Now It Can Be Told

 Almost three years ago, I took both of my kids with me to visit my best friend Heather and her family in California. My best friend and I have been an item since the first day of eight grade, when we met at the bus stop. We were both new kids at school -- I had come from Rockland County, New York while she was from a different school district in the same county. We bonded over our observations of the school, the other kids, and feeling out of place in rural, coastal Half Moon Bay. She lasted a month before arranging to return to her old middle school, while I stuck it out.

We reconnected in 9th grade, and this time we stuck together for our high school years and beyond. Now we had kids who were in middle school, and because everyone's spring break dates aligned, we had time to explore, share stories, and rest. One morning we went out to breakfast and Heather talked about an incident from nearly twenty years ago.

My husband (at the time) and I had visited California with his family to watch his cousin graduate from UC Santa Cruz. This meant most of the trip would include his extended family but we had one day set aside to visit Heather, so we drove to her house to meet up, parked, and piled into her car for a trip to San Francisco.

We hit the tourist spots -- Fisherman's Wharf, and even did a tour of Alcatraz. On a walk through the city back to the car, my husband split off to a parallel street. I remember feeling anxious about it, while Heather looked annoyed. It felt like a loyalty test -- was I going to follow him, or stay with Heather? We are so often expected to place our romantic relationships above our friendships. If your spouse doesn't get along with your platonic friends, it can isolate you. Loyalty tests are not part of love.

There were many little things like this in my marriage, unspoken rules that I learned along the way all in place to ensure I remained considerate of his feelings. Meanwhile, I never seemed to look closely enough at his actions to decide what was abnormal, or what felt inconsiderate of my feelings.

Towards the end of our day out, Heather drove us across the Golden Gate Bridge. I sat in the front passenger seat, laughing and joking with her, while my husband had the back all to himself. At some point he decided to remove his sock and shoe and foist it into the front, on my side of the car. Heather made light of it by laughing and pointing to the splatter shaped glittery sticker she had affixed to the inside of the passenger door that said, "What's that Smell?" I snapped a photo with my disposable camera. We joked and laughed and I had never paused to think, this isn't normal. This is not a thing I would do if the situation were reversed and I was in the back seat while my husband and his friend spent time catching up in the front. 

This was the story Heather shared with my kids about their dad as we sat in a restaurant booth eating breakfast. They didn't know. While that incident really happened and I still have the photographic evidence, I had filed it away. There were a few things like that -- so outlandish and weird that I kept it to myself, partly out of not wanting to tell on my spouse (which is the type of thing that keeps experiences of dysfunction and abuse quiet), and partly out of shame. If you let it sink in that you married a person who resorts to removing their sock and shoe to place their bare foot into the passenger seat where you were sitting instead of opting to use their words, it can feel like you supremely fucked up your choice in your person. At the same time you can play it off. Oh, it was just a failed attempt at humor. It's harmless. Lighten up, Francis!

The kids were incredulous. Mommy, did he really do that?! Oh my God! It shifted their view of their father and at the same time made them pay attention to incidents with him that felt off kilter. The story has become a litmus test my oldest kid uses when she meets a friend of mine. "Did she tell you about the foot?" The friends that don't know all have the same reaction. WTF?!

We are no longer married and I don't have to "protect" him out of a sense of loyalty anymore. The foot incident was shocking, funny and harmless, and one of many things that happened in the course of over two decades that I remembered but buried. We marry as adults on the outside while being emotionally immature, resorting to playing games, being shocking, getting revenge and testing our loved ones all in an attempt to get attention, and under that, be loved. I'm guilty of my own embarrassing antics, but I am also done being ashamed and staying quiet. 

Doing good all by myself

We've all heard that phrase "I can do bad all by myself," usually spoken by someone disgruntled within their partnered relationship. It never sat right with me, because isn't the idea that you can do good all by yourself, or at least do better than the current less than optimal situation? Why veer to saying "This is bad, but if it's going to be bad, I'll just do it alone." I want to understand, because I haven't had the thought of wanting to leave someone so I could just own credit for all the badness, alone. I've left relationships with the thought that being without the other person would be an improvement.

