A cruising wife finds acceptance after stormy outburst
Issue 51 : Nov/Dec 2006
Snow-capped mountains rose up behind us, obliterating much of the skyline from my vantage point aboard our 30-foot Mercator Offshore sloop, Lindsay Christine. A rocky beach gave way to a meadow of spring-green grass and a few emerald-green Sitka spruce trees around Vixen Harbor, a northern paradise-like anchorage on Cleveland Peninsula along Alaska’s Inside Passage. The stormy morning clouds had cleared; the wind had died down. The scenery was beautiful and peaceful, but the atmosphere on our boat was not.
Our morning sail had been invigorating and scary. The clouds had been stormy, the wind had been fairly strong for us — 15 to 20 knots — and Lindsay Christine had flown. Time flew with her. We passed a whale not more than 80 feet off the beam with little thought; Amelia and Chuck had commented that it might have been a minke, one of the smaller whales we could see in the area. It had happened so quickly that none of us were lingering over the sighting.
Chuck, at the helm with his go-go-go corporate viewpoint still firmly entrenched, was not thinking of shorten ing sail. The kids had stayed in the cockpit most of the morning watching the action. I had been the on-call deck monkey, handmaiden, and galley slave while also being teacher — quizzing Amelia on her times tables and helping Alex with his reading — in my “spare time.” We were calling it “cruising,” and we had been at it for a month and a half now. But, for me, what we were doing was up for terminology re-assessment.
Loved the adventure
Both kids, Amelia, 9, and Alex, 6, loved the adventure and enjoyed having their parents around. Chuck was enjoying his new role but had not relaxed from his corporate lifestyle yet. And the jobs I had taken on since leaving the dock were weighing heavily on my shoulders: safety officer, teacher, nurse, doctor, provisioner, dietician, chef, part-time helmsman, part-time navigator, laundress, and janitor. And that was just the short list.
What had happened to being a mom and wife? That particular afternoon I was sure I had forsaken those jobs. My frustration showed itself in the form of a terrible bout of grumpiness and cabinet slamming. No one aboard the Lindsay Christine was enjoying the beautiful scenery once our Delta anchor securely plowed a place into the muddy bottom.
“What the heck is wrong with you?” It was Chuck who actually brought it all to a point . . . and quickly. “I thought you wanted to go cruising!” He stormed up to the bow toward me after shutting off the engine.
“Well, is that what we are doing?” I shot back. “ ’Cause if it is, the answer is no . . . I don’t want to go cruising.” I could feel the tears welling up. I used my anger to force them back. “Not this time,” I told myself, “You need to get this out . . . and now.” I folded my arms across my chest and glanced around.
The kids were dead-bunny quiet, staring at us from the cockpit. The two small deer that had been grazing in a nearby meadow when we had sailed into the bay were staring as well.
“You’ve been banging around this boat for a week now, making all of us miserable,” Chuck added.
“Can we go somewhere to talk . . . alone?”
“What do you mean? We’ve been alone for over a month now. Talk if you need to talk. Look around you. How much more alone do you need to be?” He wasn’t hearing me. I knew that now. I would have to say what I needed to say in front of the whole family. And I would need to be calm to get my message through.
Gathered her thoughts
“OK, fine, let me gather my thoughts and I’ll tell you what the heck is wrong with me.” I walked back to the cockpit, feeling Chuck’s glare searing through me, hoping I could make it past the kids before the tears came. I stole a glance at their stony faces as I ducked to go down the companionway. I made it to the forepeak and pulled the curtain down for privacy while the tears streamed down my face. I heard Chuck calling the kids to help him clean up.
Chuck and I had been married for almost 13 years; we had known each other for 17. I could count the blowups we’d had in that time on one hand. We had learned long before that to talk out our problems and, with both of us being fairly easy-going, there really hadn’t been that many times when we were furious enough to fight. This problem wasn’t about our relationship. We both knew that. But I hoped I could figure out what was wrong before I ruined the trip for all of us. I knew one thing: I still wanted to be out here, exploring the world with our family.
Writing had always helped me clarify my feelings. I climbed into the V-berth and settled down with my journal. The ink flowed for several hours while Chuck took the kids for a dinghy ride around the anchorage and then fi shed from the boat.
Troubled for weeks
After an exceptionally quiet dinner and clean-up, we all sat at the saloon table to talk. I started by apologizing for my foul mood and said that I had been troubled for several weeks but didn’t know what was bothering me until now. I explained that I had come up with a list of things that were upsetting me. Some could be easily fixed, some couldn’t. I started with the small stuff.
