Originally posted July 22, 2010
I've had so little time in front of a computer for the last 7 months that I haven't bothered with either of my blogs. I've had so much on my mind lately that I decided I'm going to somehow find the time to come here and write something. It's been so long that I forgot which email account I was using, and had to reset my password...snicker...but here I am!
I do a lot of processing in my car...I drive a LOT. My drive each way to work is about 40 minutes, and driving to and from my love's house each week takes 45 minutes to an hour. That gives me approximately 7 hours per week to think. Having no stereo in my vehicle is a huge incentive to do such thinking, too.
So, I was driving and thinking recently. I ordered this book from paperbackswap called "From Wedded Wife To Lesbian Life", and I'm finding myself in the pages. What had me thinking during my 40 minute drive to work was a story of a woman who was a feminist, very independent in her marriage, and once she left and came out of the closet, she realized that despite all her insistence to the contrary, she had spent her entire life trying to live up to a patriarchal ideal.
Yep, that would be me.
Oh goddess no, not me...never! My husband was a feminist, too! I mean, he never actually said that...and he never really spoke up about sexist comments his friends would make...and he never really defended women when men were harassing them...and he never exactly DID anything that would sorta "prove" that he's a feminist...but he supported me. That makes him a feminist...right? Sorta?
Yeah, no. Notsomuch.
After I left my first [abusive] husband, I did everything I could to distance myself from anything that might suggest a patriarchal system...family, marriage...I learned about abuse, I spent 4 1/2 years immersing myself in self-help books, support groups, literature, you name it...all to avoid the same pattern.
Then, I met my second husband. He wasn't abusive. He was hilarious. He and I have similar personalities, we get along great, and the only problem I could see was his INTENSE, ALL-CONSUMING need to procrastinate. He was...I can now say, honestly...the best I thought I'd ever find. I settled. That makes me so sad for him. But it's true. I loved him, and still do, as a person, as a friend, as a nice guy that I'm proud to have in my life...but I was never in love with him.
I didn't believe in marriage and didn't want kids when I met him. Eventually, I developed an almost desperate...no, not almost...a desperate need - NEED! - to have our union on paper. Marriage was my idea. Me, the feminist, anti-patriarchy, anti-marriage, anti-societal "norms", free woman...I NEEDED marriage. I was terrified that my "good enough" catch was going to leave me, that I wasn't good enough.
Oh gods, this is painful. To admit, to write, to recognize! To finally understand that this was where I was coming from! I didn't understand at the time why I felt so compelled to convince him to love me, to marry me, to start a family with me...he was reluctant. He would deny it til he was blue in the face, but it took him a year and three months to tell me he LOVED me...just those words, no commitment, no long-term NOTHING...just "I love you" took THATLONG. My ass he wasn't reluctant. I refused to see it. I'd just tell him, "if you don't hurry up, I'm going to leave you"...so then, he'd hurry up, to prove that he wasn't reluctant after all. Pfft. Just TRY and tell me this marriage was meant to be. Ha!
I was desperate to fit into society...under the auspices of having a "feminist" husband. I was a free woman...with a wedding ring. I was liberated...the legal document that tied me to another person was just for the legal rights...right? I'm ashamed to admit this now, having learned a little about the world of adoption...but I was terrified to get pregnant (and he made it impossible anyway...long story that I probably won't delve into in this blog)...so, wanting that whitepicketfence American Dream family, we decided to adopt (and by "we decided", I mean that I talked him into it...just like everything else).
Thankfully, we were never chosen. It horrifies me to look back on that time in my life - my entire relationship with husband #2 - and recognize how caught up I was in a patriarchal society, the expectation of my parents and community that I would be "normal", straight, that I would have a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood with a nice little husband and some nice little children that I would be a perfect cake-baking, soccer team Mommy to...like forever. The fact that I had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA (at least, not that I was willing to admit to myself or anyone else) that I'm a lesbian, or that I was disavowing my own convictions by my actions, that I just kind of put on my blinders and focused on the end goal of achieving this family unit that I have never in my life had any interest in having (save for the purpose of appearances)...it's insane. I was working toward the opposite of my life goals, having convinced myself that this path was right in line with what I wanted.
How did I convince myself that THAT was who I am? And WHY?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Peaceful Reunion...NOT
Originally posted January 5, 2010
Sorry I've been so quiet lately. It was a very busy winter break...I was here, there, and everywhere.
A few nights ago, I had a dream that I thought was going to change my life. I was wrong. In this dream, I lived with my parents...peacefully. I don't remember details of the dream, but the only thing that matters is that we lived peacefully. I thought that meant that I would find a way to have a good relationship with my parents. After all, the house represents the self...so, in my dream, I found a way to live peacefully, sharing my self with my family.
Later on that day, in a weird coincidence, I ran into my little brother at the store. I just happened to be visiting my home town to see some friends, and boom, there he was. It was a short visit, but a good one. My brother is always respectful of my boundaries. He doesn't like it, but he believes me, trusts that I'm doing what I need to do, and backs off when I ask him to. So, I got to see my brand new nephew, my new sister in law, and then I got to remind my brother that I still needed time. He was cool with that, and we separated on a good note.
I went home feeling like it was time to reconnect. Time to find a way to have a relationship with my parents...and I felt tiny inklings of confidence that I might be able to find a way to live peacefully with them in my life. Ugh. Sometimes I hate hope. Right now is one of those times. I got myself all worked up, believing in the possibilities...and then BAM! Fuck. Whatever, man. Just, whatever.
So through this whole time that I haven't been speaking to my family (about a year and a half), my mom has tried to find little ways to get in touch with me, even though I have asked that they not contact me. Every time I get a phone call on my ex's phone, or an email sent to my work, or an invitation to be friends on a social networking site, it just reminds me that my mother has absolutely no clue how to respect another human being's boundaries, and I'm much better off just not being around her. (I have an issue with all of my family members for different reasons, but I'll be honest: my mother is really the only reason I don't have ANY contact...if it weren't for her, I would just deal with the family dynamics, and I probably would have learned to speak my mind many years ago.)