In the case of my marriage, I stayed on the fence for a long time, concerned that leaving would be akin to "fucking up my life" (no, I never understood that either, because why would leaving something that is not working be considered "fucking up your life?") This is the narrative we buy, though, and overcoming that to pursue an unseen life on the other side of what I had known for decades, was scary, especially when knowing that choice impacts people you love who had no vote in that decision. Fear can keep us safe. We are constantly trying to survive and fear can tell you, "Look, maybe you're not happy here, but it's familiar, and you know you can live in this situation. Just stick around awhile longer, and who knows, maybe at some point things will even improve." Leaving looked like, "Can I even pay all of the bills on my salary alone?" Living alone means thinking "I might die in alone that house and no one will know until someone  happens to find me." It means all of the tasks I don't want to do will still have to be done by me, or I have to hire someone (which means picking up he phone and calling someone, and then paying them, ugh). It means if I fail to flush the toilet, and I open up the lid later to find a big shaggy turd stewing, there's no one to blame but me (and somehow this seems like a fitting, albeit stinky metaphor).

I'm not doing "bad" all by myself, I'm accountable to myself. I don't have a partner to blame when something goes sideways. When my kids are here, I don't have back up and have to plan accordingly. I've also reduced my exposure to emotional abuse, recurring unresolved issues, and the pressure of being a food shopper, meal preparer, alarm clock, sex provider, personal motivator, appointment rememberer, security blanket, and unskilled therapist for someone else. I've increased my responsibilities for running a household, while also reducing my personal stress level.

It isn't for everyone, and this isn't me looking down on those who are partnered and/or living in a full house. In my case, I missed that step of living alone as an adult, and I skipped it on purpose, out of fear, and because I believed I could tip my life towards security by pairing up with someone I believed was a solid bet. If you don't give yourself the chance to learn whether you could do something alone, you also spare yourself from learning if you might have failed at it. Time to find out.

And then...

This is a follow up from the not at all predictable cliffhanger of a previous post. As suspected, my coworker asked me out. As suspected, I am sure he's perfectly nice, but I don't have the energy or motivation to participate.

The asking out came with a lame job joke ("I'm applying to the position") and I let it slide, then, but when he repeated it later, I said, "I'm not hiring." Look, if I didn't laugh at the joke the first time, the solution is not to repeat it because you think I didn't hear it, but to understand I heard you just fine, I just didn't find it funny.

There's no "position." I feel like so many people know how to take those first steps to express interest, but they don't want to actually connect. I don't have confidence that many men can pursue friendship with a woman without treating it like it's a path to the big prize of romance (code for SEXY TIMES). They want to look at a pretty face across a restaurant dinner table, hide the hard to accept parts of themselves, and have someone to receive the texts they send throughout the day.

I know how terribly jaded that sounds, and this guy did nothing wrong. He's entered my life at a time when my trust in men is at an all time low. I do not trust that I can communicate how I want to be treated, be heard, and then be treated in the way I requested. When he asked me out, I am pretty sure I let out a sigh and said "Get to know me." I said the selves we show each other in a work setting are not really who we are, it's just a small part. The friendly, funny, and yes, pleasant version of me one will encounter in a professional setting is the side I am choosing to show because I like to receive a paycheck. It is a means to an end. If you decide that's who I am, and then proceed to get angry or disappointed when I then begin to exhibit behaviors of a whole human being, that is on you. It's been known to happen.

Strike two, he asked my age, and when I said it, he replied, "You look good for your age." Sigggh. Please, take this as a hint from me and every other human being on the planet, adding "for your age" onto a compliment that could and should stand alone, is unnecessary and backhanded.

Strike three (let's just get there, shall we?), when discussing how Saturday turned into a "really beautiful day" he responded, "Ohhh, you mean beautiful like you?"

What is anyone supposed to say to that? Just, why? Is he saying something genuine or what he thinks I want to hear? Am I supposed to gush and blush? "At what point do I cut slingload and spare us both a lot of pain? John Mayer is a douchebag, but I have to agree with this statement: 

"If you're pretty, you're pretty; but the only way to be beautiful is to be loving. Otherwise, it's just “congratulations about your face.”

