[Headspace] Just thoughts. Rambly ones.
Jul. 17th, 2008 11:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sihayadesignsSo, because I've been in a reflective mood of late, I decided to read over some of my old tags.
2006 was an exceedingly painful year for me. After a year of fighting and an abortive attempt at an open relationship (and much deceit) Mike and I had broken up, but we were still painfully and ridiculously dysfunctionally attached to one another. We attempted a friendship; it didn't work. We just kept talking in circles about what it would take to get back together, revisiting the many reasons why we broke up, and mostly refusing to accept that it was really over and we wouldn't get our Happily Ever After. So often, he would say or do things that reminded me that he really is a good person, a caring person, a nurturing person, a thoughtful and compassionate partner, and that was something I'd lacked for so long. But it wouldn't last. I couldn't accept it, and was angry with him for not trying harder. In truth, things had been bad for about a year with constant arguing, but we'd grown somewhat co-dependent, so breaking up felt like stabbing myself. I had physical anxiety for well over a year. Still, holding onto an illusion that things could be fixed, the rose-tinted remembrance of the way things used to be seemed to push me on in spite of that. It was pretty unhealthy.
I was also severely depressed to the point where it degraded my ability to function.
Sometime that year, Skyler and I had started to date in a non-committed way, and he was trying to be supportive. I remembered the time he loaned me Panther, his only and highly-valued stuffed animal. It was a really touching gesture at a time where I was emotionally a wreck, and it reminded me that there were some really good times there, some moments of genuine compassion. Considering all the anger I'd felt about how he handled our second try at a relationship, those parts can be easy to gloss over and discount. Of course, as I continued to read, my reaction was a solid "WHAT? Why didn't you DTMFA?" and I had to stop when I got to skip?=80 and it had been nothing but rants for three pages and I was starting to vibrate with rage. However-- I reacted poorly (if justifiably) to much of his asshattery, and my part in that is not something I'm proud of. We were both admittedly too scared to let the other person in. Add to that that he thought he was moving away and that added a lot of strain to the relationship on top of our incompatible conflict styles. I didn't want to commit, and I didn't want him to go, it was all too scary and vulnerable and I was ready to bolt until about a year in. It was all fear and shame. I was a total mess, and that couldn't have been easy to deal with, relationship problems or no. I felt like someone split in two-- in love with the memory of a past relationship, and struggling with feelings for someone I knew I'd soon lose. I felt like everything that mattered to me was slipping away. I was losing my grip. I was shattering, and I had no idea how to even pick up the pieces.
In retrospect, Skyler and I should have stayed broken up after the first major breakup. I say major because there were a handful of little breakups, like a fault line releasing pressure right before an earthquake. I think I just didn't want things to have ended so violently, and I really did believe him when he said he'd work to make things right again. I wanted to honor that kernel of love that somehow managed to exist in the dysfunctional clusterfuck of our first attempt. And you know, my Shadows were all "I'm good enough. I can fix this. I can have your approval again." Which, well. Our Shadows were unmixy things, as the eventual de-evolution back to Suckville attested. Plus, being lied to blows in a major way.
It was the strangest experience re-reading it all-- these secret histories. I had a lump in my throat, and I cried. It was like I was reading about someone else, though I still carry the memories. I look back at that girl and wish I could hug her and tell her to just cut it out. Step away from the emotionally vicious bastard. Be single and sort herself out, independent of a relationship, until she was strong enough to stand on her own two feet. But as fucked up as I was, I probably wouldn't have listened. It took me until September of last year to really get to the point where I was tired-- tired-- of my dysfunctional behaviors and having dysfunctional relationships and all the drama that comes with them. I mean, I'd made some progress with it before Skyler and I got back together. I couldn't afford therapy out of pocket, so I got books on NonViolent Communication and started working through those and journaling to the prompts. It helped some; it was genuinely good again for about three months when we got back together, but it wasn't until I was resolutely single and totally able to do things on my own terms that I started to feel solid ground beneath me again.
