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“What do you mean, ‘yeah, you guess’?” I demand. “I’m your husband, Jill. I think I deserve to know your opinion on things.”

“And yet, you didn’t ask for it,” she shoots back.

I groan. “Yeah, I know, and that was a mistake, okay? I admit it. I should have asked you. I was just so excited to be considered, and I’ve been feeling so…” I search for the right word.

“Stuck?” Jill suggests. “Bored? Confused?

“No,” I say vehemently. “Not stuck or bored. I couldn’t be either of those–not when I have you and the kids in my life. But confused might be part of it. I guess I’ve been feeling…directionless,” I settle on. “Like I don’t know what to do next to keep you.”

“To keep me?” Jill echoes incredulously. “What are you talking about, Max? We’ve been married for 17 years, pretty sure you’ve already got me.”

I close my eyes for a second, but then have to open them–not liking the sensation of being on a horse without being able to see anything. “Do I?” I manage to say. “Because sometimes it seems like you’d be perfectly fine without me in your life.” I take my eyes off Wilma’s head for a second and peer over at Jill tosee how she’s responding to this. Her hands have gone slack on the reins and she’s looking back at me, her blue eyes wide with shock.

“Max,” she begins, but I cut her off.

“No, Jill, I already know that you’re going to try and deny it, but just really think about what I said. You’re so dang independent. And, hey, it’s not like I don’t love that about you, I do. Heck, it was one of the first things that attracted me to you. But sometimes it’s that same independence that leaves me feeling like an accessory in your life. Like a purse or a necklace. Sure I might dress up your outfit, but at the end of the day if I disappeared, you’d still look great. Still be completely together. You don’t need me.”

I picked a weird metaphor, then again—the point it makes is accurate. And honestly, it’s easier to use a metaphor than to actually admit point blank that the fact that she never seems to need—or lately, evenwant—me makes me feel like less of a man.

This is not something I’m proud of—but there you have it: sometimes having such a strong, independent wife can be emasculating.

I know this is a me problem. That’s why I never said anything before. Plus, ironically even sharing that this is a problem I deal with makes me feel like less of a man.

A real man would be secure enough in his manhood to not be bothered by his wife not needing him. Right?

Yes.

Jill doesn’t answer right away. Or even after a few minutes. Instead we ride in silence as she digests what I’ve said; meanwhile I wonder if now that I’ve owned up to these feelings I should take Wilma and ride away to live off the land.

Not that Wilma would cooperate with this plan.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say into the silence. “I probably shouldn’t have brought this up.” I try to make light of things by adding,“I know it’s not your fault that I can’t handle how amazing you are.”

My attempt at levity falls flat. Jill doesn’t even smile.

“Jill?” I prod. “What’s going through your head right now. Please say something.”

Jill blinks as if coming out of a trance. “I can’t believe that irritating woman was right,” she huffs.

“Irritating woman?” I echo in confusion. “You mean, Dorothy?” I’m about to agree about her being right, but Jill shakes her head and sighs heavily.

“No, not Dorothy. She’s still wrong. Probably. Anyway,” she shudders, “not her, no. I meant Doctor Friedman.”

“Who?” I search my brain for some inkling of who she’s talking about.

“You know,” she sighs again, “Doctor Friedman. That therapist I went to see after my…thingy.”

By thingy, I know she means breakdown. “Oh, right. I remember now.” And I do. Not sure how I could have forgotten seeing as Doctor Friedman was all I heard about nonstop for a few weeks. And everything said was negative.

She clearly doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

She’s so off-base she’s not even playing baseball.

I can’t believe people actually pay her to help them–she is not helping. No, sir. I think she might even be making things worse!

I always secretly thought her comments stemmed from discomfort with whatever was being said to her in the sessions, like maybe it was all ringing too close for comfort. I never said this to Jill, though, because I didn’t really want to get my head bitten off. Eventually she stopped going, and that was that. No more therapy. No more commentary on Doctor Friedman.

Only now Jill apparently might be changing her tune.