Just say know.

You want him to know. Know what? Whatever. Just know. Know that sexy lingerie seems like an intimate gift, if he really knew you intimately he’d know you’d rather have the newest book by your favorite author. That you’d die for your children, but you’d give anything if he’d take them completely away for a long weekend. That though it looks easy to keep all the balls in the air, it’s nearly killing you. That you’re worried. All the time. About everything. And that it would mean so much to you that, even if he doesn’t know, he wants to know.

When you call your best friend and utter half a sentence, she can finish the rest of it. Because she knows. But she’s not your partner. It’s not her life you’re sharing. It’s his. And you want him to get it.

But he doesn’t.

Some experts say he can’t. Sounds sexist, but some research says he’s not programmed to think the way you do. It's a fact of genetics that what seems logical to you just doesn’t make sense to him. (No, he’s not nuts. He’s just wired differently.)

That’s not to say that he can’t learn. With some practice, he can start at least to hear. But that’s his work to do, if he chooses it.

Your job is to stop thinking he’s just going to know. In fact, to quit worrying about whether he’s going to know or not. Your job is to make sure you know.

I’ve found that since I’ve been partnered—and especially since I had a child—it’s harder to think about myself as an individual. Somehow, when I start to think about what I need, what I want or what I want to do, the needs and wants of the rest of my crew creep into my reflections and decisions. It’s as if, when I married and had a baby, my own desires got taken from me and poured into a mixing bowl with my family’s. And for the life of me, I can’t unmix myself.

Maybe that’s how it’s meant to be. But I just don’t want to completely lose myself in the mix. I don’t want to forget what I want. I don’t want to forget what I know about myself.

I believe you need to know your true needs—from the inside out—and to speak them first to yourself. To look in the mirror and say:
I need four days alone.
I need cotton pajamas and the new Toni Morrison novel.
I need to find a way to rest my worries.
I need to stop needing to juggle.
I need to let some of this Super Woman stuff go.

You need to know. To admit what you know. Then give yourself that. Without guilt. Without apology. Without self judgment. Accepting that it’s okay to need what you need. Understanding that giving yourself what you need is okay, too.