Is there an off switch? An off switch would be good.

I think I did it again.

I have been letting my heart lead, openly, and without any walls for a while now.  Like maybe 4 or 5 months.  In the reality that is my world, 4 or 5 months in NOT a long time.  I have been alive for almost 49 years.  I have children who are 11 and 13 years, respectively.  I was married once for almost 7 years.  I was *married* (not legally, but same difference) once for over 10 years.  I have been split form that same non-husband for over 5 years, the same amount of time I have been dealing with courts, and dating bullshit, and figuring out depression and dependency.  So you would think that maybe I would know that things in my world need time, and space, and patience, and that maybe, just maybe, I am moving in my head and heart too fast.  5 months?  Yeah, that is just a tiny sliver of time. Patience.

I went to lunch yesterday with a woman who has been in the *shoes* of my world in the most literal sense.  She was involved for years in the same relationship we both left, just a decade difference.  She understands, completely, that there are things inside that relationship and that person that we loved, and still find attractive.  Not the person.  He is toxic. But the attraction to who and what each of us believed him to be as we saw him.  It was, in both of our opinions, something worth having in new people, because the good qualities really were attractive, even if the person wasn’t. I don’t want to lose that piece of knowledge.

So I find myself thinking a lot about what I find attractive, what I know is good for me, and how to be vulnerable enough without losing myself in the process.  Please note, I am talking specifically about men here.  Men I want in partnership in my world.  I have an amazing troupe of people, women and men both, that are friends.  I have a really solid core group of people who I know I share emotional intimacy with, even on a deep deep level. The part that I have been vulnerable and open to is the desire to share all of that with a man I can also be physical with, enjoy his bed and body, and know that when I am not at my best (stupid, fat, and ugly, and, more recently, deeply lonely and missing being touched) he can be my soft place to land.

When I say I miss being touched, I probably should explain.  Sex with my exes never was an “issue”. We had lots of it. Daily for both of my marriages.  I have written about this before, so if you have read it, you will understand that.  This has almost nothing to do with being touched.  I want to be held.  I want to be kissed in a way that is both desire and comfort. I want to have my hand held, and my tears wiped, and  feel safe and warm and loved, even as I am falling apart.  I want to not be judged for it when I feel needy.  And by judged, I totally mean that inside my head.  My worthiness in someone else’s eyes.  I am good enough to be fucked, not good enough to be loved or touched in a way that belongs to me.  I want to be told, in all the ways available through words and actions and touch, that I am important. (Fucked up much?) How does it feel to want? 

I am sure this is part of my current spin.  The timing of everything feels so good when I stay in the present.  I am not jealous or clingy.  I am not in a hurry, or planning my future.  I am reveling in happiness and only making plans that enhance that.  I have actually gotten really good at that in the last few years (see, measurement in years again, damn) and even my children know that I am always present, with them as things emerge and evolve. 

So why the doubt?  I am important in a lot of different ways to a lot of different people.  I am the stable and resilient rock for my children.  Anyone who has ever met them will tell you that I rock that shit, and my kids are amazing little monsters growing into amazing people.  I can model for them and provide for them the strength I cannot seem to find in myself.  I am a confident and competent employee.  I know my job, can facilitate growth in others, and accept responsibility by figuring out what needs to be done, and just doing it.  I am sure my employer recognizes this, though they don’t pay me enough to justify some of the work they assign me.  I am just that good at it.  I am a pretty good friend, all in all, though I hope to continue to grow and learn.  People before things, and I always strive to understand and participate, and love with an open mind and heart.  I can honestly say that the mistakes I make are never ones of intentional neglect, so I ask forgiveness if you are reading this and think I have injured you through my own selfishness.  I am just an idiot sometimes, with a way of saying shit without a filter.  So again, why the doubt, when I am really, truly, fucking awesome!

Because every single time I “knew” that the man in my life was exactly where I should be, happy, I was blindsided by an absolute stop.  A boyfriend of almost two years, that I had spent the day with in absolute bliss, who left in the middle of the night.  A husband I made love to in the morning, and taught how to give me the shots for the fertility meds we were using to try to have a baby, who asked for a divorce the same day because he just found out his mistress was pregnant.  The father of my children, and a decade long relationship, on a date to talk about love and the future and holding each other as the best part in each other’s lives (my agenda for the evening, clearly, being in love and all, even after a decade), who told me he had no issues with getting married, he just did not want to marry me.

