Take emotional risks

I’m collapsing this into my Be Brave goal to clear up some space. A shorter list feels smarter to me.

In that one moment, I gave my heart away.

I had a nice conversation with a friend on Sunday. I hadn’t talked to him in several weeks because work and love have kept me busy and, more importantly, because I haven’t enjoyed talking to him lately. It’s a litany of complaint and details about his sex life from him and a great deal of forbearance on mine. He left me a message asking me to drop him a line or call so he would know I’m okay, so I called him. It turned out to be a lovely, fun call that reminded me of how sweet and supportive he can be when he chooses.

It also brought up, AGAIN, the issue of why I stay friends with people who are difficult, mean, dramatic, demanding, etc., etc. The answer in this man’s case is that he was there for me in a difficult time and he loves me. The same is true for another difficult friend. She was there for me and she loves me. As I thought this, a quiet voice in my head offered this thought:

“Everyone loves you. That doesn’t mean you have to be everyone’s friend.”

Okay, a bit of an overstatement perhaps. It is true (and it feels very smug to say this) that almost everyone I meet likes me. I’m one of those people. It is also true that I’m able to love those whom a lot of people find unlovable and those that love me don’t easily let me go. (I’m tired and don’t know if that sentence made any sense.) Anyway, the point is that just because someone loves me doesn’t mean that I am required to stay their friend if the friendship has run its course or we no longer share interests or proximity. I am allowed to end friendships that don’t feed me and that I find draining. Sound obvious? To me it sounds presumptuous and terrifying. I’ve never had people cling to me as a friend before the last few years. I think Bay Area Californians may have an edge in letting go of relationships, with a corresponding handicap in holding on to them. The determination to stay friends when it no longer serves both people is odd and uncomfortable to me.

I need to grow up and accept the fact that these people may dislike me and be angry if I end these friendships. They may be hurt. That doesn’t make me a bad person. It’s time to practice what I preach and limit or stop contact with those who drain me. NOW…do I have the courage?

Mr. Man asked if I wanted to move in with him. We were in bed, our faces inches apart. I said, immediately and quietly, “No.” He said, “Okay,” and seemed fine with it. I wasn’t sure if he was serious or teasing me so I asked. He was serious. I told him that I haven’t lived alone for 20 years and that it was just way too soon to consider that. It’s been only 5 months! It kind of freaked me out that he would ask me that so soon. Thinking about it later, I realized that I wouldn’t like not having my own space (it’s a one bedroom apt). He understood my reasoning and was fine with it. I’m glad that I let my heart answer for me without trying to formulate a correct response. I knew the answer was “no” so I didn’t sugarcoat it. I’m glad he responded well.

I’m still a little concerned. I thought we were on the same page with the “move slow” thing. Maybe not.

i asked something that maybe i shouldn’t have asked, but it all turned out alright. :)

Last night I fell apart in Mr. Man’s bed. A viciously vivid nightmare about my husband’s suicide brought up all sorts of old poison. I shared with him the thoughts and beliefs that make me writhe in shame and sorrow and pain and he listened and held me and gently steered me from punishing myself. He looked at me with such love and compassion. Seeing his anger at how I had been hurt was healing, too, though he was very careful to not place blame. I was amazed, though not surprised, at his maturity and unselfish support.

This morning, after maybe three hours sleep and an extended period of weeping, my eyelids were swollen, my eyes were red, my skin was blotchy and my lips were dry and cracked. That crazy man looked at me as if he was the luckiest man on earth. It’s scary to trust him because I don’t trust my ability to make wise choices in love relationships. I told him that. He shared some of his insecurities. I am so blessed to have this man in my life and my heart. I’m glad that I trusted him and didn’t listen to the fear.

Mr. Man and I have said The Words. The Three Words. The words that if we were still just friends, I probably would have told him by now with no reserve, in a “I just love you!” way. But we said it with a bit of amazement and a healthy helping of glee. He looks at me, really looks at me, when he says it. Sometimes it’s hard not to hide my face. It takes courage for me to love him and accept his love. I don’t know where the courage comes from but I’m glad to find it inside me.

I had a very interesting dream on Sunday. I dreamed that I fell asleep on a bench and woke up in a tree. I somehow knew that I was surrounded by buzzards (a kind of vulture) that had brought me there. The young male buzzards were saying that I belonged there, that I was one of them. The old, wise female buzzard told them, “Just because the dead are for her doesn’t mean she is for the dead.” I opened my eyes at that and even though they were out of sight, she knew I was awake and told the others, “Put her back. NOW.” In the dream, I woke up on the bench. In real life, I thought it was interesting, given that vultures have been seen in some cultures as carrying the souls of the dead.

Two of my close friends had the same immediate reaction. They thought it was about my dead husband. Well, duh, with the second anniversary of his death coming up next month and me in the first relationship in which I can see myself sharing my heart. I truly hadn’t seen it. One of them said that it made sense for me to be scared of love and being loved, given my history. When she said that, I almost cried. The last time I loved and was loved, it ended with my life and identity burned to the ground.

