Baby Steps

Readers, welcome to my self-therapy session.  I'm hard at work, in a quiet way, at figuring out how I got where I ended up, where I wish to be, and how to change paths if the path I'm on is not the right one.  My life is so amazing right now - many, many things are going right - and yet romantic love is an absolute mystery to me, and I'm trying to figure out how I'm contributing to that lack.

As an aside, I read all kinds of things about love, divorce, relationship, and when I read a blog or a book or whatever that says, "S/he was a horrible person and that is the reason that things ended so badly," I'm more and more inclined to think that it is very unlikely that the "victim" of that relationship is telling themselves the absolute truth.  Yes, it's true that people do horrible things - my ex wasn't exactly a model husband, and I could give you a very long list of his failures in that department - but I think that healthy people don't buy into those horrible behaviors, and stop them or walk away from them.  You know, that whole boundaries thing.  In my case, I'm less interested in why my ex had horrible behaviors (like yelling or lying), and more interested in why I didn't stop those behaviors in their tracks or walk away years ago.  Even more than looking at the past, I'd like to figure out how to stop myself from ever signing up for that type of relationship ever, ever, ever again.

I want to figure out how to put healthy boundaries in place, and keep those boundaries, while allowing myself to be vulnerable.  Right now, I've reached a place with GREAT boundaries, but they resemble the thorns around Sleeping Beauty's castle where nobody could possibly get in, and there's no room for vulnerability.  I want to get away from that dichotomy - neither allowing myself to be stomped on as I was in marriage, nor keeping everyone at a distance as I am now - and live in the healthy in-between place.

I'm working on it.  Baby steps.  Right now, I feel like I'm a toddler with a bit of a drunkenness to my walk: I am mobile, but I stagger, and sometimes in the middle of it I fall with a "plop!" onto my bottom, surprised to feel the ground in contact with me.  I definitely don't feel like an expert walker, but nor do I feel like a helpless infant any more.  I'm starting to figure this out.  Baby steps.

***

Yesterday I was on the phone with my mother.  We talk regularly, she and I, and if we go a few days without talking she leaves me a series of messages to remind me of the fact (leaving less than subtle guilt messages, mixed with faux worry "I hope nothing has happened to you - you haven't called and I'm worried!" even if it's been two days).  I tend to call her on my commute to work, talking on my headset, because I know she wants my attention, and because it's the only time in my day that I can do so and because I'm a good little girl who wants to please people.  (I know.  I know.)

(I could rant about how she sometimes calls me at 7am when I'm trying to get Katherine ready for school, and I'm making lunches etc., but I'll let you imagine how annoying I find that.  I have repeatedly told her that I can't talk on the phone while I'm getting my daughter ready to school....and she repeatedly calls.  I finally told her to never ever call at that hour unless there was an emergency.  She called the next day, and I answered with concern.  It was not an emergency, it was to tell me about something irrelevant.  Now, when she calls at that hour, I do not answer.  Look at that - a boundary with my mother!  We'll work on more boundaries later...!)

Mom's an at-home wife who never worked full time: she had me when she was a just a girl, pregnant at 18 and had me at 19, and moved straight from high school and her parents' home to becoming a wife and mother (in that order, but with a difference of only six months between them).  She worked odd jobs to supplement family income when I was a girl, and when I say "odd jobs" the word odd certainly stands out.  She was a cable television telephone solicitor, a greeter at K-mart, and she plucked chickens at a chicken processing plant.  (I shudder to think about working any one of those jobs.  My snobbishness shines through, I suppose, but I am incredibly grateful that my education and training and experience mean that I'm unlikely to have to work in that way ever in my life.)  My father was white collar all the way - an engineer who moved into management - but mom took jobs that were convenient to her schedule and didn't require an education or training of any sort.  Mostly, she was an at-home mom.  She's a lousy housekeeper by any standards, but there were home made meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she was a regular at every school event and volunteer opportunity.

My life and my mother's are very, very different, and we view the world through different lenses as a result of our experiences, needless to say.  But in these near daily conversations, we strive for common ground, almost finding it, but not quite.

