Best of Beth Ashley: Putting others first is an old habit

Editor’s note: The IJ is reprinting some of the late Beth Ashley’s columns. This is from 2010.

I’ve reverted to habits of old, the ones where I put myself second.

My husband gets the biggest piece of meat, the juiciest cantaloupe and the unburnt slice of toast. I give him the fluffiest towel and the comfier side of the bed.

In my previous marriage, it was ever thus.

I made sure that the rest of the family got the long end of the stick; as a wife and mother, I put myself last.

Not that I don’t still indulge myself now and then, but I often think of him more than me, less of my pleasures than his.

I pet him when he’s tired and pat his back if I think he needs it.

Good god: I thought I had outgrown all that — feeling responsible for the happiness of everyone else instead of taking care of myself. I thought I had finally learned that it’s up to every individual to see that their own life is OK.

The years between marriages and the eons since my children left home helped me become self-indulgent, and don’t think that wasn’t fun.

I could eat whatever I wanted at mealtime, go to the movies at noon or 10 p.m. and read all night with the radio going full blast. I watched “Jeopardy” every night instead of Bill O’Reilly.

Who cared when there was only one person I needed to satisfy: me.

Those were the days. And all that ripe cantaloupe was terrific.

But I had forgotten the joy I felt to be the giver of balm, the indispensable healer of all childish woes. I’m reminded how I loved holding my kids in my arms and giving them pat-pat-pats of consolation.

I never abandoned the wish to pat them, but as they grew up and embraced their manhood with defensive pride, I had less and less chance to practice.

When my nephew Bruce lived with me, it was he who did the patting, ever alert to how he might comfort me.

I fell out of practice and didn’t realize till now how I had missed it.

A month or two before I remarried, I wrote that my husband-to-be often told me where to sit in restaurants. He says he wanted to give me the best seat at any table, but one reader cautioned me, “Don’t marry this man!” — he would be too controlling.

The fact is, I usually complied. When you love someone, you give up part of yourself.

I’m still fiercely defiant in sticking to my core values and moral beliefs. I’m able to defer to his choice of movies — as long as it’s something I might like; I agree to his choice of restaurants and whether to go out to dinner or not. If a choice isn’t odious, why not let it be his?

Pampering my loved ones may be an unbreakable habit.

I still eye the juiciest cantaloupe for myself, but when I put it on his plate, I’m happy all over again.