Content Warning: Weird stuff. You've been warned.

Andrew Solomon on acceptance: Nailed it.

http://www.upworthy.com/video-how-did-these-parents-raise-with-their-son-they-loved-him-thats-all-3?c=ufb1

I watched this on my lunch break at work. Sitting there at my desk, with my headphones on,  it was all I could do to keep a neutral face and not break down into tears.

This is what I’m talking about when I talk about acceptance. This. This talk so perfectly deconstructs a concept I’ve been struggling with since I first came out to my parents. After all, my parents love me. They’ve been very clear on this point. But knowing that doesn’t make me feel any better about their views on homosexuality. It doesn’t make me feel like they accept me as I am, that they love the whole of me.

A lot of the time people who have those conditions are very angry, because they feel that they parents don’t love them, when what has actually happened is that their parents don’t accept them… Acceptance is something that takes time. It always takes time.

Sure, my parents love me. But that love seems like lip service to the idea of love, rather than a love of me for the person I am and the identity I express. They love me because I am their child; because it is impossible for them not to love me. But that is a love by default; that’s love at its factory settings.

My parents, I think, didn’t really know how to nurture a child’s identity. It’s possible they didn’t realize I’d have one. I get the impression my parents decided who I would be before I was even born: she’ll be a good Catholic girl, she’ll marry a nice boy, they’ll give us grandchildren, we’ll all live happily ever after. I don’t think they ever considered questions like “What if she wants to be an astronaut?” or “What if she’s just not the marrying kind?”

What if she’s a lesbian?

What if she’s an atheist?

What if she wants to be a movie star?

What if she never wants kids?

What if the person she is doesn’t match up with the picture we’ve painted in our head?

At its heart, that’s what Andrew Solomon’s beautiful talk is about. It’s about all the unexpected things that happen as parents raise their children that shape identities and destinies. It’s about how parents handle those pivotal moments; what traits do they nurture and encourage? Which traits do they try to cure?

My parents tried to cure me of my individualism and self-reliance. Growing up, the most important thing I could do to gain their approval was to Follow The Rules. This was throughout childhood, middle school, and past high school. I had to set an example for my younger sisters. I had to be a good girl, a good daughter. I was not trusted to make my own decisions. I was not trusted to choose my own path. It is difficult to put into words, this enormous pressure to fit in to my own family. This massive weight of expectation to follow the path laid before me. My parents are not the sort of parents who spotted an inherent talent in their child at an early age and did what they could to encourage it; my parents were the ones who placed their desires for my life above my own. Because they just loved me so much, you see; they knew best and they didn’t want me to get hurt.

It makes sense. Parents want to protect their children. But I think at times parents forget that in protecting their children too much, in restricting and limiting their children ‘for their own good,’ they are sending their children a message: You can’t be trusted to do this yourself. We don’t trust you. You shouldn’t trust you.

That’s part of the reason it took me so long to embrace my sexual identity. I’d identified as bisexual since I was 18. To put that into perspective, I became sexually active at 17 – and it wasn’t until then that I thought of myself as a sexual being. So almost immediately after discovering that sexuality existed – and that it existed within me – I already knew I was attracted to women. I’ve known all along.

It took me ten years to admit to it.

That’s ten years of fear and uncertainty. Ten years of trying to squeeze myself into a mold that didn’t fit. Ten years of convincing myself it wasn’t true. Ten years of not trusting my instincts, not listening to myself, not believing in my heart and its desires. Of trying to please my parents… which, to be honest, is what I’ve been after the whole time. I just want them to be proud of me. But in doing the things that made them most proud of me, I am most ashamed of myself. I’ve let myself be hurt and abused in terrible ways, by ignorant and unworthy men, because I thought that was the price you paid to gain love. I thought of love as sacrifice – the more it hurt, the more true and real it was. I’ve made mistakes, and now I’ve broken my best friend’s heart, because I was trying so hard to be what someone else wanted me to be. They didn’t trust me to decide who I was. So neither did I. I’d learned not to.

People engage with the life they have. They don’t want to be cured, or changed, or eliminated. They want to be who it is they’ve come to be.

