Well. Now isn't that interesting.
Whether I care to admit it or not, I am definitely a child of the 80's. One of the iconic cultural figures from that era was a character portrayed by Dana Carvey on Saturday Night Live. Simply called, "The Church Lady," Carvey dressed up as the stereotypical prim and pious older lady at church and would interview show guests and "answer letters." True to character, The Church Lady was always judging her guests for their moral impropriety (in her eyes) and to some of their statements she would simply say, "Well. Now isn't that interesting."
Moments later, she'd say her line that we still quote today, which is, "Could it be.... Saaaaaatan?"
Today I'm not blogging about Satan. I'm blogging about... well, isn't that interesting.
As we all know, a wonderful friend of mine sent me four books to read to help me through this difficult time. When they arrived, I went into the project with that less-than-enthusiastic attitude of "I know this is good for me, so I should do it." Sigh. I stacked the four books in the order I decided I would read them, an order determined solely by what I knew -- or didn't know -- about the author, the blurbs about the books on their jackets or back covers, and the title.
Anyone else thinking the line, "You can't judge a book by its cover?"
I started with the book that seemed to be the most promising. The author was the only one of the four I recognized, and the title et al promised insights into how to love, making oneself loveable, etc. I made it about 2/3 of the way through that book before I gave up, not because it wasn't interesting, but because the further along I went, the more geared the advice and insights were towards those currently in relationships. Although I could glean a tidbit here or there, mostly it was like pouring salt in an open wound. I made a mental note to return to itif when I was in a relationship again.
I moved along to book number two. This one was more interesting, and I even posted a quote or two from it on my Facebook page. Not too shabby, considering it made the list at number two to be read mostly because it was small. I admit, I'm goal-oriented. I even recommended it to a friend, in part because the book's strong views on Buddhist spirituality would resonate with him.
Then came book number three. I wrestled with this one, putting it down for days at a time. I've written about this one -- in many ways the book is very circular, beating down the same piece of advice over and over and over and over again. But just when I thought my book report could consist of one sentence, I'd come across something that would make me reach for my highlighter. Yes, highlighter.
Which brings us to book number four, the one that was at the bottom of the list because, based on my shallow judgements, it was the least interesting. Boy, was I wrong. The subject matter and author's style are fascinating, and it's another "keep the highlighter handy" book for me. The author is a "shame researcher;" she has spent her career researching and speaking about how shame -- and henceforth vulnerability -- shapes us and our culture, and how we can overcome it to live greater, more daring lives.
But this blog isn't about self-help books or reviews of literature. It's about dating, my drama, and, at this moment, my recovery. So, back to the actual topic, filtered through the insights I'm gaining through my reading.
Last night was a rough night. It wasn't because I didn't sleep; I slept well in spite of a 10:30 pm phone call waking me up. What made it rough, ultimately, is that I woke up in the morning realizing I'd dreamt all night about the ex. Mostly he appeared in the form of text messages, with some interaction, and the scenarios were largely implausible. For one example, I was with my parents at the scene of some carnage because they knew the victims (extremely implausible), and the ex, who in my dreams was my BF again, had texted me the headline saying something like "we should keep these people in our prayers" and I responded by sending him pictures of where I was -- actually there.
Paging Dr. Freud. Dr. Freud, please come to the exam room. Dr. Freud, please come to the exam room.
I am facing these dreams the same way I've taken to facing other thoughts and memories that arise. I am welcoming them, addressing them head-on. I have found -- this is stemming from advice from one of the books -- that doing so does indeed help me work through them and move on, rather than dodging them, tucking them away, saying, "I can't deal with you right now." Yes, it is at times a painful process. Healing is sometimes painful, period. There are still thoughts and memories I struggle with significantly when they arise, but I am doing my best to be brave and address them, because ultimately I want them to be warm memories of what was a brief but great relationship as opposed to reminders of "what could have been."
I have also come to a major realization for me. I may have admitted this before on this blog, but I don't know if I have so clearly. Unlike previous relationships, which after a couple of weeks post-break-up faded into semi-oblivion, I truly and honestly miss him. Let me rewrite that with the appropriate emphasis: I miss him.