So, while I was still in my happy place, thinking I might be able to reconnect with my family, mulling over what I would say in a letter...my mother found yet another sneaky way to violate my boundaries. I wouldn't add her as a friend on facebook...so she figured out that if she posted a message on my aunt's page, I would get it.
Well...there went all my hope...all my thoughts of a peaceful reunion...again, whatever, man. Just fucking WHATEVER! Maybe a little boundary violation doesn't seem like a big thing, but like I've said before, taken in context with my mother's inability to respect other human beings, her tendency toward abuse, etc...this tiny little boundary violation was a huge wake up call. I simply can NOT have a safe relationship with my mother. And as long as she and my dad are married, I can't have a safe relationship with him, either. And my brother still lives at home, so he's out, too. And my sister...well, she hasn't spoken to me in years anyway.
Fucking whatever, man.
Sorry I've been so quiet lately. It was a very busy winter break...I was here, there, and everywhere.
A few nights ago, I had a dream that I thought was going to change my life. I was wrong. In this dream, I lived with my parents...peacefully. I don't remember details of the dream, but the only thing that matters is that we lived peacefully. I thought that meant that I would find a way to have a good relationship with my parents. After all, the house represents the self...so, in my dream, I found a way to live peacefully, sharing my self with my family.
Later on that day, in a weird coincidence, I ran into my little brother at the store. I just happened to be visiting my home town to see some friends, and boom, there he was. It was a short visit, but a good one. My brother is always respectful of my boundaries. He doesn't like it, but he believes me, trusts that I'm doing what I need to do, and backs off when I ask him to. So, I got to see my brand new nephew, my new sister in law, and then I got to remind my brother that I still needed time. He was cool with that, and we separated on a good note.
I went home feeling like it was time to reconnect. Time to find a way to have a relationship with my parents...and I felt tiny inklings of confidence that I might be able to find a way to live peacefully with them in my life. Ugh. Sometimes I hate hope. Right now is one of those times. I got myself all worked up, believing in the possibilities...and then BAM! Fuck. Whatever, man. Just, whatever.
So through this whole time that I haven't been speaking to my family (about a year and a half), my mom has tried to find little ways to get in touch with me, even though I have asked that they not contact me. Every time I get a phone call on my ex's phone, or an email sent to my work, or an invitation to be friends on a social networking site, it just reminds me that my mother has absolutely no clue how to respect another human being's boundaries, and I'm much better off just not being around her. (I have an issue with all of my family members for different reasons, but I'll be honest: my mother is really the only reason I don't have ANY contact...if it weren't for her, I would just deal with the family dynamics, and I probably would have learned to speak my mind many years ago.)
So, while I was still in my happy place, thinking I might be able to reconnect with my family, mulling over what I would say in a letter...my mother found yet another sneaky way to violate my boundaries. I wouldn't add her as a friend on facebook...so she figured out that if she posted a message on my aunt's page, I would get it.
Well...there went all my hope...all my thoughts of a peaceful reunion...again, whatever, man. Just fucking WHATEVER! Maybe a little boundary violation doesn't seem like a big thing, but like I've said before, taken in context with my mother's inability to respect other human beings, her tendency toward abuse, etc...this tiny little boundary violation was a huge wake up call. I simply can NOT have a safe relationship with my mother. And as long as she and my dad are married, I can't have a safe relationship with him, either. And my brother still lives at home, so he's out, too. And my sister...well, she hasn't spoken to me in years anyway.
Fucking whatever, man.
Gender Differences
Originally posted December 26, 2009
I figured it out...the thing with gender differences that I wrote about in this post. It took me a few days to realize that I had hit the nail on the head in yet another post. I choose the people I have in my life based on certain roles I need filled...duh. So, the reason I have certain feelings about gender differences is because these are the traits I've seen all my life in each gender...and the reason I've seen those traits is because I CHOSE to...and I chose those particular people with those particular traits because my parents had those traits.
I appreciate it when I find new things I can blame on my parents. Heehee.
I figured it out...the thing with gender differences that I wrote about in this post. It took me a few days to realize that I had hit the nail on the head in yet another post. I choose the people I have in my life based on certain roles I need filled...duh. So, the reason I have certain feelings about gender differences is because these are the traits I've seen all my life in each gender...and the reason I've seen those traits is because I CHOSE to...and I chose those particular people with those particular traits because my parents had those traits.
I appreciate it when I find new things I can blame on my parents. Heehee.
Dealing With Emotions
Originally posted December 22, 2009
Maybe one of the reasons I dated/married men all these years was because they don't deal with emotions the same way women do. Women HAVE emotions. Women FEEL emotions. We can even get lost in emotions. Men, on the other hand, deal with emotions as little as possible. They tend to look at emotions logically, or ignore them altogether.
I totally realize I'm generalizing here, and I don't intend for this to mean EVERY woman is open about her emotions, or that EVERY man is logical. Those that I have had in my life have fit this pattern...and I know that I choose people based on whatever it is that I need at that time. I have specifically chosen men that remind me of my father. My first husband was uncompromising, irrational, "manly", and fun. My second husband sleep-walked through life, was hilarious, gentle, and warm. All of the above are traits one will find are very strong in my father. Right before I left my second husband, we were reading a book with the intention of "saving" our marriage, and we learned all about imago and the kind of partner you choose to fulfill your needs...and both of my husbands fit that pattern to a T. I needed them in my life. Not just MEN, but THOSE men, in particular. And of course, the women I have chosen to have in my life tend to remind me of my mother (it pains me terribly to say that, and I'm going to choose not to dwell on specific characteristics like I did my father/husbands...I'm only willing to go so far with my acceptance of this phenomenon at this point in my life...but suffice it to say, I do understand that my mother is a factor in my choice of women).
Now I need to really reel myself back in. I just spent a ridiculous amount of time explaining myself, and totally got off my point...but whatever.