That’s all I want. To be who it is I’ve come to be. Isn’t that all any of us want?

Solomon talks about three forms of acceptance that need to be in place for an individual to flourish: self acceptance, family acceptance, and social acceptance. I have come to accept myself – indeed, it was the most liberating moment of my life. Society is slowly coming to accept me and people like me – the president has stepped forward in support of gay rights, the Defense Of Marriage Act has been overturned, and slowly the hearts and minds of the nation are shifting toward a wider acceptance of people like me.

And maybe, someday, my family will accept me too. It always takes time.

We’re getting there.

Alrighty. We’ve had a day to digest the news about DOMA. By now, it seems, the breathless celebrating is mostly over – although I am willing to guess the Pride parade this weekend is going to be super extra glittery and rainbowy and celebratory.

As it happens, it was my husband who first told me. He’d spent the night rather than driving home tired (at my insistence), and had left to go to work earlier that morning. I was doing my best to sleep in when I got a text from him:

Wooo! Supreme court ruled against DOMA! Ruled same-sex marriage ban unconstitutional!

I think I just stared blankly at the screen for a minute. Then I started to cry. Which is a little weird, to be honest.

After all, I am already married. And, yes, planning to get divorced somewhere down the road. At this point I have my doubts about getting married again in the future. I’ve learned a lot about what a marriage is, how it works, what really makes it function. I’ve learned how far love can take you in a marriage… and I’ve learned the places love alone can’t carry you. If love was all it took to make a marriage work, I wouldn’t be separated from my husband. So I wasn’t crying because I could finally get married.

I’m sure there are many couples out there who have been waiting for this decision. Who have wanted legal recognition and protection of the relationship they already share. As a fledgling baby lez, a neurotic proto-queer, I don’t have that. There was not some woman for me to turn to and say, “Finally. Marry me.” If there is a wife in the cards for me, she is little more than a concept right now, a nebulous and far-off future. So I wasn’t crying because the love I felt for someone else was finally recognized by the government.

I have lived my entire life with a sense of otherness. Always on the edge, the fringe, different without really knowing why. Never really fitting neatly into any given category. Not terribly easy to define, or even to sum up. Set aside, set apart, something different, a mismatched piece of the puzzle.

But yesterday… yesterday I stepped into the bigger picture. Yesterday I was included. Along with millions of other Americans, I was recognized as fully equal and deserving of the same rights and responsibilities as everyone else. It’s not really about getting married, not for me. It’s about the fact that the government has recognized that they have no right to dictate who I should want to marry. It’s about the fact that this decision is a step towards ending discrimination, a step toward erasing the attitude that anything other than straight is wrong and shameful and must be kept hidden. It’s a step toward recognizing and celebrating love in its many and myriad forms. It’s a step toward understanding, a step toward acceptance.

I cried because, yesterday, I was recognized by the United States government as a human being.

Above The Game: Uh, no, you actually are promoting assault, dude.

So I’m not sure how far this has spread, but apparently yesterday this little gem of a book got funded on Kickstarter. It’s called Above The Game: A Guide To Getting Awesome With Women. (You can find it on Seddit, the Seduction section of Reddit. Or with the simplest of Googlefu. The thought of linking to it here makes me feel icky.)

It’s exactly as problematic as it sounds. There’s already been several voices raised around the blogosphere, pointing out that the chapter “Physical Escalation & Sex” endorses assault and rape. So much so, in fact, that the author has already posted a response, which I feel a little better about linking to.

While others have covered the problems with the original project in great detail, and better than I probably could here, there’s something disturbing to me about the author’s “apology.” He says:

People took advice from a section on “Physical Escalation & Sex” and posted them online. Devoid of context, they appeared to be promoting sexually assaulting women when that wasn’t the case at all.

The gist of the controversial advice is “Don’t wait for signs before you make your move. Let her be the one who rejects your advances. If she says no, stop immediately and tell her you don’t want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. Try again at a later time if appropriate or cease entirely if she is absolutely not interested.”