So back to the attraction part.  Every one of those relationships had something in common.  I wanted them.  I was attracted to all the same things.  Stability, focus, honesty. They each had some quiet places that felt contemplative, some energy that felt exciting and fresh (yes, even after years), and some potential and openness to growth and understanding whether they were actually working on it or not (and usually not, but that is a different blog).  This is about me.  My wants and desires in the face of extreme self-doubt.  I have decided not to beat myself up for wanting this, for wanting a partner that not only has all the things that I am attracted to, but a complete openness and willingness/desire to share that with ME. Again, this is where I freak out. 

Wouldn’t it just be easier to be NOT vulnerable? Not open? Not willing?  Shouldn’t I just tell the man (that I am attracted to for all the right reasons) and that I have been doing this new found patience and openness with that “Hey, yeah, everything is going just fine, but that means it is all gonna hit rock bottom any day now, so I am just gonna check out now, ‘kay?” because I have zero experience with it working.  I might as well just shut off now because any minute he is going to figure out I am actually a basketcase and run screaming.  Or worse (as has been the case before) is just going to be done in a way that I won’t see coming.  The one that says I am not enough and proves it with vacancy.  Self-fulfilling prophecy I don’t know how to control.  And I am scared.  Not scared of him.  He is great in ways he does not even realize and that I have no word for (and I always have words). But scared that in the process of feeling all of this I am going to go missing.  Scared that I will crawl back into feeling nothing because all the other emotions are so strong, so powerful, and (fuck) so new.  Just 4 or 5 months.  Nothing at all.  I am hoping for years to feel it, without shutting down, because I let myself be here this time, eyes wide open.  

So (friends, lovers, family) please be patient with me as I do this again, but differently, and with more love.  And kind.  And honest. And let me be a wreck knowing that it is my wreck.  If I shut off, come after me, because honestly, I am totally worth it. Right now, present, I am totally worth it.

Scarborough Fair

Sometimes you get to have a great weekend. 

Sometimes, the weekend gets to have you.  This is about one of those weekends.

In my continuing journey of figuring out what to have in my world as a foundation, and what to let go of, I spent the weekend in a series of emotional, heart opening, all in, don’t walk away until I was clear kind of conversations.  I learned some things.

First, I am not always present.  When I am, I know it.  I recognize this as grace.

I have written about this before, about how I think I know what someone else’s story is before they have told it, just from the gleaned details and sometimes even rumors.  I work on this constantly, realizing that I like things in little boxes that I can control.  My own tendencies towards co-dependency and the need to rescue and fix things.  It is hard for me to watch someone in pain, partly because I hurt for them, and partly because I hurt for myself at not being able to help.  I caught myself starting to do this. Not much, just a little, and thank the Universe I have made it this far. 

Lunch on Friday was divine.  Heartbreaking and village building, and hard, but divine.  I didn’t understand my friend’s level of commitment and forgiveness in the face of some really hard choices.  I didn’t understand how anger had not taken over.  I couldn’t imagine spinning in her Universe and holding it together so well.  

I stopped and listened to her heart.  She was holding it together by sheer will because really, if she didn’t, her whole world would implode in a nasty ugly way, and the wake would take out everyone it her path.  She was breathing, and making mistakes, and owning them, and being honest, and rambling, and confused, and scared, and moving forward and backward, all at the same time.  And I love her more than she could possibly know for allowing me to see her strength, and her need for support, all while downing a diet coke and fiddling with her bra straps.  I will be present for her any time she allows me. Love is like that. This was grace.

Dinner on Friday was divine.  I cooked dinner at a friend’s house, while he sorta puttered and played with is dog, and did dishes.  He left me alone to chop veggies and make polenta, after I had just told him that cooking is therapy for me.  He had been working on a friend’s car when I walked in, so we hadn’t really greeted each other.  So now, 45 minutes into my arrival, he stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me, and sorta snuggled in.  He whispered against my neck the words “Thank you for being here”.

I melted.  Not the way you melt with crushes or hot messes.  But the way that relaxes your whole body without even knowing you were needing it.  Actual physical touch.  Until that very second, I had been only in my head.  Spinning the conversation I was anticipating having, trying to figure out words that I had no idea how to create, tensing my muscles, brewing my own storm.  Thinking I knew already exactly how this was gonna go.  I had been in this place before, or thought I had.  Closed. Confused. Walls up. Afraid of what kind of hurt was possible, what kind of daggers I could throw, what kind of devastation I could create?  Just how badly could I fuck up my world, with no mercy?  

