I was thinking last week about respect.
Hubby and I had a conversation about me sharing something about my own life. He asked me not to, because he was afraid it would have repercussions for him, and he didn’t want to deal with that.
Even though the something has very little to do with hubby, and it was unlikely anyone would say a word to him about it (they would be more likely to come down on me), I respect his wish to keep our lives somewhat private. Particularly his life, because I admit I overshare sometimes, but that isn’t his thing.
Privacy is a big thing for me, too. Even though I do share a lot about myself and my life, I like having the option not to. And I like physical privacy; being able to brush my teeth without someone barging into the bathroom, for example, or being able to read in bed with the door closed and know people will leave me alone.
Or being able to read something online with no one peeking over my shoulder.
Hubby knows this about me, and yet a few days after we had our discussion about *his* privacy, he walked up behind me as I was reading an article about “slut-shaming” and said, “Hey, who’s the cute girl?”
Cue me losing my temper. Probably out of proportion to the situation, but… It was a matter of respect. I *respect* hubby’s wish for privacy enough that I keep something about *me* to myself. And yet he can’t respect *my* wish for privacy enough to not read over my shoulder?
In any relationship, respect is key. Without that, there isn’t much left. Hubby and I sorted things out, and he apologized, but still… Respect. End of story.