My POINT was, dealing with emotions. This is something I'm not used to. I'm used to the men in my life (the ones I chose specifically because they had traits like my father, who sleep-walked his way through life, not paying attention to the fact that my mother was abusing me, etc...so yeah, no dealing with emotions there). My second husband has a very well developed method for avoiding emotion in real life. He ACTS like he's dealing with emotion - and he is a fabulous actor. He should really be in Hollywood, he's that good. He had my ass convinced for 8 years that he wasn't shying away from emotion.
So this idea of actually dealing with emotions - not just pretending, not being ignored or put on the back burner - is an entirely new concept for me. It's hard to get used to, and I've already noticed some major issues that I have with it. When my emotions are acceptable, and I'm safe to express them...I tend to go into shock. All my fears of abandonment come racing to the surface, and I start feeling the need to protect myself. After all, ANY emotion I had, as a child, was absolutely unacceptable. Once I started expressing emotion, people left, or hurt me, or threatened to leave, or withdrew inside themselves, etc. No one ever dealt with REAL emotions when I was a child. And my whole life, until the last couple years or so, I have surrounded myself with people who followed this same pattern.
Oh no...I'm starting to get off on another topic...but one that's WELL worth another blog. I hope I remember to complete that thought another time.
At any rate, the idea that I am now choosing to spend my life with people (women in particular) who don't run from emotion, and who encourage the raw, frightening, vulnerability of truly expressing whatever I'm going through (and whatever she is going through as well) is still new to me. I'm having some trouble finding my equilibrium here.
This is actually where I'm at in my relationship. I noticed that over the last couple weeks or so, my emotions were intense, and not in a positive way. I was getting more and more dissolutioned with myself, my relationship, and most especially with the reasons for my emotions. It got downright frightening the other night when I was visiting my girlfriend, and my state of mind just went all kinds of wrong. I ended up leaving nearly in tears simply because she had set a very reasonable boundary. She informed me the next day that I was starting to raise my voice at her (which I NEVER do...I raised my voice at my ex husband ONCE in 8 years). About a half hour after I left, it hit me full-force: I was acting codependent!
Oh my...I've done so much work, HARD work, to escape codependency. I'm well aware that it never truly, completely goes away, and that one must remain diligent...and this was a glaring reminder of that. I just hadn't expected it to crop up so immediately, so suddenly, and after we have only been together just over a month (we have known each other right around 2 months). This was a HUGE signal for me that I need to step back, do some intense self care, and refocus my attention on my emotional health. I need to keep my words on my side of the fence, and quit worrying about whether she's meeting my needs. I KNOW that she's doing her best, and that if her love isn't enough as it is, it's my responsibility to ask for what I need...not her responsibility to provide it. But man...it's so easy to slip into that comfort zone of codependency when I'm actually FEELING my emotions. It's scary shit! I can't believe how terrified I am/was that she would leave me if I acted like myself, my TRUE self, my broken, damaged, emotional, sensitive, survivor self, who only one person in my whole life has ever truly seen.
I told her I was going to step back for a couple days, do some personal work, and come back to her with some new information, a new perspective, and a commitment to avoid ever treating her that way again (of course, I understand I'm human and may mess up again in the future...but I'm determined to avoid a repeat of this particular circumstance, if I possibly can...and I think that if I truly do the work I need to do, I will be able to avoid this again). I've been working like a dog these last two days, so tomorrow I will be sitting down and busting out all this emotional, heavy work, and figuring out how to not ever do this again. My goal here is to figure out how to be my authentic self (broken pieces and all) without putting my shit on her side of the fence.
I love this journey. Every fucking second of it. Every painful, emotional, beautiful, magickal second of it. "I want to taste it all"! ~Gaia Consort
Maybe one of the reasons I dated/married men all these years was because they don't deal with emotions the same way women do. Women HAVE emotions. Women FEEL emotions. We can even get lost in emotions. Men, on the other hand, deal with emotions as little as possible. They tend to look at emotions logically, or ignore them altogether.
I totally realize I'm generalizing here, and I don't intend for this to mean EVERY woman is open about her emotions, or that EVERY man is logical. Those that I have had in my life have fit this pattern...and I know that I choose people based on whatever it is that I need at that time. I have specifically chosen men that remind me of my father. My first husband was uncompromising, irrational, "manly", and fun. My second husband sleep-walked through life, was hilarious, gentle, and warm. All of the above are traits one will find are very strong in my father. Right before I left my second husband, we were reading a book with the intention of "saving" our marriage, and we learned all about imago and the kind of partner you choose to fulfill your needs...and both of my husbands fit that pattern to a T. I needed them in my life. Not just MEN, but THOSE men, in particular. And of course, the women I have chosen to have in my life tend to remind me of my mother (it pains me terribly to say that, and I'm going to choose not to dwell on specific characteristics like I did my father/husbands...I'm only willing to go so far with my acceptance of this phenomenon at this point in my life...but suffice it to say, I do understand that my mother is a factor in my choice of women).
Now I need to really reel myself back in. I just spent a ridiculous amount of time explaining myself, and totally got off my point...but whatever.
My POINT was, dealing with emotions. This is something I'm not used to. I'm used to the men in my life (the ones I chose specifically because they had traits like my father, who sleep-walked his way through life, not paying attention to the fact that my mother was abusing me, etc...so yeah, no dealing with emotions there). My second husband has a very well developed method for avoiding emotion in real life. He ACTS like he's dealing with emotion - and he is a fabulous actor. He should really be in Hollywood, he's that good. He had my ass convinced for 8 years that he wasn't shying away from emotion.
So this idea of actually dealing with emotions - not just pretending, not being ignored or put on the back burner - is an entirely new concept for me. It's hard to get used to, and I've already noticed some major issues that I have with it. When my emotions are acceptable, and I'm safe to express them...I tend to go into shock. All my fears of abandonment come racing to the surface, and I start feeling the need to protect myself. After all, ANY emotion I had, as a child, was absolutely unacceptable. Once I started expressing emotion, people left, or hurt me, or threatened to leave, or withdrew inside themselves, etc. No one ever dealt with REAL emotions when I was a child. And my whole life, until the last couple years or so, I have surrounded myself with people who followed this same pattern.