The boat was too crowded. We needed to go through some of the stuff we really didn’t need and get rid of it so we could find things more easily (moving from a four-bedroom house to a small boat took a bit more “downsizing” than we first thought).
We were rushing through our adventure, going too fast and not enjoying our trip.
I needed to delegate some of the jobs I had taken upon myself, jobs that the kids could do.
I needed more help with homeschooling. I wanted to set aside time to talk together once in a while about our educational goals, how we were going to meet these goals while cruising, and any changes or problems we were experiencing.
I needed to spend more time navigating the boat so I could feel more competent. All too easily we had gotten into the habit of having Chuck spend his time in charge of navigation and steering to allow me time for school with the kids. And, since we were traveling only during the daytime, I never took control of the boat until weekends.
We discussed ways to solve these concerns and settled on some good solutions. Then I looked at Chuck directly and said that I didn’t feel much like a wife anymore. He understood.
“Let’s go up on deck,” Chuck said. “Amy, Alex, stay down here. Mom and Dad need to talk . . . alone.”
Intense feelings
Outside in the gathering dusk, I told him how intense I had felt since leaving our dock in Everett. “Sometimes it’s just too much. I am terrified that I am going to make a mistake that will cause one or all of us harm. I miss all of our family and friends. I worry that we won’t ever see them again. I get aggravated when I don’t know something that I ought to.”
Then I added, “I am amazed at how far we have come already but sometimes I’m terrified to go farther. And, there are times when I feel like I will split apart with all of these feelings.” Then I was quiet.
Chuck began, “I didn’t realize it until now, but we are never alone anymore. We need to find a way to talk together without the kids overhearing — we need privacy.” Then he added, “I feel the same as you do. You’re right; feelings are much more intense now. I’m just as scared. But, is that a reason to stop or a reason to continue?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Think of it this way. We wanted an adventure. We wanted to be together as a family. We wanted to live close to nature. I don’t know about you, but I have never felt so close to really living life as I feel when I am out here.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Is feeling scared of doing this a good reason to stop? Fear keeps us thinking. It keeps us second-guessing our decisions and making sure we make good ones. I think it would be much more dangerous for us to continue if we were feeling cocky right now. As for any security we think we had back home, I never really trusted it. Did you?”
“Well, no. I guess not,”
Then he added, “We have each other as long as we can talk our troubles through. I would rather depend on you than anyone else out there. Look how far we’ve come together already.”
No stars yet
We lay down on the foredeck and looked up at the sky, now the hazy grayish-pink of twilight. It was late but the stars were not out and wouldn’t be out for quite a while. The late sunsets had messed up our whole family’s schedule: the kids claimed they couldn’t sleep while it was still light. They didn’t believe it when we told them it was bedtime. We had acquiesced by allowing them to stay up until we went to bed, a decision that severely restricted our time alone.
“If you think this isn’t right for you, I will understand. We can go home, wherever we want home to be.”
I smiled at him. “Let’s keep going,” I said. “I need to face these fears head-on.”
That night, all the emotions I had been feeling welled up inside, and I cried myself to sleep. I felt released from my anxieties, freed from my troubles. I floated through the night.
Early the next morning the sun shone in through the portlight above our bunk. It was quiet, and I cherished the feeling of floating in a calm harbor. I stretched and looked over to Chuck. He was already awake. “Let’s stay here for the day. It’s supposed to be a great place to crab. We can relax and enjoy the sunny weather,” he said.
Later, as we sat in the cockpit enjoying the scenery over steaming mugs of coffee I said, “I guess it doesn’t matter where you are . . . a breathtaking setting like this or a more normal setting like back home . . . if you aren’t happy, being in paradise isn’t going to change that.”
“You’re right, I guess we just assumed that everything would be perfect once we were cruising. We should’ve remembered that we’re still the same people. We’re gonna feel terrified and grumpy and thrilled and exhausted.” He sipped his coffee and then added, “We need to find a way to let these feelings out, and we need to allow ourselves space, time alone, and time for just the two of us.” Setting his mug down, he scooted a little closer and kissed me, wrapping his warm arms around me.
Our trip to Alaska was a true shakedown cruise for us. We learned what worked and what needed work. For the most part, we were able to figure out solutions to our difficulties. And when we couldn’t, we accepted it.
We had each other, and we were looking for adventure, not perfection.
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