It has been a whirlwind since that September. Several people have told me that it's been like watching a flower blossom. Therapy helped me to be more aware of myself and how I contribute to my own dramas. I completely reevaluated my dating criteria. I dated several people successfully with 95% less drama than any previous romantic entanglement. I poured myself into things that were mine-- my dancing, my business. I started teaching myself to stand on my own two feet, by my own criteria of what makes me a good person, a healthy person, and a solid partner-to-be. And what I found is that owning a car doesn't matter one bit in that equation.
I've been pursuing my relationship with Jason in equal parts romantic abandon and concern. When I say "romantic abandon," I mean consciously deciding to trust him and the fact that he has my best interests at heart, and not holding back my emotional availability just 'cause I've got some scars. When I say 'concern' it's not a concern that I'm glossing over red flags... I do have the added bonus here of having known him for nearly two years, and I haven't seen a red flag yet. My friends, who I've asked to be hawk-eyed about this because of my acknowledged blind spots, have pretty much passed him with flying colors. I say 'concern' because I need to be conscious of myself and maintaining healthy practices in the relationship. Making sure I am nit-picky honest. Making sure I am clear in my communication. Making sure I handle my own baggage in the most responsible manner of which I'm capable. Making sure I maintain my own identity and boundaries that are healthy for me. Basically, being as conscious and aware as I can possibly be.
In a way it's a sort of recovery process-- I'd been in unhealthy relationships for so long that having a healthy relationship takes a lot of conscious effort, a lot of time spent contemplating checks and balances. I don't have the luxury of auto-pilot, and honestly, I don't think any healthy relationship does. Truly, it's a lot of work. It's not always work that's visible, but it's on my mind a lot. And it's paying off tremendously. In return, I have a relationship where I've had one moment of conflict to date, and it was handled responsibly. I have a relationship where my partner and I have discussed the importance of ethics and honesty as the foundation of our relationship. I have a relationship full of affection and support and very low levels of anxiety. It's worth every single ounce of effort on both our parts, and we're both putting it in equally. There is a level of security here that I've never had before, and it's not just the relationship itself. It's me knowing that we're both secure people who want to be healthy people, independently of one another, and we happen to work just as well as a team.
So. The path continues, but I'm glad that I'm at a place where I can look back and see how far I've come.
2006 was an exceedingly painful year for me. After a year of fighting and an abortive attempt at an open relationship (and much deceit) Mike and I had broken up, but we were still painfully and ridiculously dysfunctionally attached to one another. We attempted a friendship; it didn't work. We just kept talking in circles about what it would take to get back together, revisiting the many reasons why we broke up, and mostly refusing to accept that it was really over and we wouldn't get our Happily Ever After. So often, he would say or do things that reminded me that he really is a good person, a caring person, a nurturing person, a thoughtful and compassionate partner, and that was something I'd lacked for so long. But it wouldn't last. I couldn't accept it, and was angry with him for not trying harder. In truth, things had been bad for about a year with constant arguing, but we'd grown somewhat co-dependent, so breaking up felt like stabbing myself. I had physical anxiety for well over a year. Still, holding onto an illusion that things could be fixed, the rose-tinted remembrance of the way things used to be seemed to push me on in spite of that. It was pretty unhealthy.
I was also severely depressed to the point where it degraded my ability to function.
Sometime that year, Skyler and I had started to date in a non-committed way, and he was trying to be supportive. I remembered the time he loaned me Panther, his only and highly-valued stuffed animal. It was a really touching gesture at a time where I was emotionally a wreck, and it reminded me that there were some really good times there, some moments of genuine compassion. Considering all the anger I'd felt about how he handled our second try at a relationship, those parts can be easy to gloss over and discount. Of course, as I continued to read, my reaction was a solid "WHAT? Why didn't you DTMFA?" and I had to stop when I got to skip?=80 and it had been nothing but rants for three pages and I was starting to vibrate with rage. However-- I reacted poorly (if justifiably) to much of his asshattery, and my part in that is not something I'm proud of. We were both admittedly too scared to let the other person in. Add to that that he thought he was moving away and that added a lot of strain to the relationship on top of our incompatible conflict styles. I didn't want to commit, and I didn't want him to go, it was all too scary and vulnerable and I was ready to bolt until about a year in. It was all fear and shame. I was a total mess, and that couldn't have been easy to deal with, relationship problems or no. I felt like someone split in two-- in love with the memory of a past relationship, and struggling with feelings for someone I knew I'd soon lose. I felt like everything that mattered to me was slipping away. I was losing my grip. I was shattering, and I had no idea how to even pick up the pieces.