Oh no...I'm starting to get off on another topic...but one that's WELL worth another blog. I hope I remember to complete that thought another time.
At any rate, the idea that I am now choosing to spend my life with people (women in particular) who don't run from emotion, and who encourage the raw, frightening, vulnerability of truly expressing whatever I'm going through (and whatever she is going through as well) is still new to me. I'm having some trouble finding my equilibrium here.
This is actually where I'm at in my relationship. I noticed that over the last couple weeks or so, my emotions were intense, and not in a positive way. I was getting more and more dissolutioned with myself, my relationship, and most especially with the reasons for my emotions. It got downright frightening the other night when I was visiting my girlfriend, and my state of mind just went all kinds of wrong. I ended up leaving nearly in tears simply because she had set a very reasonable boundary. She informed me the next day that I was starting to raise my voice at her (which I NEVER do...I raised my voice at my ex husband ONCE in 8 years). About a half hour after I left, it hit me full-force: I was acting codependent!
Oh my...I've done so much work, HARD work, to escape codependency. I'm well aware that it never truly, completely goes away, and that one must remain diligent...and this was a glaring reminder of that. I just hadn't expected it to crop up so immediately, so suddenly, and after we have only been together just over a month (we have known each other right around 2 months). This was a HUGE signal for me that I need to step back, do some intense self care, and refocus my attention on my emotional health. I need to keep my words on my side of the fence, and quit worrying about whether she's meeting my needs. I KNOW that she's doing her best, and that if her love isn't enough as it is, it's my responsibility to ask for what I need...not her responsibility to provide it. But man...it's so easy to slip into that comfort zone of codependency when I'm actually FEELING my emotions. It's scary shit! I can't believe how terrified I am/was that she would leave me if I acted like myself, my TRUE self, my broken, damaged, emotional, sensitive, survivor self, who only one person in my whole life has ever truly seen.
I told her I was going to step back for a couple days, do some personal work, and come back to her with some new information, a new perspective, and a commitment to avoid ever treating her that way again (of course, I understand I'm human and may mess up again in the future...but I'm determined to avoid a repeat of this particular circumstance, if I possibly can...and I think that if I truly do the work I need to do, I will be able to avoid this again). I've been working like a dog these last two days, so tomorrow I will be sitting down and busting out all this emotional, heavy work, and figuring out how to not ever do this again. My goal here is to figure out how to be my authentic self (broken pieces and all) without putting my shit on her side of the fence.
I love this journey. Every fucking second of it. Every painful, emotional, beautiful, magickal second of it. "I want to taste it all"! ~Gaia Consort
Why I Bloomed Late
Originally posted December 19, 2009
This is something I have questioned constantly since the day I realized that I'm gay. There are many reasons, many layers, and there are still many questions. For instance, my parents have questioned my sexuality numerous times...now why would that be, if they believe it's a choice? Especially since the "choice" I made all these years was to be with men? If they really believed that homosexuality was a choice, they wouldn't even wonder if I was gay - they'd just deny the possibility, period. So, somewhere in the back of their minds, hidden behind all their dusty old beliefs, they MUST understand that it's not something I chose.
But anyway, that's yet another blog for yet another day. The question at hand is why did I not realize that I'm a lesbian until I was almost 33 years old? I'm thinking specifically of just one reason - probably the main reason. My family.
As I've mentioned, my family was pretty abusive. Physically, mentally, emotionally, verbally, and (mildly, if there is such a thing) sexually. My parents never outright molested me, but my mom did quite a few things that ensured that my sister and I would be forever uncomfortable in our bodies. The day my sister started her period, my mom ran up and down the halls screaming that my sister was a woman and had started her period. I'm sure some would question whether that particular act could be considered abusive, but taken in context with the abusive nature my mother embodies, that one act is just a small example of her abusive tactics. She made comments about my (very large) breasts, constantly, in public. And of course, both of my parents made horrible, disparaging remarks about homosexuality, pretty much constantly.
A few weeks ago, I realized that as a child, I was very, very obviously attracted to females and not males. Men and boys used me for their pleasure. But I never once sought out a man or boy for my own pleasure. When I played doctor, it was with other little girls. I dated a boy when I was maybe 10 years old, but played sex games with his sister. I never touched him, not even to hug.
Now, there are two important things to note here. #1, my parents never taught me appropriate boundaries with other children. I remember as a child knowing that it was wrong, but not understanding why. My parents never pulled me aside and explained that it's not appropriate to touch other children's genitals. And #2, my parents HAD to have known what was happening. I can recall at least once when I was caught with a little girl playing doctor. I remember being shocked that my parents didn't say anything to me. They didn't see anything, because I refused to open my door...but rather than insisting that we talk about it, or even forcing the door open (which would have totally been in character for my authoritarian parents), they chose to act as though nothing had happened.
I believe that they simply chose to avoid any and all discussion of appropriate boundaries simply because it was so OBVIOUS that I only had boundary issues with other little girls. They simply couldn't handle the thought that I might be gay - and they certainly couldn't handle the thought that I was obviously born that way, since the first time I got caught I was like 2 years old. And so, they made a conscious decision to just pretend like it wasn't happening. If they ignored it, maybe I'd just somehow not be gay...right?
I think that attitude rubbed off on me a little. If I just ignored my attraction to women, then I'd be straight...somehow.
I don't even want to know how the conversation would go if I brought all this up to them now...but it would be fun to be a fly on the wall.
This is something I have questioned constantly since the day I realized that I'm gay. There are many reasons, many layers, and there are still many questions. For instance, my parents have questioned my sexuality numerous times...now why would that be, if they believe it's a choice? Especially since the "choice" I made all these years was to be with men? If they really believed that homosexuality was a choice, they wouldn't even wonder if I was gay - they'd just deny the possibility, period. So, somewhere in the back of their minds, hidden behind all their dusty old beliefs, they MUST understand that it's not something I chose.