Yesterday's conversation was initiated by her as a result of watching her other grandchildren's screen habits: my brother's children spend a lot of time with television, video games, and the like.  Katherine's not allowed screen time during the week, and she's allowed as much as she wants on the weekends.....except that on the weekends, we're often out and about doing things like hiking or meeting friends, so the "trick" of it is that though she's unlimited on weekends there are plenty of weekends where there's no TV at all, or only a bit of TV on Sunday night as we fold laundry together.

As my mom ranted about TV viewing, and I agreed with her, and we both wished that my brother would place more boundaries for his children (who struggle with school and behavior issues)...my mom kept saying, "Oh, I wanted to tell you about this thing I just heard..." and injecting non-related things into our conversation.  My mom is a bit like that, and mostly I just ignore it, but this time, in exasperation, I said, "Mom, I'm not following this at all.  Why are you bringing up these things now, and what on earth made you think of them?"  Mom breezily replied, "Oh, I'm watching TV as I talk to you and an ad just came on that reminded me...."

Yes, that's right.  My mother was launching on the ills of television and how society ought to get away from the screens and do things that really matter and how if my brother would just pay attention to his children without TV as a crutch....as she was watching television and reporting to me about the ads she saw.  The ADS!

Dear reader, I am forty-four years old and still sorting out all this business of why I've had the romantic relationships that I have, and why I can't for the life of me sort out love and partnership, and it seems to me that the roots are pretty darned deep.  I am absolutely used to people (both of my parents) saying one thing and doing another, holding me to a different standard than they hold themselves.  (I can promise you that if I was watching TV and interrupting my mother to tell her about the ads she would be frosty in her reply and say things like, "I guess you're more interested in advertising than you are in me!"  I can also promise you that I'd never do that to her, and that if I did, I'd never live it down and it would be brought up for years afterwards.)  My mother didn't see any irony whatsoever in her behavior, was unabashed.

So.

Today I'm giving myself a little break for some of the choices I've made, and for the way my marriage operated.  My family trained me well to be a Good Little Girl and to Do the Right Thing, and they also trained me that people who love me can do whatever they want and not be held accountable.  Even as a child I responded to this, saying "But that's not fair!" or "How come you get to do it if it's the wrong thing to do and you're mad at me for doing it?" and so on, and they managed to avoid answering my questions by saying that my questions were rude and that I should pay attention to my own behavior.  As a young girl I just felt confused and somehow lacking by this behavior; as I aged I often felt a quiet rage about it, and I spent most of my teens and twenties avoiding my parents.  It seems like all of that avoidance didn't actually teach me how to have relationships where I didn't fall into the same patterns.

Today's baby steps are:

I'm cutting myself some slack.  My parents are very different from my ex in many ways, but they taught me to put my own needs last, and I was a good student of that lesson.  I was expected not to make waves, to be a good girl, and to accept whatever misbehaviors they had, holding myself to a high standard and not holding them to any standard.  Unlearning it is difficult, and given how messed up it was, it's not surprising that I haven't totally figured it out yet.

I don't trust people who say one thing and do another.  This is a good thing.  I don't trust my parents: the TV example is small, but it's a good summary of the crazy-making that being in relationship with someone whose words and actions don't align feels like.  My parents judge me (in this case, positively, because I don't allow unfettered television access to my daughter; and because I don't half listen to my mother and interrupt her repeatedly to talk about ads on television) for my behavior, but don't hold themselves to the same standards, and they expect me to do things they themselves will not do.  This is not acceptable behavior, and I won't allow it in my life.  I can't change my parents - I'm learning better boundaries around that - but I will not repeat the pattern with a new partner.  I do not need to accommodate this behavior, I can say "That doesn't work for me" and simply walk away.  The right partner will not practice this behavior, and if he makes a mistake he will own it and work hard at fixing it, identifying that it is his problem and not mine.  (In other words, if I said, "Your words and actions don't align" in response to such behavior, he wouldn't say "What's the big deal?" he'd say "I'm sorry, let me align them now" and take action to do so.  Unlike my parents.  Unlike my ex.)

I am trustworthy.  I'm far from perfect, that's true, but I'm trustworthy, and my words and actions align.  I am worthy of a partner who is the same in that regard.  I believe that when I practice those healthy boundaries, someone with the same boundaries will come into my life, and I will allow myself to be vulnerable.  I will let him in past the thorns, because I will trust him, because his words and actions will align.