In retrospect, Skyler and I should have stayed broken up after the first major breakup. I say major because there were a handful of little breakups, like a fault line releasing pressure right before an earthquake. I think I just didn't want things to have ended so violently, and I really did believe him when he said he'd work to make things right again. I wanted to honor that kernel of love that somehow managed to exist in the dysfunctional clusterfuck of our first attempt. And you know, my Shadows were all "I'm good enough. I can fix this. I can have your approval again." Which, well. Our Shadows were unmixy things, as the eventual de-evolution back to Suckville attested. Plus, being lied to blows in a major way.
It was the strangest experience re-reading it all-- these secret histories. I had a lump in my throat, and I cried. It was like I was reading about someone else, though I still carry the memories. I look back at that girl and wish I could hug her and tell her to just cut it out. Step away from the emotionally vicious bastard. Be single and sort herself out, independent of a relationship, until she was strong enough to stand on her own two feet. But as fucked up as I was, I probably wouldn't have listened. It took me until September of last year to really get to the point where I was tired-- tired-- of my dysfunctional behaviors and having dysfunctional relationships and all the drama that comes with them. I mean, I'd made some progress with it before Skyler and I got back together. I couldn't afford therapy out of pocket, so I got books on NonViolent Communication and started working through those and journaling to the prompts. It helped some; it was genuinely good again for about three months when we got back together, but it wasn't until I was resolutely single and totally able to do things on my own terms that I started to feel solid ground beneath me again.
It has been a whirlwind since that September. Several people have told me that it's been like watching a flower blossom. Therapy helped me to be more aware of myself and how I contribute to my own dramas. I completely reevaluated my dating criteria. I dated several people successfully with 95% less drama than any previous romantic entanglement. I poured myself into things that were mine-- my dancing, my business. I started teaching myself to stand on my own two feet, by my own criteria of what makes me a good person, a healthy person, and a solid partner-to-be. And what I found is that owning a car doesn't matter one bit in that equation.
I've been pursuing my relationship with Jason in equal parts romantic abandon and concern. When I say "romantic abandon," I mean consciously deciding to trust him and the fact that he has my best interests at heart, and not holding back my emotional availability just 'cause I've got some scars. When I say 'concern' it's not a concern that I'm glossing over red flags... I do have the added bonus here of having known him for nearly two years, and I haven't seen a red flag yet. My friends, who I've asked to be hawk-eyed about this because of my acknowledged blind spots, have pretty much passed him with flying colors. I say 'concern' because I need to be conscious of myself and maintaining healthy practices in the relationship. Making sure I am nit-picky honest. Making sure I am clear in my communication. Making sure I handle my own baggage in the most responsible manner of which I'm capable. Making sure I maintain my own identity and boundaries that are healthy for me. Basically, being as conscious and aware as I can possibly be.
In a way it's a sort of recovery process-- I'd been in unhealthy relationships for so long that having a healthy relationship takes a lot of conscious effort, a lot of time spent contemplating checks and balances. I don't have the luxury of auto-pilot, and honestly, I don't think any healthy relationship does. Truly, it's a lot of work. It's not always work that's visible, but it's on my mind a lot. And it's paying off tremendously. In return, I have a relationship where I've had one moment of conflict to date, and it was handled responsibly. I have a relationship where my partner and I have discussed the importance of ethics and honesty as the foundation of our relationship. I have a relationship full of affection and support and very low levels of anxiety. It's worth every single ounce of effort on both our parts, and we're both putting it in equally. There is a level of security here that I've never had before, and it's not just the relationship itself. It's me knowing that we're both secure people who want to be healthy people, independently of one another, and we happen to work just as well as a team.
So. The path continues, but I'm glad that I'm at a place where I can look back and see how far I've come.