But anyway, that's yet another blog for yet another day. The question at hand is why did I not realize that I'm a lesbian until I was almost 33 years old? I'm thinking specifically of just one reason - probably the main reason. My family.
As I've mentioned, my family was pretty abusive. Physically, mentally, emotionally, verbally, and (mildly, if there is such a thing) sexually. My parents never outright molested me, but my mom did quite a few things that ensured that my sister and I would be forever uncomfortable in our bodies. The day my sister started her period, my mom ran up and down the halls screaming that my sister was a woman and had started her period. I'm sure some would question whether that particular act could be considered abusive, but taken in context with the abusive nature my mother embodies, that one act is just a small example of her abusive tactics. She made comments about my (very large) breasts, constantly, in public. And of course, both of my parents made horrible, disparaging remarks about homosexuality, pretty much constantly.
A few weeks ago, I realized that as a child, I was very, very obviously attracted to females and not males. Men and boys used me for their pleasure. But I never once sought out a man or boy for my own pleasure. When I played doctor, it was with other little girls. I dated a boy when I was maybe 10 years old, but played sex games with his sister. I never touched him, not even to hug.
Now, there are two important things to note here. #1, my parents never taught me appropriate boundaries with other children. I remember as a child knowing that it was wrong, but not understanding why. My parents never pulled me aside and explained that it's not appropriate to touch other children's genitals. And #2, my parents HAD to have known what was happening. I can recall at least once when I was caught with a little girl playing doctor. I remember being shocked that my parents didn't say anything to me. They didn't see anything, because I refused to open my door...but rather than insisting that we talk about it, or even forcing the door open (which would have totally been in character for my authoritarian parents), they chose to act as though nothing had happened.
I believe that they simply chose to avoid any and all discussion of appropriate boundaries simply because it was so OBVIOUS that I only had boundary issues with other little girls. They simply couldn't handle the thought that I might be gay - and they certainly couldn't handle the thought that I was obviously born that way, since the first time I got caught I was like 2 years old. And so, they made a conscious decision to just pretend like it wasn't happening. If they ignored it, maybe I'd just somehow not be gay...right?
I think that attitude rubbed off on me a little. If I just ignored my attraction to women, then I'd be straight...somehow.
I don't even want to know how the conversation would go if I brought all this up to them now...but it would be fun to be a fly on the wall.
A Practical Joke?
Originally posted December 16, 2009
I found this blog awhile back, and I love it. Another one of those moments when I should have known I was gay popped into my head today, and it made me feel sad for my ex husband, and for the "me" that I was at the time.
A few years back (6 years-ish), my parents played a practical joke on my then-husband. I won't go into what the joke was, but they got him GOOD. He insisted he was going to have to get them back. And whatever he did to get them back would have to be big. My parents' practical joke took MONTHS to pull off.
One evening, we were throwing ideas back and forth about how my husband could get my parents back. I came up with an idea that I thought was fabulous! I would call up my parents and tell them that I'm really gay, and that I'm only with my husband so that I can have kids.
He thought it was cruel, so I didn't do it. Maybe it was cruel (but no more cruel than them abusing me...I mean, really, should I be THAT concerned with their feelings? But I digress...this isn't about abuse).
So this incident popped into my head a few minutes ago because...and it kills me to say this...what I wanted to tell my parents was TRUE! I was just as gay then as I am now (I just didn't realize it), and eventually, we would have gotten a divorce, and I would have realized I was gay...whether we had children or not. But I REALLY wanted children with him. He would be an awesome dad. I actually entertained the idea of asking him to be a sperm donor even after we split up (but I'm not sure whether I even want children of my own now...and that's another blog post anyway).
I was joking around at the time...but hidden in that joke was the truth. I really was/am gay, and I really was (unconsciously) just using him to start a family.
Well...that plan backfired. Ha.
I found this blog awhile back, and I love it. Another one of those moments when I should have known I was gay popped into my head today, and it made me feel sad for my ex husband, and for the "me" that I was at the time.
A few years back (6 years-ish), my parents played a practical joke on my then-husband. I won't go into what the joke was, but they got him GOOD. He insisted he was going to have to get them back. And whatever he did to get them back would have to be big. My parents' practical joke took MONTHS to pull off.
One evening, we were throwing ideas back and forth about how my husband could get my parents back. I came up with an idea that I thought was fabulous! I would call up my parents and tell them that I'm really gay, and that I'm only with my husband so that I can have kids.
He thought it was cruel, so I didn't do it. Maybe it was cruel (but no more cruel than them abusing me...I mean, really, should I be THAT concerned with their feelings? But I digress...this isn't about abuse).
So this incident popped into my head a few minutes ago because...and it kills me to say this...what I wanted to tell my parents was TRUE! I was just as gay then as I am now (I just didn't realize it), and eventually, we would have gotten a divorce, and I would have realized I was gay...whether we had children or not. But I REALLY wanted children with him. He would be an awesome dad. I actually entertained the idea of asking him to be a sperm donor even after we split up (but I'm not sure whether I even want children of my own now...and that's another blog post anyway).
I was joking around at the time...but hidden in that joke was the truth. I really was/am gay, and I really was (unconsciously) just using him to start a family.
Well...that plan backfired. Ha.
A Telling Dream
Originally posted December 13, 2009
Over the years, I've learned a lot about interpreting dreams. After leaving my first husband, I had horrific dreams about him, and I had a difficult time focusing on anything else until I figured out what they mean. From those experiences, I came up with a personal rule. If I can't get a dream out of my head, it means something, and I need to write it down and figure it out.
The other night, I had a dream that was really sickening and awful. I think I know what it means. At the very least, I know what it's about. A little warning here, this post is going to discuss some pretty touchy, potentially triggering topics (namely sexual abuse).