It's that simple, and it's that complicated!

Thanks for participating in this therapy session with me.  :-)  If any of this rings true for you in some way, with your own examples or ideas, I'd love to hear it.  Sometimes it seems like I'm such a fool for not figuring this stuff out earlier, and it's always helpful to hear from someone who is struggling with the same stuff, or their own variations of it.

***

A tiny little end note, more or less unrelated to the above...

On Thursday at gymnastics, I was working hard on my laptop to get a project done.  I saw a very handsome man enter and thought "ohhhhh he's attractive!" - a nice feeling, because I'm not drawn to very many men.  I saw him look around the room, our eyes caught, and he smiled.  What a nice surprise!  He walked across the room, sat down next to me, and immediately started talking.  I swear he was flirting - but could it be?  He asked my opinion about something random but interesting.  He told me about himself (divorced with one child, a daughter in Katherine's gymnastics class).  He told me about his work - he's passionate about it.  He asked me about my life.  He was open and funny and quick, and his eyes twinkled, and he smiled a lot.

I got flutters.

Oh, I can't tell you how long it's been since I had flutters!  I think since Luke, maybe?  That was a year - and a lifetime! - ago.  Flutters are delicious.

I will certainly see him again (every Thursday for the next few months in this session of gymnastics), and I have no idea if we'll chat again, or if it'll ever be more than the casual chats that parents have at these events.  I'm not worried about that, or tied up in it, or anticipating anything one way or the other.  I don't need anything to come of it, because I'm overly busy at work and hard at work getting Katherine launched into middle school and trying to do so many things with my life.

(The lady doth protest too much.  Of course I'd like it if something came of it, I'm just not tied up in that result.)

But it was just so lovely to feel the flutter again.

How I like my eggs

There was a (mostly unmemorable) Julie Roberts movie a few years back called Runaway Bride.  I've forgotten most of the details but the one that stuck with me is about the eggs.  In her many relationships, the main character ate her eggs just the way her partner did, believing that what he loved is what she loved.

I did that, too.  It occurs to me that I did that literally, as well as figuratively: my ex likes his eggs scrambled with cheese on top, and that's how I ate mine when we were together.

How does a person forget how they like their eggs?

***

In my family of origin, perhaps like many families in my era, there were two ways to do things: my dad's way, or the wrong way.  If I liked what my dad liked, I was a good little girl.  If I disliked what my dad liked, I was "difficult" and (one of my least favorite words ever, because it was applied to me so often) "persnickety."  Having an opinion different than his meant that I was being disrespectful, that I had bad taste, that I clearly hadn't thought it through.

I knew this about my father and rebelled against it in my teen years, like so many teens, and I thought that my rebellion was a sure sign that I had dealt with it, made up my own mind about how to do things, and that I was done being a people pleaser.

Au contraire.

It takes a lot more work than simply getting mad at dear ol' dad to move past things to change the pattern.

***

Bryan liked jazz.  I once spent a painful day at an all day jazz festival where I had to resist the urge to jump up and down shouting "I'm 32 years old and I DO NOT WANT TO LISTEN TO ELEVATOR MUSIC!"  (I know that there is very "un-elevator music" jazz.  This was not that.)  The music was like water torture to me, and instead of saying "You should go with your friends and I'll do something else" I went and spent the whole day at the concert thinking, "I must not be smart enough to enjoy this; it's got a classy quality and I know the fact that I would prefer to listen to pop music makes me seem less substantial and I should learn to like this..." and so I tried my hardest to enjoy it and pushed down my feelings of dislike, or to think about how much money the tickets cost and that I hadn't been to one of "my" concerts in years.

When I turned on the radio, Bryan would say, "You're not going to listen to THAT, are you?" and I would sheepishly turn the dial to something he liked.