The thing that the commenters on social media are leaving out is that the advice was taken from a section in the guide offering advice on what to do AFTER a man has met a cute girl, gotten her phone number, gone on dates, spent time getting to know her, and now are alone behind closed doors fooling around. If “Don’t wait for signs, make the first move” promotes sexual assault, then “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid was a song about rape.

Um, well. I guess I never liked Prince Eric anyway. (Wait – was Ariel really not giving him any indication that she wanted to be kissed? Oh jeez, is kissing sex, you guys? I’m going to have to re-watch me some Disney movies.)

Look, here’s the thing: there’s one glaringly obvious piece of advice missing from this chapter that would, honestly, make the rest of this advice tolerable….

ASK HER WHAT SHE WANTS. WITH WORDS. OR MAYBE PICTURES IF YOU’RE MUTE.

Holy shit, you guys, I should write a book and shill it on Kickstarter. Problem is, it’d be really fucking short. You just read the whole thing.

It’s not rocket surgery, is it? But this guy – and the 732 people who were willing to pay him for his advice – seem to forget that women are individual people, with individual likes and dislikes, who can and will tell you what those likes and dislikes are if they’re given the opportunity. I’m not sure what mysterious signals these folks have been waiting on – like, are you waiting for the Bat signal, only with a vagina or something instead? – but in my experience, it’s not super hard to tell if a person wants to do things with you. There’s no need for forcefully coming on strong until she has to stop you. You’ve spent time getting to know her, right? So spend some time getting to know what she likes and dislikes in the bedroom. Spend some time getting to know what turns her on. Spend some time getting to know whether or not she’d like to jump your bones. My turn-ons include talking about what my turn-ons are.

This whole argument also neatly and completely erases the possibility of rape, abuse, and assault within a relationship. It assumes that once a woman is in a relationship with a man, she will of course submit to his every sexual desire, every time. So really what Mr. Hoisky is saying here is that once you’re dating a girl, it’s totally okay to be physically aggressive with her until she either gives in or is forced to say no. (Note: That’s exactly what the two worst boyfriends I ever had did. Both of them sexually assaulted me.) There’s absolutely no mention of communication or negotiation. There’s no mention at all of giving the woman in this relationship agency and a voice. In fact, it specifically instructs men not to:

Pull out your cock and put her hand on it. Remember, she is letting you do this because you have established yourself as a LEADER. Don’t ask for permission, GRAB HER HAND, and put it right on your dick.

Right. Ick. This isn’t a matter of taking things out of context; even in the context of an established relationship, this shit is Officially Not Okay unless you’ve already confirmed with the particular girl whose hand you’re placing on your dick has TOLD YOU it’s ok. Within the context of a pre-negotiated scene, sure, this would be perfectly okay. Probably pretty hot for everyone involved. If she’s already told you that she likes it when guys do that, then game on. Get freaky. If she thinks this is just a make-out session and suddenly you force her to touch your junk, you’ve officially just become a creep. Communication makes all the difference.

Oh, shit, I apologize. He does actually advocate communication. Here it is:

Ask her what her favorite positions are.

That’s, uh, that’s it. That’s all of it. That’s in the second-to-last paragraph of the second-to-last section of the chapter on sex… which is chapter 7.

Your problem, Mr. Hoisky, is not that you’re being taken out of context. Your problem is that you’re giving advice on how to manipulate and assault women. And we are calling you on your bullshit.

Quick update: As of this morning, Kickstarter has issued an apology and updated their guidelines to prevent seduction guides like this from being funded on their site. They will also be donating $25,000 to RAINN, a non-profit dedicated to preventing rape and abuse. 

Allies with privilege… are still allies.

Talking about privilege is a tough thing, guys. It’s hard not to be angry at the folks who have it if you don’t, and it’s hard to understand those who don’t have it if you do. There’s a gap in lived experience that causes a gulf in communication, and it can be really difficult to even realize either the gap or the gulf even exists.

So when I see folks that are genuinely making an effort to understand an experience outside their own, I personally prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt. If there’s someone who is genuinely trying to be a good ally, I personally feel it’s important to recognize that and support it. I fully believe that it is not the responsibility of the oppressed to educate their oppressors… but can we make a distinction between oppressors, and those who are simply part of the oppressive class?

