Another of those pieces inspired by wee hours of the morning mental meanderings. I figure that if I am not sleeping at the moment, I might as well use the holy shit insights for my own healing and that of anyone else who reads the words. This time they were overspill from a conversation yesterday with a therapist friend out in Cali. Dr. Sheri Meyers and I were talking about the topic of dating, mating and relating after being widowed, for a magazine piece. We have not met in the face to face world and initially, like many of my treasured peeps worldwide, we connected via Facebook. She is astute and knowledgable about what makes people tick. After the more formal part of the interview during which I had mentioned my own journey from widowhood 20 years ago, to my current single status after adventures with dating, lovers, and FWBs, she asked if I minded that she had some feedback to offer. Of course, I didn’t want to miss out on what she had to share. I trust her impeccability and wisdom so I invited her insights. She felt I needed (as a consummate giver) to receive. I nodded knowingly since I crave it and push it away simultaneously. I think about the classic relationship book written by Gary Chapman, called The 5 Love Languages.
Although my primary two are physical touch and words of affirmation, I have come to realize that the others are vital to my relational wellbeing too. I have just held them at bay since they felt like they were too much to ask for. They are acts of service, quality time and receiving gifts. That’s where the uh oh came in last night. I thought back to two incidents from my childhood. Both had to do with receiving from my father. He was (as was my mother), kind, generous and loving. He would do almost anything for his family (and did go above and beyond for others in his life as well. He was one of those about whom people wax poetic, “He would give the shirt off his back.”). The first memory was connected to his habit of bringing token gifts home at the end of the week for my sister and me. I don’t recall how old I was (likely three or four) and after hugging him, I playfully asked, “What’d you brung me?” My mother intervened and told me that love was more important than things and to my father, that he needed to put a stop to that ritual. I had conflated gifts with love and with a bit of internalized shame, submerged the delight with gifts as proof of affection. A few years later, on Valentines’ Day, my father gave my sister and me tiny rings. Each year, his ‘three favorite girls’ (mom, Jan and I) received chocolate as well. I’m sure that we designed homemade cards for him and our mother.
I learned to be grateful for anything done for me, not because I didn’t deserve it, but because it came from the heart, without overt agenda, as far as I can tell. The second image that floated before my eyes in my sleep, was a time when as a pre-teen, I had asked my father for the height of fashion back in the 60s, white go-go boots. We were sitting at the dinner table when I made the request. I think at the time, there were some financial challenges that I wasn’t aware of. My mother looked at my father and they explained that for the time being, they needed to curtail anything extra that wasn’t already budgeted in. Tears welled up in my eyes, in part, because I really wanted them and didn’t feel like I could delay gratification and partly because I felt guilty that I put my desires above that of my hardworking parents. My mom used to say that (although she earned income too) my father “worked crazy hours (first as a milkman and then later in life, as a bus driver) to support us.” Guilt turned to shame and remained. Not long after, they presented me with the boots. I felt a mixture of pleasure and regret that somehow my tears had manipulated them into it.
What also came to me is that after all these years I still feel a need to earn love. I am the go-to person for many people in my life, almost always available as insurance against rejection. I have mutually adoring relationships with friends. Over the years, I have gotten to share some of the interactions with them that I would with a partner. Affection, deep conversations, companionship, activities and with some, delightful sex. Even with those dynamics, I still maintained distance. For one reason or another, we were not a good fit for a long term, committed partnership.
I have contemplated other reasons why after all these years (just crossed the 20-year threshold on 12/21/18), I still haven’t met that one who will melt my heart and with whom I will share my life. One came in the form of a psychic reading I had around eight years ago. She knew nothing about me. We had never met. That is one barometer I use to measure the accuracy of information. She nailed my life experience, career, losses, and desires. When she got to the part during which we explored the future of my love life, she told me that “Your relationship will be with your Muse.”
I pondered afterward whether she meant that the man with whom I would be involved would take on that role or if the creative force that has me putting fingers to keyboard at all hours and won’t let me rest until I do, itself would become my lover. I am guessing she meant the latter since, at this writing, the human version has not yet shown his face. I would adore both. I wonder if she was predicting the outcome or if it is a self-fulfilling prophecy. If it is the latter, then I need to shake it since it is an impediment.
Other limiting thoughts include:
- If he hasn’t shown up yet, he won’t.
- If he does, then he won’t stay.
- He may die.
- He might look/feel good at first, but then will turn into a monster.
- He will withdraw.
- He will do the come close/dance away routine.
- He will expect me to take care of him.
- I will be inclined to take care of him.
- He won’t be able to hold space for deep exploration.
- His family could create drama.
- No widowed woman in my family ever remarried or might not even have dated afterward.
- I am not enough or too much for a man to want.
- I have been solo for so long, that I’m not even sure how to be in a relationship.
- I talk a good game, but could I really step up and be ready?
- Can I share space with a partner?
- Am I too controlling and set in my ways after all this time?
- Am I too visible and self-revealing?
- Am I too colorful and flamboyant?
- Will I let him down?
- Will I let myself down?
- Can I trust myself to make a good choice?
- Am I too wounded?
- Is he too wounded?
- Can I trust a man to take care of me?
- Can I trust a man to be of support?
As I stand here emotionally buck nekkid, I feel a renewed sense of freedom. There now, that wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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