Bryan liked bread and cheese, in vast quantities.  When the waitress said, "May I refill your bread basket?" the answer was always yes, and the bread basket was always empty and needing refilling.  Before dinner, he could go through a wedge of cheese no problem.  With meals, he liked cheese.  Cheese on his eggs, cheese in his lunch, cheese with dinner, cheese before dinner, cheese and crackers as a snack.  Toast at breakfast, sandwiches or burgers on buns at lunch, bread with dinner, bread or crackers for snacks.  I told myself "It's a French way of eating" and "Why do I always have to be such a nay-sayer, why deny myself or him such simple pleasures?"  I ate what he did, in slightly smaller quantities, but I still gained 20 pounds during my marriage and felt sluggish (he gained much much more and acted much more sluggish), but I told myself that I'd rather celebrate life (more bread and cheese!) than be miserly about simple pleasures.

Bryan ate large quantities of cheese with every meal and complained about his body - obese - bitterly.  When I made a healthy meal - maybe a chicken curry, or grilled salmon and veggies - he complained, and ate a giant snack at bedtime, consisting of....cheese.

Bryan liked to shop for his clothes at Costco, and considered fashion a waste of time, energy, and money; he mocked people for their fashion, and if I said that I wanted to go clothes shopping with a girlfriend he acted like it was the most shallow activity in the world.  I never 100% came to his side of that equation, always secretly coveting beautiful clothes worn thoughtfully...but I gave up my fight, and felt myself get frumpier and frumpier, but told myself that I was living more important values.

I look back at photographs from that time and think, "MOM JEANS!  Why was I wearing mom jeans?!"

The list could go on and on.  What time we went to bed, what time we got up.  Music, food, art.  Leisure time.  It wasn't until we got divorced and needed to divvy up the furniture that I realized that though every single piece of furniture purchased during the marriage was to his preference (Mission style) and that though I had "happily" agreed to all of it....I hated it.  I find Mission lines to be too sharp, too heavy, too masculine, and I like my furniture to feel lighter, curvier, more feminine.  I was more surprised than he was (and he was plenty surprised) when I told him he could have it all, because I'd rather shop for furniture on Craigslist and yard sales than have Mission style furniture, which didn't represent who I am in any way.

***

I am aware now that this did not make me a better spouse.  I am aware that this meant that there was a falseness to my interactions with Bryan, and that it doesn't reflect well on me to say these things; my intentions might have been good (keep the peace) but the outcome wasn't good.  I can accept that: I made mistakes in my marriage, and one of the main ones was that I yielded all the time, trying not to rock the boat, and that meant that I agreed to things I never should have agreed to, offering a false version of myself, not only to Bryan but to myself as well. A marriage built on swallowed resentments can not thrive.

I wouldn't want to be with someone who agreed with me to placate me.  Maybe, ultimately, Bryan didn't want that either.  It's hard to tell, because when I suggested an alternate way, he shut me down, made fun of my choices or tastes, or acted like he was very put out because I was unsupportive, and I struggle with wondering why he did that, just as I wonder why my father treated me that way.

But this isn't about him, it's about me.

In any future partner, should there be one, I will bring my tastes and choices to the table, knowing what they are and standing my ground.  There's room for compromise, certainly, but compromise does not mean "doing it the other person's way every time," and it does not mean "giving up what I believe in."  There will be give and take next time, not just give.

***

What do I like?  I know the answers!  And I'm not ashamed of them!  And if you, dear reader, read this list and think "ew!" or "yuck!" or "I hate that style!" then you know what?  It's okay!  We can still be friends, because I hope you value the qualities of my heart and mind more than the small extras; that you are drawn to me because of the way I think, and that if we disagree about music (maybe you like elevator music, too!) then we can still be friends.

But we don't need to go to an all day smooth jazz concert together.  Ever.

