My Dad Was an Emotional Sea Monster

Content Warning: Child abuse, spousal abuse, and a brief mention of sexual assault.

The first draft of this post had like a jillion paragraphs about my family’s messed up relationship with food but

A.   I really just don’t want to talk about it.

And

B.    The emotions I’ve been uncovering here, the feeling of being judged, surveilled, the I’ll-never-get-it-right feeling, they don’t really come from fatphobia or my mom’s weird controlling/mystical ideas around sugar. They come from my dad being fucking terrifying.

In the present day, my dad is a mild-to-absent part of my life. He’s part of my lifeboat of family liberals, though he does mention Al Franken a little too often. (Ever is too often.) He’s doing this weird thing lately where he regales me with his slight calorie intake and his enviable walking routine, but it seems sad rather than judgey. He bought me and my sister Elizabeth Warren’s book as soon as it came out.

But of course the terror of him from my childhood still lives in my body, makes it hard to feel privacy or autonomy and trust.

I’ve written posts about incidents of explosive violence from him, but I think the frozen feeling comes from the day-to-day of him. It’s hard to focus on my dad, even in the kind care of Summer Therapist, even now with a pink wine spritzer and a Hazy Summer Lofi playlist on. Let me light a few candles and some incense, be right back.

Okay, here I am. I remember the feeling of getting home early for a half snow day and my heart just falling when I realized dad was home early too. I saw him out back chopping wood and all my festive snow day emotions just left me. I felt apprehension, sadness, a beautiful day lost.

I don’t remember a specific instance of him calling us worthless. I remember “lazy.” My senior year of high school, I remember “cocksucker” when I won a photography contest and didn’t give the prize money to him. Also from the teenage years, I remember “You brought this into our house,” (meaning I’d brought violence into our house by being raped and assaulted at a party) as his fists rained down on me, just after he’d kicked my mom down the stairs.

But “worthless” was the insult that sunk in deepest, it was so present that it feels like weather, like, what’s the opposite of a snow day? It’s embedded in my brother too, who’ll use it on me at the slightest provocation. Which is part of why we don’t hang out with that guy.

My dad loomed over everything like the worst supervisor. During the process of grieving the Shy One relationship, one of the hardest things was the way I could still feel TSO with me, fucking judging me all the time—I wasn’t getting over him fast enough, wasn’t doing dating right. I was wallowing too much in my feelings. Mostly, my brain had made up this snippy version of my probably genuinely-rooting-for-me ex, but he was buzzing around my brain for months, reminding me that I’d failed, that his rejection meant I wasn’t lovable, telling me to just fucking give up.

Worthless.

My dad was like a sea monster. You never knew what was going on under the surface or when he might come screaming out of the sea and sink the ship. The simplest things could turn from rumbling menace to terror on a dime.

Once, when I was around ten my sister and I were changing for something and, in the middle of a fight with mom, he decided he needed to come in our room and yell at us too. We locked the door but he kicked it and kicked it until it broke. My sister and I stood there naked and frozen with fear, nowhere to go for cover.

In present-day moments of panic, I feel that day: exposed, afraid, unable to solve the problem or shift the moment. Unable to protect the more vulnerable people around me. I knew there was no privacy or safety, that I didn’t and couldn’t own my own body. There was no place where he ended and I began.

There were school mornings I couldn’t get out the door because I didn’t part my hair correctly. I would stand on a chair, looking into the little mirror on a wall sconce, combing and recombing. I would climb down from the chair, he would check it and find it crooked. I would have to climb back up on the chair and try again. The endlessness, the hopelessness, the feeling of just being too stupid to figure it out.

Worthless.

I feel so much regret, remorse, and loss for the for the ways the father I carry projected itself onto the relationship with The Shy One. I know part of me wished I could Get It Right this time, that that would somehow solve the childhood ache. Though TSO was in no way abusive or scary, I chose someone withholding, uncommunicative, snappish, and exacting, and set out to win him over, to make him into a safe home. I wanted him to make me worthy. Tale as old as time.

As my two months off from dating draw to a close, this is what scares me the most—will I really be able to hold out for someone emotionally available, or will I slip into this fantasy again, hurting myself and some unsuspecting guy in the process? Will seeing the pattern help me be kinder to myself, to believe in the chatty, joyful, equal relationship of my dreams? I hope so! I’ll do my imperfect best.