Second chances (Alternate title: I don't want to think about your dog's penis, either)

When I first searched for a couples therapist, I was under the gun, understandably. It was in a crisis phase, a "Find someone or we are done" situation following my infidelity. I found a therapist who was holding an open house that week, and decided to use that meeting as a way to decide if she'd be right for us. I didn't know the things to look for when choosing a therapist, and figured I'd go with my gut feeling.

Long story short, she wasn't right for us. After eight months of weekly sessions, I left with the feeling that we had not made much progress that could be attributed to her advice, which amounted to "going back to the basics" and "Have date nights every week." The sessions felt unfocused and unproductive, without an aim to address the negative patterns that each of us fed into over the years. I side eyed the the book by Dr. Laura Schlessinger that she had in the bookcase of the office where we sat for sessions, and her lack of knowledge of Esther Perel. We stopped seeing her when she revealed that she was leaving her own marriage due to emotional abuse. She was able to point out negative comments from my husband as "jabs" and always advised me to "advocate" for myself, and I wondered how much of that guidance she was following for herself.

Nearly three years after we started seeing her, and after another round of counseling with a more competent couples therapist, I decided to write a review. I felt her couples therapy was a money grab, and while there may not have been any ill intentions, I felt compelled to say something. I gave her two out of five stars, and wrote:

(Therapist) may be more helpful for adolescent, family or individual sessions, but I cannot recommend her for couples therapy. Most of her advice amounted to going on date nights and going "back to the basics," which, if you are there to change the old patterns in your marriage, isn't quite the advice needed. I felt strung along and kept as a client for months without clear goals or structure to the sessions, and at times it felt like my spouse and I were there for her entertainment.

She responded:

For any clients that struggle with emotional intimacy and closeness, continued arguing, and lack of progress, I continue to encourage them to "go back to the basics," and reexplore what helped them develop closeness in the first place. Without mutual respect and understanding it would be highly difficult to work on other issues. Further, I can assure you that there is NOTHING I find entertaining about the complexity of helping individuals, couples and families work through difficult situations!

I didn't even criticize all of her work, just the part of it applicable to me. Usually therapists specialize in an area, especially when they are working with couples. Now, five years later, I had to find someone to see my oldest daughter. I thought, maybe? When my soon to be ex husband asked, "What about (Therapist)?" I took that as permission to proceed. I was hesitant because he did not get along with Therapist. With his suggestion, I reached out.

Admittedly, I felt guilty about leaving that negative review. I hardly ever do that, but felt it was a disservice not to speak up, especially after having been through sessions with a more focused couples therapist. Therapist seemed glad to hear from me, and had an appointment available within a week. "Isn't that a bad sign if she has appointments available?" my soon to be ex husband asked. I thought it was, too, but was willing to overlook it. 

We went to the first appointment, took the half hour in the waiting room to fill out the slew of forms, and then when Therapist appeared, she was very warm and welcoming, and even gave me a side hug and asked how I was doing. Her tan and white pitbull, "Teddy Pendergrass," trotted out to greet us as well, and seemed friendly and not too hyper. I sat in the first 15 minutes of the session to give a brief update on current circumstances and get the spiel on not connecting with Therapist on social media or contacting her by texting. Then I excused myself because I didn't want to interfere with their time.

I sat in the waiting room while an overly fragrant candle burned and 90's R&B blared, presumably to disguise anything that might get discussed behind the paper thin walls of the office where she held her sessions. There were wooden motivational signs all around, some of them related to God, and candy, drinks and snacks available for the taking.  Even if the decor and atmosphere were not really my style, it was warm and welcoming, and I hoped this would work out.

Despite the failed couples therapy, I tried to come up with positive points. She lived close to us so would have a good feel for our environment. She was prior military. Her daughter attended the same high school as my daughter, which I felt would ease some of the explaining my daughter might have to do regarding that environment. She was divorced, and would understand that aspect, too. Maybe the couples therapy seemed pointless but it had been the introduction to someone who might be able to help my daughter, I thought, in that "everything happens for a reason" way we do when trying to find meaning from past events.