***

I like, in no particular order:
- High heels, pencil skirts, ladylike blouses.  Little black dresses.  Sundresses.  Classic clothing, not too trendy.  Blazers with jeans and ballet flats, dresses with defined waists.  Black, white.  I'd rather pay a bit more for something and have fewer items.  I do not, ever, ever, ever shop at Costco for clothing.
- I like to get up really, really early, before the sun rises, and have quiet time to myself.  I go to bed at about the same time Katherine does as a result...but it's worth it to me.
- I love female singer-songwriters like Brandi Carlile, Emmylou Harris, Sarah McLachlan.  And I love all kinds of silly pop music, and happily sing along with Katy Perry on "Roar" or Sara Bareilles with "Brave."  I enjoy some country music.  I don't like jazz very much.  I love Beethoven and Mozart, but not all the time.  I dislike hip hop and rap.
- I love cottage style.  Not the kitschy kind with gingham and words stenciled on everything and chickens for décor, but an eclectic combination of beach style and English or French cottage style.  I like antique mahogany pieces mixed in with lighter, more contemporary pieces.  I like curving white dishes in interesting shapes.  I like silver trays filled with seashells.  I like books, and bookcases, in every room.  I like a lot of white.  I like art walls filled with pieces that mean something to me, even if the frames or artistic styles don't match.  I like some contemporary art, Emily Carr, northwest Native American art, impressionist art, Group of Seven art, Renaissance art, and pictures (from any era) of women reading.  I don't like abstract art, or art with sharp black lines.
- I like to have coffee for breakfast, giant salads for lunch (with beans and avocado and a mixture of greens and veggies), and a hearty dinner (hold the bread, please, except on special occasions).  I like limited amounts of cheese, because then I feel better.  I like wine on occasion, but not every day.
- I like to hike, to run, to bike, to walk, to explore.  I want to move my body and get out and see things, and given a chance, I'd do that every day.
- On weekends I want to go explore: a museum, a nearby town, a beach, a trail, a concert.  I want to canoe or kayak, take the tour, hit the road, hit the trail.  I don't care about TV.  I don't want to sleep until noon, I want to get out into the world.

***

I'm willing to stand up for what I like now, never again agreeing to someone else's ways just to keep the peace.  The irony doesn't escape me: I tried to keep the peace all the way until my divorce, and we all know that divorce is about the least peaceful process ever, no matter how well it's done.  (It's soul wrenching.)

With Bryan, for whatever his own reasons, he responded like my father did when we had a disagreement.  He disapproved of me, he felt undervalued, it became a test of my love for him.  By yielding, I was trying to say, "I care about you and I will give you this piece of myself as proof of that love," just as I had with my father.

But love doesn't work like that, and so it didn't work.  I could not fill up the holes inside of Bryan, because that is not something a partner, even a loving partner, can do. 

***

I hope that by recognizing the patterns, I can escape repeating them.

The world will not end if I say, "Here's what I like, and I feel strongly about it."  The world will not end if I say, "Tonight I'm making my favorite meal for dinner," instead of always making someone else's favorites.  The right partner won't argue with me if I say, "Last weekend we did X (his preference), so this weekend let's do Y (my preference)." 

Maybe I'll even find a partner who even truly shares my preference, who has a passion for things I'm passionate about.  What would it be like to have a partner that said, "I found a hike online that I haven't done before - let's pack our backpacks tonight and get to bed early so that we can be at the trailhead before 8am tomorrow"?  What would it be like to have a partner who said, "I went by the market and picked up some Dungeness crabs for dinner - I thought I'd throw together a salad and I can have dinner on the table at 6 if you like"?  What would it be like to have a partner who said, "I was reading the paper and that play you were interested in is coming to town - it's getting good reviews and I'd like to go too!"

And when we don't agree?  What if he laughed and said, "You go ahead and go with your girlfriends to that show - I'm afraid it's not my style," or "I'm buying (insert sports team) seasons' tickets with my friend but don't worry I don't expect you to come," (to which I would say "thank you" because I'm not into watching sports).  What if he didn't like seafood (oh no!) but knew I did so he said, "I went by the market and got some salmon for you and some chicken for me - let's grill tonight"?

It's not rocket science, but it will require me being honest about what I like and not backing down if he disagrees with my opinion "to keep the peace."  It's harder than it sounds when you've been conditioned since birth to do so.

***

I like my eggs scrambled, with avocado and salsa on top.  For lunch, not for breakfast.

***

How do you like your eggs?  Did you, too, forget what mattered to you when you were married?  What have you remembered since your divorce?  What small pleasures have returned to you since divorcing?  What styles have you (re)discovered?  How do you spend your happy leisure time in your new life?

If you forgot how you liked your eggs....why is that?  Did you learn it in your family of origin, or somewhere else?

How do you plan to remember what you value, never again giving it up?