,” he shouts. Well, whose kids are they? Mine too, ain’t they? But he yells at them like they’re strangers.
- He yells about the weather. Too hot, too cold, too rainy, too dry. Like he’s got some say in the matter. Last I checked, he ain’t the weatherman.
And the worst part? He yells about nothin’ at all. Just yells to be yellin’, I reckon. Sits there in his chair, readin’ the paper, and then BAM! He’s off again. Like a firecracker that just fizzles and pops for no good reason. It gets a body down, it does. Makes a person feel small, like a bug under a boot.
I try to talk to him, you know? Try to tell him, “Honey, you gotta stop yellin’. It ain’t good for you, and it sure ain’t good for me.” But he just waves his hand and says I’m bein’ too sensitive. “It’s just how I talk,” he says. Well, I say talkin’ and yellin’ are two different things, like night and day.
Sometimes, I just want to yell back. Tell him a thing or two. But what good would that do? Just add more noise to the fire, wouldn’t it? So, I keep my mouth shut, mostly. Bite my tongue ’til it bleeds. But inside, I’m yellin’ right back at him, only he can’t hear it. He just hears the silence, and maybe that makes him yell even louder.
I worry about the kids, you see. They hear all this yellin’, and they think it’s normal. They think that’s how people talk to each other. And that ain’t right. Kids need love and kindness, not a bunch of hollerin’. They start to get quiet, like me. Or worse, they start yellin’ back at him, and then the whole house is just a big ol’ yellin’ match.
I’ve talked to my sister about it. She says I need to set some boundaries, whatever that means. Says I need to tell him straight out, “If you yell, I’m walkin’ away.” But it ain’t that easy. Where am I gonna walk to? This is my home, my life. And besides, he’s my husband, for better or worse, like the preacher said.
Maybe he’s just unhappy, I think sometimes. Maybe he’s got somethin’ eatin’ at him inside. Men are like that, you know? They don’t talk about their feelin’s. They just bottle ’em up until they explode. Like a shaken-up soda can. And I’m the one who gets sprayed with all the fizz. Makes me feel tired all the time, like all the energy is sucked right out of me.
I’ve thought about gettin’ some help, talkin’ to someone. But that costs money, and we ain’t got much to spare. And besides, what would people say? They’d say I’m airin’ my dirty laundry in public. They’d say I’m makin’ a fuss over nothin’. But it ain’t nothin’ to me. It’s my life, and it’s gettin’ wore down, little by little, by all this yellin’. Maybe he should talk to someone, a counselor or somethin’. He needs help too.
I don’t know what the answer is. I just wish he’d stop yellin’. I wish he’d talk to me, like a normal person. I wish we could just sit down and have a cup of coffee together, without him jumpin’ out of his skin about somethin’. Maybe one day he’ll change. Maybe one day the yellin’ will stop. But until then, I just gotta keep on keepin’ on, and pray for a little peace and quiet. I hope things get better, for me and for the kids. That’s all I want.