I did miss the infamous P for a while, about 2 weeks or so, but what I was missing was mostly, admittedly, the physical. I'd been off the market, sexually, for over 10 years, and while sex with him bordered on abusive, I had been willing enough to go there with him, and he with me -- he even pursued me for it. It was something I really had never experienced, or at least allowed myself to experience, and like a drug I found myself yearning for it even though it wasn't necessarily healthy.
I will flat-out say that the intimate times with the ex were by far the best I have ever had. By. Far. Not just for the physical acts, but because of the interpersonal intimacy. It was that difference between "having sex" and "making love." And although my body misses him in that way, I am honestly realizing that I miss much, much more than that. I miss being able to have conversations with him, conversations about religion, music, the state of our world, the arts in general, good food, what is going on at work. I miss sitting and drinking wine with him, listening to music and just enjoying the comfortable quiet of two people who "get" each other. Not a day goes by where I don't come across something that I desperately want to share with him, but I don't. Reconciliation requires patience, time, respect, and boundaries.
When I texted him on Monday morning about his weekend, I also said, "Have a great Monday." His reply included, "Have a great week." Maybe I'm reading way too much into it, but that said to me that I probably shouldn't be in touch the rest of this week. So far, I've been able to do that save one email -- and in my defense, the email went to about 60 people and was self-promotion for a new classical album I am on. It is a fine line between taking chances -- being vulnerable -- and overstepping bounds that aren't ready to be breached.
That final weekend for us did a lot of damage. Able to really, earnestly look back at it now with the perspective of someone whose endocrine levels are finally "normal" again, I can admit that I had become an overly-sensitive, hyper-paranoid, irrationally reacting, filterless psycho bitch, and I was using anything to justify my actions. While it truly was the drug, much more so than anything else I was choosing to blame it on, what it did broke trust. We had a great, extremely deep connection, but we hadn't known each other all that long before that happened. For all he knew, that crazy bitch is what I became once I settled into a relationship. To rebuild that kind of broken trust will take a long time. He will have to develop it on his own to the point where he thinks grabbing a cup of coffee together will be "safe." From there, the occasional in-person interactions may slowly show him that I really am not that person I was on that weekend.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: the ball is in his court, and I have to trust it there. Time is not my enemy, even though it feels like it at times. When he is ready -- and when God's time has determined it -- we'll be honest friends. More than that? Not for me to know. I can't control the future, all I can do is be vulnerable, allow myself to be hurt, and dare to live life fully.
Well. Now isn't that interesting.
Moments later, she'd say her line that we still quote today, which is, "Could it be.... Saaaaaatan?"
Today I'm not blogging about Satan. I'm blogging about... well, isn't that interesting.
As we all know, a wonderful friend of mine sent me four books to read to help me through this difficult time. When they arrived, I went into the project with that less-than-enthusiastic attitude of "I know this is good for me, so I should do it." Sigh. I stacked the four books in the order I decided I would read them, an order determined solely by what I knew -- or didn't know -- about the author, the blurbs about the books on their jackets or back covers, and the title.
Anyone else thinking the line, "You can't judge a book by its cover?"
I started with the book that seemed to be the most promising. The author was the only one of the four I recognized, and the title et al promised insights into how to love, making oneself loveable, etc. I made it about 2/3 of the way through that book before I gave up, not because it wasn't interesting, but because the further along I went, the more geared the advice and insights were towards those currently in relationships. Although I could glean a tidbit here or there, mostly it was like pouring salt in an open wound. I made a mental note to return to it
I moved along to book number two. This one was more interesting, and I even posted a quote or two from it on my Facebook page. Not too shabby, considering it made the list at number two to be read mostly because it was small. I admit, I'm goal-oriented. I even recommended it to a friend, in part because the book's strong views on Buddhist spirituality would resonate with him.
Then came book number three. I wrestled with this one, putting it down for days at a time. I've written about this one -- in many ways the book is very circular, beating down the same piece of advice over and over and over and over again. But just when I thought my book report could consist of one sentence, I'd come across something that would make me reach for my highlighter. Yes, highlighter.
Which brings us to book number four, the one that was at the bottom of the list because, based on my shallow judgements, it was the least interesting. Boy, was I wrong. The subject matter and author's style are fascinating, and it's another "keep the highlighter handy" book for me. The author is a "shame researcher;" she has spent her career researching and speaking about how shame -- and henceforth vulnerability -- shapes us and our culture, and how we can overcome it to live greater, more daring lives.
