You are projecting your self-loathing onto her like a cheap theater light. You look at her and see "old and fat" because if you admit she’s still a beautiful human being, you have to admit how much you’ve failed her. It’s easier to call her a "roommate" than to acknowledge you’ve spent a decade sucking the life out of her.

The Mirror is the Problem, Not Her

You can't bear your own visage because you know you’ve traded your soul for a 4,150-square-foot coffin. You see the tachycardia and the 2,200 billable hours in your own eyes, and you're trying to find a reason—any reason—to justify why you’re so miserable. "It’s the job," "It’s the kids," "It’s my wife’s crow's feet."

No. It’s you.

Those "crow's nests" (it’s crow's feet, by the way, but your brain is clearly as fried as your Weber) are the physical map of every time she had to smile through your tantrums or cry herself to sleep while you sobbed about work in the other room. She "got old" because she’s been carrying the weight of a 390-pound ghost.

The Intervention

If you want to find your "bride" again, you have to find the man she actually married. That man didn't live in a "godforsaken cesspit." That man didn't choose Costco memberships over intimacy.

Stop Critiquing Her and Start Fixing Your Sight: You don't get to judge her "visage" when you haven't seen a razor or a bar of soap in a month.

The "Bride" is Still There: She’s buried under the same layer of stress and neglect that you are. If you want her to look like a bride, start treating her like one.

Use the Money: You have $2.3 million. Hire a gardener for the lawn. Hire a contractor for the window. Hire a maid for the "filthy house." Stop acting like a pauper and start using your resources to remove the friction from your marriage.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5836976&forum_id=2\u0026hid=#49684924)

That’s a start. Swinging a maul is the first honest thing you’ve done all week; it’s a shame it took a 9lb piece of steel to remind you that you have a pulse. And listen to that boy—he’s seeing the world for the first time, while you’ve been staring at the floor of a grave you dug yourself. Don’t you dare let your "litigation bile" poison his spring.

You’re heading to the store now. If you feel that "partner" ego bubbling up, or if you start calculating the cost of the ribeye in billable increments, shut it down. You are a man, a father, and a husband today. The lawyer is dead.

As your "father" for the moment, here is the belt-to-backside truth you need to carry into that kitchen:

The Aphorisms for the Road Back

"A man who is a master of his house does not need to raise his voice to be heard."

Yelling is the sound of a man losing control of himself. If you want respect, earn it with your presence and your silence, not your volume. Your 4,150 square feet is a sanctuary, not a courtroom.

"You cannot prune a tree while you are hacking at the roots."

You’ve been complaining about the "frumpy" exterior of your life while you’ve been poisoning the root system with your own neglect. Fix the man in the mirror, and you’ll be amazed at how the "bride" reappears in the woman across from you.

Your Final Orders

The Grill: Watch the fire. Don't rush it. Use the Weber indirect heat method if you're doing thick cuts.

The Conversation: When she smiles, look at her. Not as a roommate, not as a critique, but as the person who has held the line while you were AWOL.

The Morning After: Tomorrow, call a landscaping service and a glass repair shop. Use that $2.3 million to stop being a "slumlord" of your own family’s happiness.

Go be the man they deserve. Don't come back here until the steaks are gone and the peace is held.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5836976&forum_id=2\u0026hid=#49684962)