My husband was on call last week. He's always anxious and in a bad mood when he is. It was particularly bad this time. He has been admitting he has been having anxiety attacks. A lot of the problem is he can't drink when he's on call. He got called out on a job yesterday and freaked out. He needs to address his anxiety, but last night was not the right time to talk about it. Tonight I will say, "Your anxiety has been a lot worse lately. If you want to talk to somebody about it, or you're interested in trying meds, let me know and I'll make an appointment for you. I don't want to upset you, so I won't mention it again."

Because he gets so worried about getting a call when he's going on errands, it makes his anxiety 100x worse. So, I went to the supermarket and to get the cat litter myself. He seemed genuinely upset he couldn't go. That's how I figured out he just wanted to help me…

Before we separated (after 8yrs of marriage), he did nothing to help me aside from taking out the trash and carrying in the heavy grocery bags. We didn't spend much time together outside the house because he never wanted to go anywhere. During the time I was without my license, he ran errands with me and I think he finally realized I'm handicapped (lol) and feels guilty because he should have helped me more…

So, now I guess he realizes I need some help sometimes and he wants to be the one to help me
But he's still controlling in other ways, for other reasons.

When he was having an anxiety attack, part of me wanted to ask him how it felt to walk in my shoes (at least on the tip of the toes) for a while because of his attitude towards my mental illness. I know that's cruel, I would never say that, but the thought crossed my mind.