We left, and my daughter seemed okay with Therapist and I hoped it would be a matter of warming up. I would be out of town for work for the next session. which I believed would be happening the following Tuesday. When the following Tuesday came, I checked my email and saw a message from Therapist asking when the next session would be, since she could not find it on her calendar. I replied, "It's today, isn't it?" When I re-checked the calendar invitation I saw that it was actually marked for March 28th, not February. Not a hard mistake to make, as the days of both months are in perfect alignment. Meanwhile I was telling my soon to be ex husband to make the drive to Therapist's office, just in case. Well, she wound up replying with an apology for the mix up and telling me my daughter's appointment would be rescheduled for the following day. "It happens to everyone" I said, extending grace.

Following the next appointment, my daughter called. "I don't think I want to go back to Therapist." She said. Upon further investigation, she shared that while waiting in the waiting room for her dad to get her, the dog, Teddy, not only jumped on her leg to hump it, he "finished" - leaving his DNA all over her favorite pair of jeans (insert horrified "scream" face emoji here). I was horrified, and while I have had male dogs before, they were neutered before anything like this could happen. I like dogs, but they aren't for everyone, and I don't think they should be left to run amok in an office where people are seeing you to address their personal psychological issues.

Her dad texted Therapist, but I also emailed her, using really gentle language. 

Hi (Therapist),  I just spoke to Elise and she doesn’t want to continue therapy sessions. Thank you so much for accommodating us, we appreciate it.

Her response:

Sorry, my dog was sniffing her leg and humped it while I was speaking to a couple that showed up unannounced.  I do hope she will reconsider. 

I'm sorry, what?! Not only does she casually downplay her dog humping of my daughter's leg as if it's no big deal, but she also blames a couple (who obviously did not read my review) that showed up unannounced. The grace period was over.

When I talked to (my daughter), her description was much more extensive and she was upset. She stated she’s uncomfortable returning, and I respect how she feels. 

We do love animals and understand they will exhibit certain behaviors, but in a therapy setting, clients are in a vulnerable state and need to feel safe and secure to build trust. I am sure you understand.

As a therapist I would hope she would understand this, but the lack of sensitivity (or even an offer to talk about what happened) in her emailed response seemed to confirm what I sensed and described in my negative review. I paired that with how quickly she was able to make an appointment, her "I do hope she will reconsider" comment and her joking that she remained open for in person sessions and repeatedly got sick throughout the pandemic. The therapists I saw both went virtual as soon as things shut down, and I'd think if you were solid enough at your work, your business would survive that. Sometimes you believe you might have been wrong about someone and you eventually get the opportunity to learn that you probably had them right.

I won't leave another review, as this incident is so specific it would be obvious it was me, so I'm sharing it here. You're welcome!

Bumbling

After I separated from my husband and moved out, the next logical step seemed to be getting myself back out there. I decided to create an online dating profile on Bumble. The app appealed to me because the onus is on the woman to swipe right, and only the woman can initiate messaging. I figured, by giving us the power to choose instead of being chosen, it might be a more amenable experience.

I lasted a week.

The free version of the app allowed you to build a profile that consisted of six photos, and a selection of ways to describe yourself, to include sharing your political views, your education level, life habits, zodiac sign, religion and whether you have kids and want more, or not. There were also a few prompts that gave a "fun facts about me" vibe, and finally, you shared your geographical location. It seemed like you could provide just enough information to pique interest while leaving room for some mystery.

I reached out to four people (remember, I can only message those I selected who also matched with me, and I had to initiate). Two didn't respond at all. In one case, it was brief, as this guy wanted to find "the one" and have babies, and that is not my goal. We were kind to each other and wished each other well. The last one messaged back, and this went on for a few days until it felt too tedious to continue. He went between trying unsuccessfully to initiate sexy talk (Me: It's rainy and gray today and I just want to take a nap. Him: Rain is sexy), or commenting that his son was home and hungry so he was going to cook him some wings (Yeah, I get it, teen boys have bottomless pits for stomachs), or a glimpse on his actual opinion about how the pandemic and society's reaction to it was pretty disappointing and disastrous. I tried to cut him loose and got a bit of a sob story about him not finding love, and out of pity, I stuck around, only to get more lame sexy talk and comments about having to cook wings for his son. I eventually disabled my account. I am sure this guy was perfectly fine and I was the problem, and more specifically that these kinds of apps are not compatible with my style of getting to know and feel interested in men.

