My husband yells at me, ya know? It ain’t pleasant, not one bit. Makes my heart thump like a scared rabbit and my hands get all clammy. I ain’t no spring chicken, this kinda stress ain’t good for my old bones, ya hear? It’s like livin’ with a thunderstorm brewing all the time, never knowin’ when the lightnin’ will strike.
So, why’s he yellin’ all the time? Sometimes, it’s ’cause the supper’s cold. Sometimes, it’s ’cause the TV’s too loud, or the chickens got out, or just ’cause he feels like it, I reckon. Men, they’re a different breed, always grumblin’ ’bout somethin’. He comes home from work, face like a thundercloud, and boom! The yellin’ starts.
- He yells about the bills.
- He yells about the house bein’ messy.
- He yells about the kids not listenin’.
I try to tell him, “Now, hold on a minute, there’s no need to shout.” But it’s like talkin’ to a brick wall. Words just bounce right off him. He just keeps on hollerin’, face gettin’ all red and his neck veins stickin’ out like ropes. Makes me wanna just crawl under the bed and hide. I swear, sometimes I think he forgets I got ears, not just holes in my head.
I tried everything, ya know? Cookin’ his favorite meals, keepin’ the house spick and span, even bitin’ my tongue when he starts complainin’ ’bout every little thing. But nothin’ seems to work. It’s like he needs to yell, like it’s the only way he knows how to talk.
One time, I tried yellin’ back. Thought maybe if I gave him a taste of his own medicine, he’d understand. Big mistake! It just made things worse. He yelled louder, and I yelled louder, and the whole house shook. The kids started cryin’, and the dog hid under the porch. It was a mess, a real doggone mess. After that, I figured yellin’ back ain’t the answer. It just adds more fuel to the fire.
So, what’s a woman to do? I ain’t got no fancy book learnin’, but I figured I gotta try somethin’ different. I started listenin’ more, really listenin’. Not just hearin’ the words, but tryin’ to understand what’s behind the yellin’. Sometimes, he’s just tired and frustrated. Sometimes, he’s worried about money or the farm. Sometimes, I think he just wants to be heard, even if he’s goin’ about it the wrong way.
I started talkin’ softer, too. No matter how loud he yells, I keep my voice calm and steady. I tell him, “I hear ya, I understand you’re upset, but we gotta talk this out like civilized folks.” Sometimes it works, sometimes it don’t. But I figure it’s better than yellin’ back. It’s like tryin’ to tame a wild horse, ya know? You gotta be gentle and patient, and hope for the best.
I also try to make sure he knows I care. I make him his coffee in the mornin’, just the way he likes it. I rub his back when he’s achy. I tell him I love him, even when he’s bein’ a grumpy old bear. Sometimes, I think that’s all he needs, just to know somebody cares. It ain’t always easy, though. There are days when I just want to pack my bags and leave. But then I look at him, and I remember all the good times we’ve had, and I know I gotta keep tryin’.
It ain’t right, this yellin’. A man shouldn’t treat his wife that way. But I also know he ain’t a bad man, deep down. He’s just got his ways, and I gotta learn how to deal with ’em. Maybe someday he’ll stop yellin’. Maybe someday we’ll be able to talk things out without raisin’ our voices. But until then, I’ll keep on listenin’, keep on talkin’ soft, and keep on lovin’ him, even when he’s yellin’ his fool head off. Marriage ain’t for the faint of heart, that’s for sure. It’s about stickin’ together, through thick and thin, through the yellin’ and the quiet. And that’s what I aim to do.
Now, breathe deep, that’s what my neighbor lady told me. She said, “When he starts, you take a breath, hold it, and let it out slow. Like you’re blowin’ out a candle.” Sounds kinda silly, but sometimes, it helps me keep my cool. Keeps me from jumpin’ right into the yellin’ match. I tell myself, he’s just blowin’ off steam, he don’t really mean it. Most times, anyway.
And another thing, I try to find a good time to talk to him, when he’s calm and relaxed. Not when he’s just walked in the door or when he’s tired and hungry. That’s just askin’ for trouble. I wait till after supper, when he’s sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the sun go down. That’s when he’s most likely to listen. And I try to keep it simple, tell him how his yellin’ makes me feel, without blamin’ or accusin’. It’s a slow process, like tryin’ to plow a rocky field, but I figure it’s worth the effort. A little peace and quiet, that’s all I ask for.