For instance, there’s this article on why the queer community doesn’t need Macklemore’s validation. And, y’know, if this was the only socio-politically conscious song the group did, I might be inclined to agree. But to me, “Same Love” isn’t patronizing. It’s not a political statement, necessarily. It’s certainly not a gimmick. The songs that I’ve heard by Macklemore (and, to be fair, I’ve only heard a few) simply point to a piece of our culture and go, “What’s that? Why is it like that?”

In “Thrift Shop,” he points out that our own drive for status fuels this ridiculous consumer economy that inflates the prices of average goods beyond the point of reason – yo, that’s $50 for a T-shirt – and the culture of excess and waste it creates. In “White Privilege” he examines the fact that hip-hop culture has been appropriated by people who have never experienced the struggles that birthed the movement, and wrestles with the question of whether or not he can, in good conscience, participate in it. And in “Same Love” he points out that we are all human, and we all deserve  the same respect, dignity, and legal standing.

Queers, this song wasn’t written to us. About us, yes – for us, sure. But we’re not the intended audience here. Macklemore is talking to the folks out there who have never had to think about what it means to be called “faggot” in any real sense of the word. He’s talking to the people who don’t see queer people as real people. He’s talking to the people who live in comfortable ignorance, unaware of the implications of their intellectual laziness. He’s challenging them to think about the people they pass judgment on, the human element behind the political decisions. He is using his voice to amplify the message that others have put forth. Are we really doing so well on our own in the fight for equal rights that we don’t need celebrities and people in positions of power to stand beside us?

Maybe it’s all in how you read it. The author states,

“…Ben’s gay (mis)identification is constructed as the source of his own preconceived notions—his stereotypical views—about what constitutes gayness: an aptitude for art (“‘cause I could draw”), a genetic predisposition (“my uncle was”), and a precocious anality (“I kept my room straight”). Just as his mama corrects him and draws attention to the stereotypes animating the proclivities that might lead him astray to being gay, he is corralled back to fulfill his destiny of becoming a straight-but-not-narrow male ally for people like his gay uncle who are targets of the religious right’s scrutiny and hypocrisy”

Ok, sure. If you’re assuming that this Ben is just a character (Macklemore’s actual name is Ben Haggerty), then I could see where this looks like an oversimplification of the equal-rights struggle through the lens of heteronormativity. But if you instead take it as one man telling a story that is actually true, and did actually happen, then it takes on a different meaning.

My interpretation of the above verses is “When I was young, I thought I was gay because these things were true of me, and also of gay people. It took my mom to remind me that I was forgetting the crucial piece: who I was attracted to.” I don’t see it as “a white dude who phobically disavows his own fleeting homosexual identification as just another instance of “buying into stereotypes”’… I see it as someone saying, “Hey, I’ve questioned my sexuality a time or two. Turns out I’m straight. But it shouldn’t matter if I am or not. It shouldn’t matter if anyone is or not.”

“Turns out I’m straight” is not a homophobic statement. Just because you’ve questioned your sexuality doesn’t mean you’re gay. Hell, just because you’ve slept with someone of the same sex doesn’t mean you’re gay. Sexuality is a continuum, a spectrum, and there are a myriad ways of expressing it. It changes from person to person, day to day, minute to minute. And it seems a bit gauche to look so disdainfully and distrustfully at a hand extended in friendship and solidarity, just because there happens to be a straight white dude behind it. (Some of my best friends are straight white dudes.)

At the end of the day, the equal rights campaign is not about marriage. Putting marriage on a pedestal as the be-all end-all of human relationships and experience is deeply problematic, and adding queers to the mix won’t change that. But recognizing that love is love, no matter who it’s between, is vital to the progress of free society. So at the end of the day, the equal rights campaign is about recognition. It’s about lifting the taboo. It’s about realizing that, yes, it is all the same love.

And a certificate on paper
Isn’t gonna solve it all
But it’s a damn good place to start.

 

Depression: Still an asshole. Big surprise.

It is so hard to get out of my own head sometimes.