In my week of scrolling, I saw countless car selfies (suspect), plenty of listings of "Tacos" as a favorite food (hairy variety, no doubt - I'm surprised no one said "clams"), and worst of all, the statement "No Drama," which I took as a way of telling someone to shut up before you even exchange words. One guy had every photo of himself posed with a wide-eyed open-mouthed expression, his rendition of Blue Steel. I couldn't tell if that was a joke or an honest attempt at looking attractive and sensual. There's a lot of scrolling to do before finding someone that has an inkling of potential to be someone you might want to meet.

During my swiping, I found my husband's profile. I figured he downloaded the app because our shared subscription probably showed that I had downloaded it. In one last ditch attempt to see if I cared (I didn't), when we were still living together, he admitted to downloading Tinder and creating a profile. I took screenshots of his description of himself on Bumble. It's always interesting when you know someone intimately, to see what they decide to show to the public. Most of it was accurate, and some of it was not appealing (if you brag about having long work hours, I'm not impressed, or interested, and I'm wondering what you're trying to prove).

I don't know why I bothered with any of it, except that I miss the connection of going out once in awhile, and it might have been fun to find a person I could meet up with on occasion. I like going to movies and being able to lean my head on a shoulder, or going to dinner and flirting. I miss feeling attraction, and at the same time, the app seems so limited, and flat. Someone's poor description of themselves might cause me to overlook them entirely, or choosing someone might result in conversation that goes nowhere. I don't have the time, inclination or patience, and swiping through people like I'm shopping on Amazon feels really icky to me. It's another version of having to kiss a lot of frogs before finding a prince. What we don't say is, maybe no one needs a prince after all.

Goodbye and...?

 Last week at work, we learned that one of us had found a new job and would be leaving for greener pastures. His predecessor had also left the job in a similar manner. We can't seem to keep that position filled, and hopefully the next person stays awhile longer.

I suspect the person leaving has a crush. That is not my ego speaking, it is nearly 48 years of finally becoming observant enough to pick up on the cues. When we aren't on a project together, he makes a point to peek into my office in the morning and again in the afternoon, usually a "good morning" and "See you tomorrow?" type thing. He complimented me on my smile once. He's subtle but I get that feeling.

After our staff meeting when our manager made the announcement, the person leaving stopped by my office with a little small talk and some mention that he needed to talk to me, with a little joking about making things awkward. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask. Stay tuned!

I don't want to think about your penis

Flirting is a tricky thing. I remember a conversation with someone distinguishing what counted as harassment and what counted as welcome flirtation, and my opinion was, the distinction is based on whether the person receiving the attention wants it, or not. I know that admission offers fodder to anyone who feels entitled to consideration by anyone they encounter, and it feeds into that idea that you can get away with anything as long as you're attractive and charismatic enough to bend the limits of what is considered appropriate.

The title of this post is based on that long standing assumption that the mention of a man's foot size corresponds to his penis size. In a fairly unprofessional environment where I no longer work, one guy would regularly ask one of my coworkers his shoe size until one day the coworker responded in exasperation, "I wear a size 9 and I have a small penis" (I cannot will not confirm or deny this). I remember joking in college with someone I was head over heels for, when he said "You know what they say about a man who has big feet," and on cue, I quipped, "He wears big shoes!" For the first time in my life I'd achieved perfect comedic timing, and with my crush, no less. We laughed and laughed. I can confirm he was well endowed, but also extremely popular, funny, and contrary to what all of that implies, terribly insecure.

When I briefly went out with a former coworker a year and a half ago, I noticed he made mention that his feet were "DDD" - wide. He favored basketball shoes outside of the steel toed work boots he'd worn at our job site, and paired with his not so tall stature, they looked a bit like clown shoes. I never understood bragging about the width, except that he could have been alluding to the girth of his peen. Every time he raised the topic, I felt revolted, because when you don't like someone that way, you don't want to think of anything except a Ken doll situation in their pants. That alone should have been a sign for me to cut my losses, but I stubbornly hung on. When he finally self imploded via text, I felt relieved it was done, and best of all, that I no longer had to hear about the width of his feet and experience the corresponding unwelcome thought of his penis.