The Man In Me
Household projects don't come easily for me. They make me feel stupid, emasculated, and often feeling helpless. They also make me miss the shit out of my Dad.
This week we had a plumbing issue in our kitchen. The city had come to install a new water meter in our basement. Immediately after installation, the water pressure in our kitchen sink went down to just a trickle. The installer had said there might be some sediment in the new meter and we might see a slight discoloration. My water was clear, it was just coming out in dribs and drabs.
I figured the issue must be somewhere within the faucet. There was likely debris caught in the line that led to a sprayer attachment. I tried like hell to take the faucet apart and to remove the sprayer head from the hose attachment, but was unable to make any progress at all. The hard water from our local water authority creates a nasty lime buildup on all of our fixtures and appliances, and we routinely have to clean or even replace plumbing components. This was far from a new struggle in an old house with very calcified water.
Unable to repair the faucet, I next set to replacing the whole damned thing. Although I loathe plumbing, I watched enough YouTube videos to convince myself that I could make the repair by myself. I headed to Lowes for a new faucet and a couple of accessories and made my way back home. Almost immediately, things did not go the way they had in the myriad videos that had so built up my confidence.
The warm water shutoff valve wouldn’t even close. So, I turned the water off at the main. Next, I was unable to get any of the supply lines to budge. As I wrenched to get a supply line loose my shoulder knocked a section of pipe under the sink, and the joint for the drain on the right side of the sink came loose. Not only had I been unable to address the issue I was attempting to fix, I had now made the problem worse.
I began to get very sweaty. As my head throbbed and pulsated, I began to feel my extremities get tingly. My breathing shortened and I started to feel my chest clamp up with pressure. A panic attack was fast approaching.
I leapt up from under the sink and went outside and then to the sheddio to sit in the quiet, alone. I tried to calm myself with breathing exercises. Slowly, I managed to calm down enough to mute some of the physical symptoms and I struggled to find my balance and perspective once again. For a moment, I had completely forgotten about the sink, focusing so intently on avoiding a true panic attack.
As soon as I remembered the mess in the kitchen, I could feel my pulse rise once again. Instead of panicky, I became brutally angry at myself. I looked in my mental mirror and saw a failure, an idiot and a person who was not capable of being a real man. Seemingly every dude on the planet save for little old me is easily able to fix a sink, replace a headlight, or perform some other necessary task which I find myself routinely incapable of finishing.
When I work on repairs like these that do not go according to plan, I get angry and lose all confidence within minutes. Despite having done a ton of work around my own home, some of it fairly well even, I am now less sure of my handyman abilities than at any time in my adult life. My patience is shorter, my confidence lower, and my expectations are more disastrous than they were before.
While I have never been good at these things, until I lost my Dad four years ago, I always had someone to call and get advice, help, or at least commiseration from. If I struggled with a repair, I could call him and get a tip or two. These chats would also allow me to vent my frustrations and reset my attitude a bit.
If Steven were in town when I needed help, or planned to be coming down from their northern Michigan residence, he would always be happy to swing by and assist or even take over the project for me. Without my parents, and especially my Dad’s sweat equity, we would not own a home, or have been able to make improvements and repairs to said home. And without his help, the sheddio would never have been a reality.
Lately I have come to realize that when I struggle with a home repair, which is nearly every time I engage in one, I am not only dealing with my own frustration, but I am also confronting a standing form of grief that is still quite raw and painful. In dealing with these DIY setbacks, I am now reminded that I am not only incapable of performing the repair myself, but I also cannot call the one person from whom I most want some advice and assistance. It’s a double whammy of shit, to be honest.
Understanding that I was in over my head, I called a plumber to replace the faucet. As I was already paying a call charge for the plumber to come and replace the faucet, we replaced our broken old dishwasher as well. The plumber was more than I had hoped, but even he struggled to get that damned old faucet out. It took him fifteen minutes and a saws all to get it out. That was work best left to a professional.
Like most of us, I am still string to come to terms with the fact that I cannot be good at all of the things that I want to be. None of us can possess all of the talents. I do wish I was handier and more at ease around house projects. I wish they didn't expose some inner struggle I seem to have with old school views on masculinity, and I would prefer that they didn't harken up so many feelings of inadequacy.
In the meantime, I will keep doing the work, both actual and metaphorical, to get better at these situations and the way that I respond to them. I also need to allow myself the grace to call in someone who actually knows what the hell they’re doing. It may not be the phone call I want to make, but it might be the best one for the moment.
Cheers,
Matty C
Hey Matt, I wanted to comment on this after I read it prior to my work day, then got caught up in the things but now back: I had this almost EXACT sitch about 20 years ago (my father was still alive but in FLA in retirement) when I had to replace the faucet in my apartment kitchen. Immediate feelings of shame and insecurity about being able to do the task on my own. I phoned my Dad and he said (he'd softened with age, which was nice) "Son, you can do it. Just follow the instructions and make sure you shut the water off first!" lol. When I did that and got it done and saw the water flow, I cannot tell you how amazing that felt. Then, last fall I had to assemble a new home-office standing desk and nearly felt defeated ... but step at a time and I'm enjoying it now. It comes down to recognizing the feelings you're having and not let them overwhelm you. I really appreciate that you posted this newsletter. You probably helped way more people than you could have expected! Cheers my friend and enjoy your Friday! MM
Coming to terms with not being good at all the things we want to be good at is a doozy! Especially for the more self-critical among us. It’s funny how we place a such high value on all these different skills, when we wouldn’t judge someone else for not having those skills. Tough to reconcile who we want to be with who we are. And yet! Sometimes a step back to realize you are expecting impossible things from yourself, who is after all just a human being. It’s like, “who do I think I am, that I think I should be good at everything!?” Maybe it’s okay to be a regular human person with strengths and weaknesses.
Reading through it to the ache for your dad was touching and it’s clear how much you loved him. Reminded me some of Mary Roblyn’s recent essay about her roof repair needs after her husband, who took care of such things, was gone. It’s these everyday ways of depending that can make the absence feel so stark, maybe because it’s a sharp reminder that the person is no longer part of daily life. I’m sorry for your loss of him. Your writing is a lovely way to honor both him and your grief.