I blame my jerkbrain. That motherfucker’s been having a field day. In the past few weeks, it’s had me convinced of some pretty wild stuff. To the point where I sometimes worry that maybe I shouldn’t trust my own feelings.

I’m not gonna lie, it is really hard to be writing this post right now. My jerkbrain is telling me, “Hey, it’s all meaningless horseshit anyway. Nobody reads what you write. It’s not very good. It’s not very meaningful. You’re never going to get anywhere with it. You should probably just give up. You should probably stop writing. You’re never going to figure out how to write a screenplay. All those grandiose ideas you have, for making queer and feminist media? Never going to happen. You’re an idiot and you have no idea how the world works. The work is too hard, you’re not talented enough, you’ll never make it. Better to just settle into a career you don’t totally hate and call it good enough. Get used to being mediocre, kid, that’s all you’re ever going to be.”

Holy shit. It just keeps going. I could probably sit here and just type out every negative asshole bullshit thought that runs through my head for the rest of the night. And most of it doesn’t even have to do with this post.

I am beginning to quietly suspect that I’ve been depressed for a majority of my life. The voice that I can identify as Jerkbrain now sounds eerily similar to the voice that was talking to me when I graduated high school and decided that a career in acting was just unattainable for me – I wasn’t pretty enough, talented enough, well-connected enough, educated enough. It’s the same voice that told me I’d never make it as a writer, either – not talented enough, educated enough, well-connected enough, pretty enough. It told me I’d better follow this guy around and let him control me and manipulate me, because I’d never find anyone else who would love me – not pretty enough, talented enough, etc.  Depression is an expert at self-perpetuation.

Believing in oneself is a learned skill.Believing that you can do a thing, that you are good enough to deserve a thing, that a thing is within your reach… it’s not something you just do. How do you learn to build your trust in yourself? How do you learn to be confident? How do you build self-reliance and self-knowledge?

I guess you just have to practice. Practice being reliable, for yourself and for others. Practice speaking positively of yourself. Practice taking a compliment with grace, without demurring or deflecting. Hell, if it means you stand in front of the mirror and say cheesy affirmations for half an hour, do that. If it means you take on a project or challenge that’s a little outside your comfort zone, do that. If it means you drag your ass out of bed and upstairs at ten o’clock at night in the middle of writing a blog post so you can make yourself some dinner because you know you’ll feel less desperately bleak afterward, do that. Even small steps still take you somewhere.

Because I know this: no matter how hard I believe in myself, I may never achieve the things I want to achieve in this life. But if I don’t believe in myself, I definitely won’t.

Untethered

There are weird things going on with my heart lately. In the metaphysical place-where-I-feel-feelings sense, not the literal muscle. My physical heart, as far as I know, is doing just fine.

But I’ve got this weird ache. It feels a little like loneliness, but a little like freedom too. I am untethering my life; casting off the lines and floating up into the sky. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. And lonely. But not necessarily bad lonely – just solitary. I keep trying to tell myself that I need solitude. Time to stand on my own two feet. Chart my own course.

At the end of the day, when everyone who inhabits the spaces of my life goes home to their own dreams and desires, I am left to face myself in the gathering darkness and ask: what do you want? The question is enormous. I was never taught how to make decisions for myself. There was always someone else to consider, someone to defer to.

What do I want? How do I get there? If I acted thinking only of myself, where would I be and what would my life look like? What dreams would I dream for myself?

It’s not like there’s nothing I want from this life. I’ve just lately been realizing that I’ve put my career and professional dreams on the back burner for over a decade while I searched for that fairy-tale romance the movies promised us. Like somehow finding a husband would land me a role in that movie somewhere, or get me a job correcting the spelling and grammar in novels by newly-discovered authors. Funny enough, though, the harder I searched for that perfect relationship the more I sacrificed of myself in order to find it and keep it. Being alone was worse than being mediocre and meaningless and unfulfilled. Somehow.

Don’t think that I look back on the years I spent married as wasted. I learned a lot about myself, about how I function in a serious relationship, and about my limits. I learned how to speak up for what I want and need. I learned how to even figure out what I want and need. I still have a wonderful friend in the man I married, and I am finally at a point in my life where the life I’m living seems authentic and my own.