So, the dream I had was this man wanted to have sex with his daughter. In the dream, I knew the man, but not well. I think he was actually someone I know in real life, but I'd really rather not think about that part of it. At any rate, his daughter was grown (or at least a teenager), and didn't want to have sex with her father. She came up with a plan that the three of us would get in a pool, and he would have sex with me in the pool, thinking I was her. It didn't really make much sense, because it wasn't dark, I have a different hair color than her, and a different body type, so it would have been obvious to him...but it was a dream, so whatever. This man had sex with "her" (me) from behind. So, I guess that meant that he wasn't paying enough attention to notice that I wasn't her.
After it was all over, I looked down, and his daughter was underneath us, laying on the bottom of the pool. I felt so sad for her, laying down there with no air, waiting for her father to finish having sex with someone he thought was her...laying down there with those thoughts she must have been thinking...knowing that her own father wanted to have sex with her, and she had to trick him into believing he was getting what he wanted, so that she could be (somewhat) safe from him. How lonely and disgusting she must have felt. She laid on the bottom of the pool, on her side, with her eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
What gets me though, now that I'm awake, is that I didn't entertain a single thought about MYSELF in this situation. First off, what on Earth was I doing having sex with a man? (That question is easy to answer: I was doing what I always have done - atoning.) And second, how on Earth did I convince myself that it was ok to put myself in a position like that? I mean, this man thought he was having sex with his own daughter, for the love of god! For all intents and purposes, I allowed myself (OFFERED myself, even) to be a victim of incest.
This dream, as crazy as it sounds, actually makes perfect sense. The night I had this dream, I was feeling very much like a "bad little girl". I hadn't done anything wrong, exactly, but something I had done that day had inadvertently hurt someone I care deeply for...and I went to bed with unresolved feelings of guilt and shame.
When I first realized that I have never been attracted to men, my first thought was, "well then why did I have sex with men all these years? How did I justify that, without being attracted to them?" The answer is painful. As a child, I had no control over my own body. I had no choices, and people used me for whatever they wanted. For my mom, I was a punching bag. For many of the men in my life, I was a sex toy. In my little-kid-mind, the way that translated was that men could do whatever they wanted to me, and I owed them that. I recall times in my adult life when I felt obligated to have sex (which, honestly, was pretty much every time I had sex...but there were a few more obvious times that fit in here). At one point, I had a friend who was deeply lost in his addiction to alcohol. Each night, I would get on the phone with him, and have phone sex. I would stay on the phone with him until he was too tired to go out and drink. I felt that I owed him.
I'm not sure why I bring up that story...it illustrates the point, but I don't feel like I can define WHY exactly. I feel like I'm rambling...which I don't like, but since this blog exists for me to work through whatever I need to work through, I guess I'll accept it.
Anyway, back to the dream...I'm sure another time I can explain better why I feel (felt) obligated to have sex with men.
So, the basic gist of what I got out of this dream was that I was feeling like a bad little girl, and the way to make myself "good" again was to agree to have sex with a man. Ugh...I feel like this post is just insane, rambling, nonsensical...and like I totally missed my point. But I'm leaving it as-is, simply because most of what I'm writing about right now comes from a place where I'm still a child victim of sexual abuse, and I probably just don't have the words for it all yet. I totally understand what I'm trying to say, and maybe one day I'll actually be able to make it make sense outside my own brain...but this will do for now. It kind of has to.
Over the years, I've learned a lot about interpreting dreams. After leaving my first husband, I had horrific dreams about him, and I had a difficult time focusing on anything else until I figured out what they mean. From those experiences, I came up with a personal rule. If I can't get a dream out of my head, it means something, and I need to write it down and figure it out.
The other night, I had a dream that was really sickening and awful. I think I know what it means. At the very least, I know what it's about. A little warning here, this post is going to discuss some pretty touchy, potentially triggering topics (namely sexual abuse).
So, the dream I had was this man wanted to have sex with his daughter. In the dream, I knew the man, but not well. I think he was actually someone I know in real life, but I'd really rather not think about that part of it. At any rate, his daughter was grown (or at least a teenager), and didn't want to have sex with her father. She came up with a plan that the three of us would get in a pool, and he would have sex with me in the pool, thinking I was her. It didn't really make much sense, because it wasn't dark, I have a different hair color than her, and a different body type, so it would have been obvious to him...but it was a dream, so whatever. This man had sex with "her" (me) from behind. So, I guess that meant that he wasn't paying enough attention to notice that I wasn't her.
After it was all over, I looked down, and his daughter was underneath us, laying on the bottom of the pool. I felt so sad for her, laying down there with no air, waiting for her father to finish having sex with someone he thought was her...laying down there with those thoughts she must have been thinking...knowing that her own father wanted to have sex with her, and she had to trick him into believing he was getting what he wanted, so that she could be (somewhat) safe from him. How lonely and disgusting she must have felt. She laid on the bottom of the pool, on her side, with her eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
What gets me though, now that I'm awake, is that I didn't entertain a single thought about MYSELF in this situation. First off, what on Earth was I doing having sex with a man? (That question is easy to answer: I was doing what I always have done - atoning.) And second, how on Earth did I convince myself that it was ok to put myself in a position like that? I mean, this man thought he was having sex with his own daughter, for the love of god! For all intents and purposes, I allowed myself (OFFERED myself, even) to be a victim of incest.
This dream, as crazy as it sounds, actually makes perfect sense. The night I had this dream, I was feeling very much like a "bad little girl". I hadn't done anything wrong, exactly, but something I had done that day had inadvertently hurt someone I care deeply for...and I went to bed with unresolved feelings of guilt and shame.
When I first realized that I have never been attracted to men, my first thought was, "well then why did I have sex with men all these years? How did I justify that, without being attracted to them?" The answer is painful. As a child, I had no control over my own body. I had no choices, and people used me for whatever they wanted. For my mom, I was a punching bag. For many of the men in my life, I was a sex toy. In my little-kid-mind, the way that translated was that men could do whatever they wanted to me, and I owed them that. I recall times in my adult life when I felt obligated to have sex (which, honestly, was pretty much every time I had sex...but there were a few more obvious times that fit in here). At one point, I had a friend who was deeply lost in his addiction to alcohol. Each night, I would get on the phone with him, and have phone sex. I would stay on the phone with him until he was too tired to go out and drink. I felt that I owed him.