I stopped and listened to his heart.  He had been spinning the same things.  What kind of devastation was he bringing to my world?  How much heartache could he command before he lost himself?  How would he find the words he wanted to say, feeling like he had no practice at getting it right himself? Would being quiet and grateful be enough?  Would his vulnerability cause chaos or understanding?  Would all his walls up be better because then he couldn’t fuck up yet another relationship (romantic or not) the way he felt he had fucked up everything else. His world spinning, and he just wanted some peace, too.  Both of us slowing down just to enjoy dinner, and fresh washed flannel sheets was divine.  Love is like that.  This was grace.

Second, I am sometimes angry.  I am not at my best understanding when I am angry. When I choose to stop, and not walk away when all my instincts are telling me to run, I recognize this as trust.

Saturday night (it was really Sunday morning) I got into a fight with someone I love deeply.  He and I have known each other a long time.  Too long for the bullshit we spun with each other. He yelled.  I yelled. We both used the work fuck a few too many times.  We both walked away a few times with the other eventually convincing us to come back, or seeking them out, not allowing them to walk away.

I knew, even while we were arguing, that this would pass, and even if strained, we would be fine.  I could wrap my brain around that his anger was not directed at me, but was frustration bottled up in an out of his control situation spinning his world.  A life changing kind of out of control, that, for self-preservation’s sake, he had checked out on.  His fear and disappointment at the wasted possibilities and an unclear future had him feeling alone.  He could not trust me that I wasn’t walking out, too.  How could he?  What possible proof could I hope to provide that everything would be fine, when I didn’t have any?  

I could wrap my brain around that my anger was not directed at him, but at my frustration over not understanding.  How could he be so angry?  How could he not see how amazing a time this is right now for him, even in the chaos?  How could he not see that he was pushing away help and complaining about being alone at the same time?  How could he not see that right then, even though I was pissed, I wasn’t going to let him wade through his shit by himself?  No, this was not me being co-dependent (at least not in any way that put me at risk, please read my other blogs to get this).  I was not taking on his problems or fears, just shining a light that checking out is not gonna help, and angry that right then, at fucking 3am (probably still drunk, because a fight like this never happens without alcohol), while holding his hand, I had zero skills to convey this to him.  Zero, none at all and I was trying anyway.  Strength would come.  One step in front of the other.  Love is like that.  This was trust.

Monday morning I sat in a room with a whole bunch of other people struggling with unfulfilled expectations.  I held a friend’s hand as he accepted love from this group in the form of a small piece of aluminum. A tiny little reminder that for the last 60 days, one of those expectations was not quite as unfulfilled.  I was there, listening.  Keeping my heart open to my own way of understanding something that is not my issue.  My friend hadn’t asked me to come, not really, just told me he had someplace important to be that morning, and would I still be snuggled in flannel when he got back.  I knew all about it, of course, I had been paying attention for the last few months, and can recognize both jubilance and trepidation at the journey he is on.  It is new, and old at the same time.  Putting, for the first time, faith in himself.  For that morning, he needed a little bit of celebration and cheering in his life.  I think it is rare, and I had it to give without any cost to my own journey.  Maybe I needed to know, too, that he is strong, and I don’t need to take care of him, and couldn’t even if I wanted to.  But that I wasn’t afraid, because one step in front of the other has been working for me with my own special breed of addiction, and it could for him, too.  The whole room knew it. He was not alone.  Love is like that.  This was trust.

Third, and most important, I am sometimes doubtful and fearful.  I can spin things.  I can find fault in myself without even having to pause.  This weekend was not like that.   I recognize this as strength.

In all the times this weekend, I put people first.  For a woman like me who has spent years building walls with traps and devices and barbed wire all around to keep people out with fear of hurt and depression, that I didn’t wall myself up is amazing.  I was tempted, to just shut down.  Not connect.  Not join in.  Comply. Wait. Judge. Compartmentalize. Overthink. Spin. 

I let whatever was going to happen, happen.  No rules.  No shoulds.  No judgments.  I kept myself present, always in exactly what was happening, and not planning the next thing.  Not checking out. Not shutting down.  Not throwing matches.  I am sure there could have been some fall out, and I don’t pretend for one fucking second that I may not be a basket case in 5 minutes, but not this weekend.  The genuine me showed up.  Turns out, love is like that.  This was strength.