Sometimes I think it is easier to pair up. It is so much easier to give someone else what they want than to forge your own path and follow your own bliss. Especially if you’re doing it alone. That aloneness can really get to you. It can convince you that you’ll never get what you want. It’s scary to forge your own path without a partner there to share the load. It’s hard to walk your own path, knowing there’s no one there to guide or encourage you. It can be tempting to settle into the path of least resistance instead – to find the spouse, have the kids, dedicate your life to the tedium of surviving… rather than seeking out the thrill of really living.

So there’s this weird little ache in my neurotic little heart, telling me to keep looking for that fairy tale ending. It’s telling me to get swept away. It’s telling me my own dreams aren’t worth following, because I’ll never get them anyway. I am doing my best to ignore it. I know where that leads. Instead I am doing my best to remind myself of the freedom I feel when I’m walking on my own through the city; the feeling that I can go anywhere, be anything. The feeling of being untethered. The feeling of standing on my own two feet. The feeling of floating free.

It’s time to see how far I can fly.

Life is hard.

Well, it’s going to be a busy couple of weeks. Finding an affordable apartment in a big city is hard, yo. I know I’ve said it before, but I may go radio silent for a bit.

Sullivan and I are doing as well as we can, and there will be more Penny adventures coming your way once the dust has settled. Stay tuned.

 

A short thought on patriarchy…

So right now I work the customer service line for an online retailer. I like my job most of the time. Most of the customers I talk to are pretty nice. But the other day I took what was probably the worst call I’ve ever had.

This woman called in wanting to return some clothes that didn’t fit. They were too small because she’d gained weight, you see. And that would have been fine, returns are a thing we do, no problem. Except…

This poor woman was in tears. She was brokenhearted that the outfit was too small. She was convinced that it was because she had gained weight, and not that (as I pointed out) that designer likely runs small. She kept saying things like, “I’m so disgusting, I’m such a monster, I’m so fat, I’m so ugly…”

I’m not going to say “She wasn’t even that big.” Only because it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what size she was. It would be the same story whether she was a 2 or a 2X. This woman was in tears over clothing that didn’t fit because she’d bought so completely into the belief that there is a right size to be, and she wasn’t it. I could hear her sobbing as she hung up the phone, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help her.

This shouldn’t be normal. No one should ever feel like a monster because her clothes don’t fit. No one should ever feel so bad about their size that a too-tight shirt makes them feel worthless.

So Penny’s request for the day, guys? Value yourself as you are. Even if it’s just for a day. Spend a day shutting down the voice that lists your flaws, that tells you you’re ugly and worthless, that makes you feel gross and ashamed. Spend just one day focusing on the amazing parts of yourself. Remind yourself that you are, indeed, amazing.

Maybe we can’t always fight this horrible culture that tries to devalue us and force us to confirm to unrealistic ideals. Maybe those damaging messages about what a woman “should” look like aren’t going to go away, now or possibly ever.

But we don’t have to listen. Please, just spend a day not listening.

Penny, I still love you.

Hullo.

I am Sullivan. Penny’s husband, for the time being. I asked her if I could write a guest post because well… it felt right.

I have loved Penny for a very long time, in the beginning it was a story book romance. I won’t say it was love at first sight, but from the moment I first saw her I knew she was going to be someone very important and I was right. She has been the single most influential force in my life.

I have watched her slowly process and heal from deep wounds, I have held her through long nights of terrors and through crippling sexual anxiety. I have done my best to encourage her growth and self discovery, even though I am often slow in these areas myself. We have had a strong relationship for the last six years.

We have definitely had our rough spots and there have been recurring issues. Through it all our love for one another has always won out.

Six months ago she approached me about looking into the local kink scene and exploring her sexuality. I happily encouraged her to do so, I was tentative as well. I was aware that this could highlight problems in our relationship or possibly create new ones. But what she was looking for was not something that I was capable of giving her. I, after all, do not have a vagina or the ‘feminine experience’ for that matter. It was a part of herself that she needed to learn about. Had I denied her then, it would at best only have postponed what we are going through now. It would certainly have lead to harder times in the future.

