When I was a boy and I felt scared, I used to run into my mother’s arms and she would straighten my hair and tell me, “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be okay.” It always made me feel better no matter what I was afraid of. It also inadvertently shaped, or misshaped may be more accurate, my conduct surrounding sex. I tend to approach relationships from a wounded place in my past. I wasn’t molested or otherwise sexually abused; I don’t mean that. I’m talking more about mental abuse. Mental abuse inflicted by me and upon me.
I never got the “talk” from my dad. A big part of me feels relieved to have been spared what I imagine would have been a supreme embarrassment shared between father and son. Still, another part of me wonders if it might have helped me, but I somehow doubt it. My father was no man of science, no man of the cloth. He was a hard-working, blue-collar man who would often be found with cement dried on his oversized hands and a pencil that had been sharpened with a Stanley knife behind his ear. Not exactly what you would call an expert on human reproduction and associated behaviors. Part of me knows he would have done more harm than good had he sat me down for the talk, but I suppose I’ll never be 100% certain.
A lot of what I learned about sex came from magazines and movies, role models, and some of it from fumbling around in the dark with someone probably just as scared as I was. As I’ve said, my method for overcoming fear is simple: find comfort in the arms of someone caring. As a result, those early experiences were awkward, to say the least, but they seemed so important to me. Like I couldn’t breathe without them or the person I was with. From those modest and bumbling beginnings I tied together sex and comfort. Not just feeling good, but real comfort. I felt I would never feel happy unless I found someone to share my life and my bed. Someone who will make me feel good. Just typing those words gives me shivers because I’ve since learned that no one can make me feel anything. I can’t even make myself feel better. How unfair of me to expect it from somebody else.
I was desperate to feel the same relief I’d found in my mother’s arms. I wanted to feel less afraid and reassured that “everything was going to be okay.” Since I couldn’t keep running back to mama, I put the task to my lovers and when they fell short, I dismissed them. I doubt any of them had any idea as to why I acted this way; I certainly never told them. I simply expected them to know. An unreasonable expectation to be sure, but honestly, I was completely unaware of what I was doing. It was never an act of conscious decision; it was more of a gut feeling type of thing. Fight or flight instinct, I suppose.
All this confusion manifests in my life in so many different ways. I remember waking up one particularly cold, gray morning and not feeling so great about anything really. No real reason for it: the drizzly weather, a lack of sleep, my being single, who knows? I felt sorry for myself quite often in those days. I decided I’d better meet up with some friends to shake off the gloom, which is exactly what I did.
During the course of the afternoon, a woman I’ve known but never felt an attraction to made a point to compliment me. Hmmm. She followed one compliment with another. This is starting to work. Tell me more. We broke off from the rest of the group and spoke for quite a while. The conversation never strayed very far from me and how much she liked me and you know what? It worked. I felt great! I left that day a new man.
The only problem is a couple of days later the texts started coming in about how much she’d enjoyed our time together and how she’d love to get together again. What’s wrong with this woman? Why does she keep pestering me? Why can’t she leave me alone? Do you see what happened? I didn’t at the time but I see now: I used her. I didn’t mean to but I definitely did. That first day I needed someone to fill the role, to make me feel better and she filled it, but I no longer needed that. This had never been about love or attraction for me. It was about confusion. A confusion developed by a small boy and carried by a small man.
In almost opposite fashion I recall dating a woman with whom I’d found I didn’t really feel any spark. I remember a phone conversation with my friend Alan and my explaining it to him.
“She’s great,” I said, “I’m just not feeling it. There’s no chemistry.”
So he asked me, “Are you going to break it off then?”
“I guess so, but the holidays are coming up. I don’t want to be that guy. I guess I’ll wait until after.”
What chivalry! My best thinking: drag things out until after the holidays so people will believe I’m a great guy. I swear, there should be monuments.
Anyway, about this time in my call with Alan my phone beeped, so I said goodbye and clicked over.
“Hey, it’s me.” It was her.
“Hi, how’s it going?” I asked.
“Well,” she started, “I guess I’m not really feeling it between us.”
What a break! I interrupted her to explain that I felt the same way. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. God is good, right? Later that evening I ran into my friend Alan.
“Oh hey, remember I was telling you about that woman I’m dating? Well get this: she broke up with…” and right about here it hit me: she broke up with me. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a catch, what could she be thinking? I swear I was this close to setting off to win back the woman I didn’t want to begin with. Why? Because I wanted her to make me feel better. Ugh.
People are always saying crap like, “You need to love yourself before you can expect the love of someone else.” I’ve always hated advice like this. Platitudes designed to make the advice bearer feel as if they’ve imparted wisdom to a troubled soul. The thing is: now I’m starting to think they might be right. After much contemplation and meditation, and a healthy dose of self-examination, I think I’ve finally managed to stop trying to find someone who’ll make me feel better. These days I make me feel better through a healthy dose of self-love. I’m not perfect, and in fact I’m still single, but I know now. I know no one can fix me and I shouldn’t expect them to. I am a good person. I’m not the best person but I’m not the worst either. I’m like everyone else: a lost soul seeking connection.
The thing is: I’m okay today. I know this down to my core. When I experience fear I confront it with my faith that everything is going to be okay. The faith of a mother’s love. My romantic partners are no longer tasked with fulfilling the needs of a child. They are free to love me (or not) in any way they see fit. The play has been recast and all the roles filled and you know what? Everything is going to be okay.
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This post was previously published on Change Becomes You.
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