Ever get that anxious feeling? The kind you might have felt in high school before a big test; or when debating an I’ve-gotta-have-it-but-I-know-I-shouldn’t-spend-anymore purchase; or questioning motivation in a relationship? You have? Me too! Doesn’t it stink?
Yep. They stink because all, depending on your choice, have consequences.
Here’s the thing, although my significant other would say otherwise…I hate conflict. I thoroughly, thoroughly hate it. And if you knew my dad, my genes, you might think otherwise. Growing up with a notoriously outspoken politician/lawyer, I learned quickly how to prepare for any situation that had even a hint of perceived conflict. Because at the core of it, what are lawyers? They are professional debaters–prolific experts on twisting logic for wanted outcomes. So, if I ever wanted anything, for example to borrow the car as a teenager, I could never just ask. No, I needed to be prepared for the cross examination. Showing up unprepared would certainly guarantee a no verdict. So, I would script a pros and cons list, practice what I would say in each yes verses no scenario, and had a list of reasons why it was good to let me use it at the ready. And what did this leave me with? A serious overthinking problem. Overthinking is so hard-wired into my psyche, that I overthink my overthinking.
But that hard-wired, socialized, nurtured (or if you want to argue nature) behavior is powerful stuff. I would much rather be blissfully ignorant of the stresses one goes through when reciting all the “what if” scenarios before making any decision. White or wheat? Heels or flats? Stay or leave? Pool or pond? But alas, it continues…
So here I find myself in such a predicament with one of my Sunday Boyfriends. Ah yes, the stink-fest continues…
The basis of Sunday Boyfriend has always been, “Comfortable. Always there for you.” And if you’ve been reading my blog, you know I am very true to this mantra. So, after a recent conversation with this SB, I couldn’t shake the feeling he really isn’t “there for me” anymore, and started to feel “uncomfortable.”
And the basis for it being uncomfortable is hard to share, but I promised to be real, so here goes…
This particular SB has always had a special place in my heart. Because honestly (gulp), there was a time in my life I was in love with him, but I never told him. Looking back I can see why I chose not to, but it doesn’t diminish the overall sense of a missed opportunity to connect with an amazing person.
You see, at the time, I was enduring a great many changes in my life. The most prominent being my reaction to my father’s terminal cancer diagnosis. Dealing with an ill family member is hard enough for anyone, but in my family…well, in my family, the reaction to my father’s illness resulted in the unfolding of family secrets; years’ worth of hard feelings being let out, and a general uneasiness between everyone, every day. Having now had almost two decades of hindsight, wisdom, truth, and several read chapters of Dr. Kübler-Ross under my belt, I get all the anger that surrounded my life back then. But when it was happening I was young, idealistic, and naïve. I had a myriad of emotions hitting my raging hormone body. To cope, I found myself self-destructing with legal, albeit dangerous vices. Not proud of this time, nor of the hurt I caused to others and myself. But it is what it is. I’m human.
And it was during this time of heartache, loss, and confusion that this particular SB did the most amazing thing for me. He gave me sunshine. My leaky-vault of a memory is fuzzy on how it started, but I know it started with two words–two words, from me, on a torn piece of paper in his mailbox. And in return, I received a magical story, using those two words, about a mouse that loved to share tea with the moon.
When I read that magical story, it took me away from the chaos that filled my life. And I was forever grateful for that moment of diversion. As my dad’s time on this earth was drawing closer and closer to an end, I found myself writing two words more often. Needing that diversion like food for the starving, I became addicted. I voraciously consumed each new story; then frantically left two new words before the last story was cold. His stories were the only thing keeping me from being totally swallowed by the vices. And God love him, he kept writing stories. And God help me, I fell for him. So why not tell him? Because he represented all joy. And even though everything else, it seemed, in my life was falling apart, in my grief-stricken, irrational mind, I thought if I let him in, I would ruin him. And that, “what if,” scenario was scarier than telling him I loved him and him not feeling the same. I never wanted to be the girl that drained him of his joy.
Shortly after my dad passed away, I was dealt two other losses and fell into a depression. I didn’t recognize or understand what I was going through at that time, again because I was young and naïve, but man…hindsight makes even a puddle of mud crystal clear. Regardless, I lost time and fell out of touch with not only this SB, but many other lovely friends.
I eventually came out of it and started moving forward. But with every new step (a new job, a new apartment, a new relationship), his stories came with me. They were a source of comfort when I started to feel uneasy about my journey. They reminded me how lucky I was to have such a wonderful person in my life during that time. And even though I missed him, I always hoped he was happy.
Fast forward a decade, a coming together to eulogize a classmate, the Internet, Facebook and, “Viola!” A reconnection is made.
And this time, after going through years of regret of a lost friendship with a one-of-a-kind person, I wasn’t about to miss another opportunity to have him back in my life. So with the help and support of my amazing significant other, I eventually got over my fear, put all those “what if” thoughts aside, and revealed how I felt back then and how much I miss his friendship. Yes it was written, not spoken, and the written word is highly interpretable. But I was going to take the chance anyway, because the older I get, the more I appreciate the importance of surrounding yourself with caring people. This pull-the-curtain-back moment was, and remains, a very raw and naked feeling.
And what do you know…I did hear back. Said he was touched, but needed to gather his thoughts in order to respond in-kind. Because ‘to not to would be a sin.’ So I thought, okay. I can’t exactly drop a bombshell out of the blue and expect someone to sort out their feelings on my time schedule. I can wait. I already proved I was good at waiting…at least with this.
While waiting, we continued to make contact: an antidote here, a fun word or two there. Each time a step closer, I thought, to the words he said he would share. But it’s been years now, and I’m still waiting for him to honor my truth with a reply. And during this time what have I been doing? Yep…overthinking.
And that overthinking has been driving my bus for too long. I was getting damn cold being naked for so long. So I called him out. Sure, I’ll admit it was not in a great way. In fact, it was in kind of a crummy way. I was having a terrible week. I reached out to him in the hopes for some of our friendly, kind words. It was as familiar as writing those two words. And his reaction, although I understand was an attempt to be funny, was the opposite of what I needed in that moment. And I lashed out from a place of fear—fear that I was never going to hear those words; fear of what it meant that I was so angry about not hearing those words. So I came right out and said I contacted him in the hopes of hearing the words he had been promising for quite some time. Turns out…he had no idea what I was talking about. And that, even though I know I set myself up for this hurt, hurt. So from this place of hurt, fear, and chilly nakedness, I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed the steering wheel of my bus, reminded him what he said and questioned his motivation for even saying it in the first place.
And silence…
And overthinking…
Now it’s uncomfortable…