For my part, as her partner, all I have wanted was to see her happy. That isn’t entirely true, I wanted to make her happy. That however, isn’t always possible. The best I could do in this was to give her the space to figure herself out, for herself.

Was I afraid of what might come? Of course. I was aroused by the fact that she was bisexual. I was happy that she was exploring her sexuality and finding a sex drive again. I was afraid that she might find someone to replace me, or discover she was in fact not interested in men at all.
But what could I do about it? If she did meet someone to replace me then our relationship wasn’t what I thought it was in the first place. If she discovered she was only interested in women sexually then why try and trap her in a straight marriage?

Little did I know… or did I?

I told her months before she came out to me that “I would always love you, even if you realize that you are gay.”

Of course I didn’t ‘know’ but it wasn’t really out of the blue. I mean I hoped that wouldn’t be the case, I didn’t want to ‘lose her’.
Now that the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, things have been difficult but my feelings for her haven’t changed much. I still love her, I always will. Ironically we talk more about the things we should have talked about earlier in our relationship. We have cried a lot more lately, this shit ain’t easy. Neither is maintaining the living situation we have but we can’t afford to up and leave.

It has been easier to look back at the relationship without the rosy shades. It is easier to see the little things we overlooked or told ourselves didn’t matter, for the sake of one another’s happiness. It is also easier to see the trend in her sexuality now.

Now that we are on this end of the relationship we are learning what it is like to be friends who used to be lovers. She is still one of the most important people in my life and I love her deeply.
She will always be a close friend, a compatriot, a loved one. She will continue to have my support and encouragement. I believe she will find her place, now, here. I believe she will find a truer and deeper happiness now and that makes it all worthwhile.

Lonely, or just alone?

So, an email chat with this lovely lady got me thinking. Why don’t we know how to be alone?

She and I are both going through similar things: mourning a transition in close relationships in our lives, getting used to the idea that we may have to be and live and exist on our own for a while… for maybe a long while. We’re both frightened by the prospect, both nervous about moving through this new world of aloneness.

I spoke with my therapist about that very thing this week. I find myself positioned between my past self and my future self. My past self is young and afraid. She doesn’t believe she can care for herself. She knows she’s going to be lonely. She worries she’ll fall apart. On the other hand, she’s a romantic. She loves and values the people in her life, reaches out when she’s in need, allows others to take care of her.

My future self is confident, comfortable with being on her own. My future self enjoys the people in her life but is ultimately self reliant, needing and relying on no one. She can take care of herself, motivate herself, reach all her goals. She follows her own path and doesn’t make life decisions based on what others want from her. In all honesty, though, this supremely independent future self is also a little bitter, mistrustful of those close to her because she’s learned that others will always let you down. She doesn’t let herself get too attached to people. She’s convinced herself that she can’t – and thus, won’t – trust other people to come through for her or be there when she needs them. So she convinces herself she’ll never need them.

Neither of these women is fully me. They both have strengths and faults. They’re each wrong about certain things, and wise in others. My challenge right now is finding the balance between them.

Bottom line is, it takes a lot of courage to be alone. It takes a lot of trust in oneself, a lot of determination. But being alone is not without its perks. It means the freedom to self-determine; to make the choices that work for me and only me. I think women are often taught to sacrifice their dreams and desires on the altar of Family, Responsibility, or Relationship. There’s always someone else we have to take care of, watch over, look after, nurture, encourage… And in return we’re given the vague impression that it will come back around somehow, that there will be someone to take care of us, watch over us, look after us, nurture and encourage us. I think there are probably more lonely women who are in relationships that lonely women who are alone.

So I will take care of, watch over, look after, nurture, and encourage myself. First and foremost. By myself. Without expecting or hoping that there will be someone else there to do it for me. And when loneliness does strike (and it will)… I’ll do what I need to do to get through. I’ll call a friend. Play an instrument. Paint a D&D mini. Go for a walk. Learn a language. Write a blog post more than a day in advance. Browse the internet until my eyeballs fall out. Develop interests.

I’m good at being a friend to others. Let’s see how good a friend I can be to myself.


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