What happens next, I have no idea.  I am going to let grace and trust and strength find me again in all the small places I let in find me this time.  Maybe the word that sums it all up is faith.  Yep, love is like that, too.

Cornerstones

It is the new year.  You might think this is the time to leave old things behind, and move forward.  Trust me, this was my thought, too, as I started.  The whole letting go process is a strange beast, and I have had several conversations with friends recently about where our lives are moving, keeping ourselves open to possibilities, and just being happy.  I like it, and am actually in a really good place.

Except for tactile memories that keeping pulling me back into the past, and then (because why the fuck my brain works this way I don't know) start spinning about every single memory associated with that time.

This is one of them.  As this it the year of "bricks and matches" (bricks to use as foundations and solid pathways, and matches to burn the rest. No regrets.) I have an old memory to share.  A brick. Truth is this story belongs to one person, and a second person who I wanted to share it with.  That isn't going to happen any time soon because I don't fit in his world, but that does not change my need to share it.  Bricks and Matches.  Foundation and Letting go.

Sophomore year.  I was 15.  It was early November, just after homecoming, and in my confused little world, I had a small group of friends I was completely loyal to.  Sophomore girls bonded by being busmates, and periodically giggly, and senior boys that several of the girls were dating.  I actually think that is how we became friends with the boys at all.

I was NOT hooked up with any of the guys.  I was invisible and a tag along for the most part, and also for the most part, I liked it that way.  There was one guy in the group that was kinda like that, too.  Not invisible, but also not hooked up.  He and I spent lots of time together, not kissing, not holding hands, and not being giggly. We were friends.  Keep reading, because this distinction is important.

As football players (they all were, the boys, so of course), our regular routine for that autumn was to go to football games.

The last game of the season was out of town.  It was not an important game and, like all out of town games, was not really going to be well attended by our side. We, as a group, did not really attend the junior varsity game, saving all of our attention for the main event and meeting up after the game.  So when my friend asked us (the group) to show up to this out of town game, and to be sure to make it to the JV game, it seemed important.  I paid attention.

Of our group, I was the only one, besides the guy, to show up by the start of the JV game. 

In the space of the maybe ¾ of an hour he and I were alone in our section of the bleachers, one of those once-in-a-lifetime conversations happened.

I know I specifically asked him why he wanted us there at this game.  If you had known him, you would know he was one of the most reliable guys around, but not much of a talker.  Even in my childish immature brain I knew that when he started talking, whatever he said was important. I listened.

He told me he had to be at the game, start to finish, because his brother was playing.  His sophomore brother.  My friend would be graduating and this game was the last time, ever, that he would be able to do that. As a kid. As a highschooler with no responsibilities. With one small connection to his kid brother.  It was all about love.

And we talked about it.  About love.  About sex.  About responsibility.  About truth, and friendship, and showing up.  It was just me, and him, and the whole world.  I heard in his words, and his presence, that connection was important, even when we were too young and too dumb to have words for it. We felt it, in a big way, and it was everything.  Nothing else mattered, no matter what ever else we ended up doing, stay in the moment. And for that magical 45 minutes, we did.  Just us.  Wrapped up in a friendship we could not possibly have known would happen, and could not possibly sustain.  The moment, right then, was what mattered, at least for me.  It changed how I saw lots and lots of things from that moment on, even when, as an adult, I forgot. 

If it mattered to him, I have no way of knowing, if he even remembers the conversation at all.

Of course, I was young, and stupid, and could not possibly have come up with the words to tell him I loved him.  Could not possibly have come up with the words to tell him how the conversation, short and intense, had just changed me.  How him loving his brother, and then staying present with me, in the only way he had, had registered in my immature little world.  I had listened and learned and had no way to thank him.

So as things in my life this year have become more and more amazing, this theme of staying present has resurfaced. Maybe I never lost it, but that conversation three decades ago really has been a grounding spot.  Some truth I forgot or ignored.  And staying present to not be afraid of the deeper meanings and connections has been amazing.  It is freeing. And grounding.  And real.  I am grateful.  Turns out love is like that.  My friend knew that.  Actually I think we both did, right that second, in the bleachers, in November of 1981.  A brick I did not even recognize, that is truly a foundation I cherish.  I hope he knows that I love him, somewhere deep.  I hope his brother knows it, too.