I'm not sure why I bring up that story...it illustrates the point, but I don't feel like I can define WHY exactly. I feel like I'm rambling...which I don't like, but since this blog exists for me to work through whatever I need to work through, I guess I'll accept it.
Anyway, back to the dream...I'm sure another time I can explain better why I feel (felt) obligated to have sex with men.
So, the basic gist of what I got out of this dream was that I was feeling like a bad little girl, and the way to make myself "good" again was to agree to have sex with a man. Ugh...I feel like this post is just insane, rambling, nonsensical...and like I totally missed my point. But I'm leaving it as-is, simply because most of what I'm writing about right now comes from a place where I'm still a child victim of sexual abuse, and I probably just don't have the words for it all yet. I totally understand what I'm trying to say, and maybe one day I'll actually be able to make it make sense outside my own brain...but this will do for now. It kind of has to.
The Newness Of It All
Originally posted December 13, 2009
I was having a conversation with my girlfriend the other day, and I mentioned (for probably the hundredth time) how different it is being with a woman than a man. As wrong as it was for me to spend so many years living a "straight lifestyle" (my parents would shit themselves at that phrase...snicker), the fact is that I DID live it. And that's all I know. I know how men react to things. Oh boy, do I ever. I lived 33 years of my life solely to please men (which is a hard pill to swallow from a raging feminist like myself). It will take some time for me to get used to the emotions involved, the honesty and openness, and the gentleness involved in being with a woman. I love every minute of it, and this feels like home to me...but every new discovery is just that - NEW.
When I mentioned this to her, she wasn't happy. Her response was that she hates it when gender differences are brought up. I totally get that. I feel the same way about most things. I believe that men and women are equal, and that gender differences are no excuse for one to believe they are above another.
But that's not what I was talking about. There ARE gender differences. Not in everyone, granted. There are men who act way more feminine than some women, and vice versa. I guess this isn't even really about gender...it's about exploring this new place in my life. And this place is occupied and decorated with softness and breasts and vagina's, and emotions, and 4am phone calls, and complete openness, and sharing poetry, and UNDERSTANDING poetry and music, and epiphanies...and all these things that I never shared with any man.
I'm sure that there are men out there who CAN share these things with women. I'm just not that woman. I'm a lesbian. I don't "get" poetry when it's about a man and a woman. I used to think I got it...but it was forced, I had to think about it, and eventually I'd come to the conclusion that, yeah ok, I can see how that makes sense. But when I replace the masculine pronoun in songs and poetry, with a feminine pronoun, and apply it to my current life, it makes sense NATURALLY, on its own. I just GET IT. I don't have to think about it or convince myself that it makes sense. I just want to shout, "YES! That's IT! I GET that!"
I don't want to be one of those people who believes that gender differences mean everything. If I become that person, I may as well call up my folks for a nice, down-home, homophobic chit chat about how we're all going to hell, and sign up for a brand spankin' new third husband who's a card-carrying member of the Promise Keepers. (I think I might just be a slight bit, maybe just a little teensy bit, upset at the implication that I think gender matters...ya think???)
But this new relationship world...it IS different. Maybe I don't have a better way to define it than by saying that it's different being with a woman than it is being with a man. If I had some better words to use, I would. Maybe there ARE better words out there, and I don't know them yet. I mean, I've only known about my sexuality for a few months, give me a little time to adjust here, man. I don't know all the right ways to define it. I don't know where I fit in the lesbian world. I actually knew very few lesbians prior to a few months ago, and I had no idea that maybe I ought to be paying attention because I might one day need to know the proper etiquette when discussing with my girlfriend how different it is than being with a man.
I'll muddle through. For now...I think I'm going to ask her to bear with me, and to just accept (even if it doesn't feel right) that when I talk about the difference in dating men and women, it's not about gender, it's about something I haven't defined yet, and that gender is the only way I know how to express it...for now.
I was having a conversation with my girlfriend the other day, and I mentioned (for probably the hundredth time) how different it is being with a woman than a man. As wrong as it was for me to spend so many years living a "straight lifestyle" (my parents would shit themselves at that phrase...snicker), the fact is that I DID live it. And that's all I know. I know how men react to things. Oh boy, do I ever. I lived 33 years of my life solely to please men (which is a hard pill to swallow from a raging feminist like myself). It will take some time for me to get used to the emotions involved, the honesty and openness, and the gentleness involved in being with a woman. I love every minute of it, and this feels like home to me...but every new discovery is just that - NEW.
When I mentioned this to her, she wasn't happy. Her response was that she hates it when gender differences are brought up. I totally get that. I feel the same way about most things. I believe that men and women are equal, and that gender differences are no excuse for one to believe they are above another.
But that's not what I was talking about. There ARE gender differences. Not in everyone, granted. There are men who act way more feminine than some women, and vice versa. I guess this isn't even really about gender...it's about exploring this new place in my life. And this place is occupied and decorated with softness and breasts and vagina's, and emotions, and 4am phone calls, and complete openness, and sharing poetry, and UNDERSTANDING poetry and music, and epiphanies...and all these things that I never shared with any man.
I'm sure that there are men out there who CAN share these things with women. I'm just not that woman. I'm a lesbian. I don't "get" poetry when it's about a man and a woman. I used to think I got it...but it was forced, I had to think about it, and eventually I'd come to the conclusion that, yeah ok, I can see how that makes sense. But when I replace the masculine pronoun in songs and poetry, with a feminine pronoun, and apply it to my current life, it makes sense NATURALLY, on its own. I just GET IT. I don't have to think about it or convince myself that it makes sense. I just want to shout, "YES! That's IT! I GET that!"
I don't want to be one of those people who believes that gender differences mean everything. If I become that person, I may as well call up my folks for a nice, down-home, homophobic chit chat about how we're all going to hell, and sign up for a brand spankin' new third husband who's a card-carrying member of the Promise Keepers. (I think I might just be a slight bit, maybe just a little teensy bit, upset at the implication that I think gender matters...ya think???)