But this blog isn't about self-help books or reviews of literature. It's about dating, my drama, and, at this moment, my recovery. So, back to the actual topic, filtered through the insights I'm gaining through my reading.
Last night was a rough night. It wasn't because I didn't sleep; I slept well in spite of a 10:30 pm phone call waking me up. What made it rough, ultimately, is that I woke up in the morning realizing I'd dreamt all night about the ex. Mostly he appeared in the form of text messages, with some interaction, and the scenarios were largely implausible. For one example, I was with my parents at the scene of some carnage because they knew the victims (extremely implausible), and the ex, who in my dreams was my BF again, had texted me the headline saying something like "we should keep these people in our prayers" and I responded by sending him pictures of where I was -- actually there.
Paging Dr. Freud. Dr. Freud, please come to the exam room. Dr. Freud, please come to the exam room.
I am facing these dreams the same way I've taken to facing other thoughts and memories that arise. I am welcoming them, addressing them head-on. I have found -- this is stemming from advice from one of the books -- that doing so does indeed help me work through them and move on, rather than dodging them, tucking them away, saying, "I can't deal with you right now." Yes, it is at times a painful process. Healing is sometimes painful, period. There are still thoughts and memories I struggle with significantly when they arise, but I am doing my best to be brave and address them, because ultimately I want them to be warm memories of what was a brief but great relationship as opposed to reminders of "what could have been."
I have also come to a major realization for me. I may have admitted this before on this blog, but I don't know if I have so clearly. Unlike previous relationships, which after a couple of weeks post-break-up faded into semi-oblivion, I truly and honestly miss him. Let me rewrite that with the appropriate emphasis: I miss him.
I did miss the infamous P for a while, about 2 weeks or so, but what I was missing was mostly, admittedly, the physical. I'd been off the market, sexually, for over 10 years, and while sex with him bordered on abusive, I had been willing enough to go there with him, and he with me -- he even pursued me for it. It was something I really had never experienced, or at least allowed myself to experience, and like a drug I found myself yearning for it even though it wasn't necessarily healthy.
I will flat-out say that the intimate times with the ex were by far the best I have ever had. By. Far. Not just for the physical acts, but because of the interpersonal intimacy. It was that difference between "having sex" and "making love." And although my body misses him in that way, I am honestly realizing that I miss much, much more than that. I miss being able to have conversations with him, conversations about religion, music, the state of our world, the arts in general, good food, what is going on at work. I miss sitting and drinking wine with him, listening to music and just enjoying the comfortable quiet of two people who "get" each other. Not a day goes by where I don't come across something that I desperately want to share with him, but I don't. Reconciliation requires patience, time, respect, and boundaries.
When I texted him on Monday morning about his weekend, I also said, "Have a great Monday." His reply included, "Have a great week." Maybe I'm reading way too much into it, but that said to me that I probably shouldn't be in touch the rest of this week. So far, I've been able to do that save one email -- and in my defense, the email went to about 60 people and was self-promotion for a new classical album I am on. It is a fine line between taking chances -- being vulnerable -- and overstepping bounds that aren't ready to be breached.
That final weekend for us did a lot of damage. Able to really, earnestly look back at it now with the perspective of someone whose endocrine levels are finally "normal" again, I can admit that I had become an overly-sensitive, hyper-paranoid, irrationally reacting, filterless psycho bitch, and I was using anything to justify my actions. While it truly was the drug, much more so than anything else I was choosing to blame it on, what it did broke trust. We had a great, extremely deep connection, but we hadn't known each other all that long before that happened. For all he knew, that crazy bitch is what I became once I settled into a relationship. To rebuild that kind of broken trust will take a long time. He will have to develop it on his own to the point where he thinks grabbing a cup of coffee together will be "safe." From there, the occasional in-person interactions may slowly show him that I really am not that person I was on that weekend.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: the ball is in his court, and I have to trust it there. Time is not my enemy, even though it feels like it at times. When he is ready -- and when God's time has determined it -- we'll be honest friends. More than that? Not for me to know. I can't control the future, all I can do is be vulnerable, allow myself to be hurt, and dare to live life fully.
Well. Now isn't that interesting.
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