My husband loved me immensely. He also betrayed me immensely, marrying me while still married to his first wife, lying almost continually throughout our five year relationship and leaving me with a huge debt load. Toward the end, his mental illness and alcoholism were so advanced that he was delusional, unsure what constituted reality and what was lies or fantasy. My own mental health was shattered by years of digging us out of avalanches while keeping a job, keeping up appearances, helping him back onto his feet, supporting him through multiple rehabs and trying to come to terms with how someone so brilliant and inherently gentle could act so self-destructively and hurtfully. His suicide note said that he’d manifested his love in strange and horrible ways but that he had always loved me. I believe that.

We had been separated a little over two months when he killed himself, on the day the annulment of a marriage that never legally existed would have been final. I had no family or real friends nearer than 3,000 miles away. My next roommate was schizophrenic and pregnant (though she wasn’t sure the babies were hers, which even now I think is a teensy bit funny because it all worked out okay). I had just quit my job. I moved to another house with another roommate. I shipped boxes and boxes of books, clothing and other items to his parents. I found a new job, I rebound-dated, I went to therapy, I went nuts, I got better.

All of that to say this: It makes absolute sense that I’m terrified of loving and being loved by someone. Did I really think that my experiences in casual dating had prepared me for the prospect of an actual relationship? OF COURSE, I feel unprepared. I am unprepared! All sorts of historical fear is going to spring out at me at awkward times. But I also know that it is unfair and nonsensical for me to let my past blind me to the present’s truth.

Mr. Man wouldn’t hurt me. He’s going slow because this matters to him; he takes it seriously. I’m so defensive about the idea that we’re a couple because being a couple hurt last time and I’m scared of leaving my safe, casual, shallow cocoon. In the end I chose health and self-love over a relationship that was damaging to me. That gives me courage. I’m still scared of what I might blind myself to in the future. But ultimately, I am much more scared of whom I will become if I don’t take this risk and dare love. I’m going for it, ladies and gentlemen. I am going to trust my heart and distrust my phantom fears. I’m going to vote with the wise old woman/soul-bringer in my dream who knew that I was not for the dead. I’m for the living and the dead, dear as they were to me, have no claim.

Mr. Crush and I have gotten to the less yippee! part that mature, conscious adults go through on their way to getting to the full-out YIPPEE! part. It’s time to tell each other those things that we believe may make the other person call a halt to the lovely kissing, hugging, backrubs, hand-holding, moony looks and silly grins. What he’s told me are all things which don’t tip the balance of joy to difficulty out of whack. He’s still working out how far the joy to anxiety balance has tipped for him after we had a difficult conversation this weekend.

It was scary and the hopeless romantic in me wanted him to immediately shout, “Nothing can keep me from you!” and sweep me into a huge hug and kiss, maybe with a nice dip at the end for effect. This not being a 1940s movie, he instead continued to hold and hug and kiss me while looking concerned and we talked a little more but came to no definitive statements one way or the other. Then, because it was early in the morning and we’d been up all night, we fell asleep. Which was perfect and gorgeous and perfect and tender and kind of really perfect in a why-did-it-have-to-be-so-damn-perfect?! way. Then we woke up and that was lovely and sweet and completely comfortable and affectionate and still I have no idea where he stands with what I told him. [I do adore and trust you but I’m not gonna go into all the gory conversational details. It’s nothing too horrid. I don’t have ebola or turn into a mutant earthworm at night or anything. Just personal stuff.]

I’ve thought about it since then. I’ve thought of nothing else since then, actually. It feels good to be so honest with each other, to share the scary stuff that leaves us vulnerable. It’s clear to me now that our friendship will be okay no matter what we decide to do or be in the future and that’s a HUGE worry gone. I have never been so naked (not literally, Flirt, no need for intervention!) in front of someone that I wanted to date. There’s no attempt to impress or hide, just two people who care about and are attracted to each other and want to do this right. I know that no matter what he decides, I will have learned more about how to date smarter and be true to myself and be brave in these past few weeks than I could have imagined when I first thought, “Huh. I think I have a crush on…” It’s good that we’ll have two weeks apart to think about what we need and want. He’s a very thoughtful man, so I know he’ll be turning it over in his mind.

All of which is very self-aware and non-attached to outcome and peaceful and loving. I feel very calm and accepting and almost protective of him as he works out his feelings toward me. Then there’s the part of me that is praying with all her might that what he wants is me, that is sending up petitions to every diety ever known or imagined, that thinks of what it was like to feel his arms wrap around me as I woke up and who knows what a damn shame it would be if it didn’t happen because of fear.

I’m giving that hopeful petitioner dark chocolate, emotional music and plenty of space in my journal. Send her a cyberhug, if you have time and the inclination. She’s feeling very brave for taking a necessary emotional risk but also pretty fragile and exposed.

I’ve written it here a dozen times and told my friends hundreds more: I need a lot of time alone. One of my friends, who has benefitted from the kinder, more relaxed me that having enough time alone has created, has decided to respond by increasing her phone calls and emails and requests to get together.

Sigh.

I can’t remember the last day she didn’t make some sort of contact. She wants me to call her if I go out to meet mutual friends so that she can come see me. Not that I mind her being there but it’s kind of odd to me that she would go there only if I am. It feels sort of smothering. I need to talk to her about it. We’ve been through this before, a few times, so I know that she understands how I feel. I just need to remind her. I’m hesitating because it feels so mean. I’m basically telling her, “I don’t want to see you as often as you want to see me.” But if I don’t do it, I’ll start to get resentful and ignore her completely. That’s not a good option.