But this new relationship world...it IS different. Maybe I don't have a better way to define it than by saying that it's different being with a woman than it is being with a man. If I had some better words to use, I would. Maybe there ARE better words out there, and I don't know them yet. I mean, I've only known about my sexuality for a few months, give me a little time to adjust here, man. I don't know all the right ways to define it. I don't know where I fit in the lesbian world. I actually knew very few lesbians prior to a few months ago, and I had no idea that maybe I ought to be paying attention because I might one day need to know the proper etiquette when discussing with my girlfriend how different it is than being with a man.
I'll muddle through. For now...I think I'm going to ask her to bear with me, and to just accept (even if it doesn't feel right) that when I talk about the difference in dating men and women, it's not about gender, it's about something I haven't defined yet, and that gender is the only way I know how to express it...for now.
Late Bloomer
Originally posted December 13, 2009
Here's the token, "I started this blog because..." post.
I am 33 years old. I have been married twice. To men. I recently discovered that I'm a lesbian. Not bisexual. Not part-way, kinda sorta, maybe, a little bit...I never should have dated men, kissed men, tried to make myself fall in love with a man. Never, not once.
This is my crazy journey. And it is crazy...or it feels that way, anyway. In less than a year, I went from being a suburban housewife in a marriage that was both blissful AND horrid...to finding my spiritual center with the woman of my dreams.
So now here's my disclaimer: I will be talking about some difficult stuff in this blog. I've kept my identity secret for a reason. I was sexually abused as a child, a teenager, and in my first marriage. This is a huge part of the reason I was not able to accept my sexuality for nearly 33 years. I was also abused by my parents (mostly my mom, but my dad sort of sleep-walked through life, refusing to notice what was going on in his home). This is another reason why I was unable to accept my sexual orientation. And last, but probably not least, I was raised in a very homophobic family. These topics will come up in various ways, and at various times in this blog. I've started this as a way to work through this blissful craziness that is my homecoming, my learning to understand and accept myself.
What this blog is not is a request for feedback. Not to be rude, but I really don't care what you think of my process. I do hope that someone out there reading this will find some comfort in knowing there are others in similar circumstances...or that this blog will be useful to someone, for SOME reason anyway. But I will be laying myself bare here, for all the world to see, and talking about some intensely painful subjects. I don't need words of wisdom, advice, suggestions, or anything of the like. I have a therapist for that. In fact, the only thing I need from this blog is to write, and work it all out. I hope that my words are enlightening for you. But the only thing that matters to me is that these words are enlightening to ME.
Here's the token, "I started this blog because..." post.
I am 33 years old. I have been married twice. To men. I recently discovered that I'm a lesbian. Not bisexual. Not part-way, kinda sorta, maybe, a little bit...I never should have dated men, kissed men, tried to make myself fall in love with a man. Never, not once.
This is my crazy journey. And it is crazy...or it feels that way, anyway. In less than a year, I went from being a suburban housewife in a marriage that was both blissful AND horrid...to finding my spiritual center with the woman of my dreams.
So now here's my disclaimer: I will be talking about some difficult stuff in this blog. I've kept my identity secret for a reason. I was sexually abused as a child, a teenager, and in my first marriage. This is a huge part of the reason I was not able to accept my sexuality for nearly 33 years. I was also abused by my parents (mostly my mom, but my dad sort of sleep-walked through life, refusing to notice what was going on in his home). This is another reason why I was unable to accept my sexual orientation. And last, but probably not least, I was raised in a very homophobic family. These topics will come up in various ways, and at various times in this blog. I've started this as a way to work through this blissful craziness that is my homecoming, my learning to understand and accept myself.
What this blog is not is a request for feedback. Not to be rude, but I really don't care what you think of my process. I do hope that someone out there reading this will find some comfort in knowing there are others in similar circumstances...or that this blog will be useful to someone, for SOME reason anyway. But I will be laying myself bare here, for all the world to see, and talking about some intensely painful subjects. I don't need words of wisdom, advice, suggestions, or anything of the like. I have a therapist for that. In fact, the only thing I need from this blog is to write, and work it all out. I hope that my words are enlightening for you. But the only thing that matters to me is that these words are enlightening to ME.
This Isn't A New Blog (There is No Violin)
I wonder if anyone will catch the reference in the title? Doubtful...it's so obscure.
Anyway, I had some issues with my other blogger account, and can't seem to get back into it, so I'm going to re-make my blog here. When I first started my Lesbianity blog, I wanted it to be anonymous, for reasons I can't quite explain. But now that I can't log into my account, I did a little soul searching, and I kinda like the idea of not being anonymous anymore. When I first started writing about my newfound lesbianity, I wrote without fear. But now, I'd like to feel the fear and do it anyway. So, here goes...I'll be copying and pasting old blogs, and adding the original dates of the posts, at first. Then, when I have time, I have at least one new post I'd like to write.
If you've followed either of my blogs, you know by now that I'm a sporadic poster. I've had a lot of guilt about this, but I'm over it now. I'll post when I have something to say...and between times, I'll trust that my "old" words are finding their way to those who are interested in them. That feels like freedom to me.
Anyway, I had some issues with my other blogger account, and can't seem to get back into it, so I'm going to re-make my blog here. When I first started my Lesbianity blog, I wanted it to be anonymous, for reasons I can't quite explain. But now that I can't log into my account, I did a little soul searching, and I kinda like the idea of not being anonymous anymore. When I first started writing about my newfound lesbianity, I wrote without fear. But now, I'd like to feel the fear and do it anyway. So, here goes...I'll be copying and pasting old blogs, and adding the original dates of the posts, at first. Then, when I have time, I have at least one new post I'd like to write.
If you've followed either of my blogs, you know by now that I'm a sporadic poster. I've had a lot of guilt about this, but I'm over it now. I'll post when I have something to say...and between times, I'll trust that my "old" words are finding their way to those who are interested in them. That feels like freedom to me.
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