 

 

New Guys, Old Triggers, Real Dating Break, Part Two

From Last September, Trying to Internalize It

Backing up to the day after my Memorial Day adventure with Le Monsieur, he did that disappearing-the-day-after-sex thing. I thought a lot about the feeling of abandonment that day, how much it affected me during the bad rhythms of The Shy One. It feels childish to be a grown woman talking about “abandonment” by a guy I just met, but maybe just…childlike. That deep chasm of loneliness and want does come from the child part of my psyche, that’s why it’s so powerful.

I would like to find someone who doesn’t trigger that feeling, who wants to spend time and be close to me after sexy times, someone who wants the ordinary times too. Right now, it’s hard to believe in.

I probably should have said a kind goodbye to Le Monsieur after he did the disappearing thing, but when he popped back up the day after, I just wanted to practice my French and maybe get spanked.

He dragged his feet about making more plans though. I felt pangs of loss about that, remembering how The Shy One stayed up late making the hotel reservations for the trip we never got to take. Logistics and gifts were his love languages, I wish I would have been able to appreciate that more. I wondered if I’d ever feel that level of cared-for structure again.

Le Monsieur eventually did make a plan, and I was excited for him to pick me up so I could visit his place. But he texted earlier that day to see if I could bring baby oil. I said I didn’t have any but could bring some nice scented lotion. I offered to bring condoms and he said yes, bring those too. More pangs. It felt like I would be providing everything to this connection. My heart ached to return to The Shy One, who not only brought his own condoms like a GROWN ASS MAN but almost always showed up with treats, or a pretty lotion, or a candle, or a new sex toy.

It wasn’t about the gifts, or, it wasn’t ALL about the gifts, it was about feeling special. In all my years of grown-up dating, a man had never made me feel so valued. He treated me, most of the time, like something he wasn’t just entitled to. Honored. He made me feel honored.

Though I was very happy that Le Monsieur had MSNBC playing when he picked me up (a first!) and we had a very nice dinner, the date just didn’t feel right. I took a walk in his neighborhood and then BFF came to pick me up. We listened to and celebrated the indictment news. It was a bittersweet night of accepting where I was really at.

I can’t keep getting mad at these guys for not being The Shy One! AND for the ways they resemble him. As much as it annoys me to not move on while TSO’s probably out there having all the casual fun, it just doesn’t feel right. I’m not ready. My heart is still too full of him to have room for anybody else. I wonder if I’ll ever have that room again. Probably!

So for the next couple of months, I’m going to focus on work, friends, summer, and mental health. I’m going to focus on myself and give myself the space to process and heal. These couple months of adventures have been lovely, and I’m sure when I’m ready, people will still be cute.

OMG I Almost Forgot This Awesome Ass Update!

Waaaaaay back during the Steampunks in 2013, I remember being jealous of Steampunk Girl’s story about her first anal sex. Her guy at the time had been so gentle, so careful, she said. He listened to her and let her go at her own pace, making it about intimacy, not conquest or transaction.

Marooned as I was with Steampunk Guy and my main partner, Divorce Grief, I couldn’t imagine a man ever being that kind, that tender towards me.

I’m kinda glad (Though still irritated!) that my Ass Project with Steampunk Guy got vetoed on account of feelings, because my ass journey with The Shy One was beautiful. I don’t remember exactly when my asshole came into the mix, but I love the memory of him playing there sweetly and lightheartedly, mischievous and amused. Standing over me, next to me, or behind me while I was on my knees.

Whereas Steampunk Guy would have ripped off the Band-aid (Probably a little traumatizingly) with gusto and wrecklessness, the Shy One was in it with me. He tried a few times, after lots and LOTS of other things, to enter my ass, but, though I relaxed my jaw (Like I learned in that one anal sex class I took!) and took deep breaths, I couldn’t convince my inner sphincter to relax. He tried, ring of pain, he stopped, repeat. Deliberate, responsive. A dream come true as he almost always was.

The closest The Shy One and I got to anal sex was during his after-the-big-trip visit. He’d missed me and he wanted all of me—even fucked me even though I was (I almost always was!) on my period. I wanted him to have all of me, and I pushed through the pain as much as I could. He was too big, or I was too deep-down tense, but it was close. He was inside me in a way that was totally new, in a way my body and my curious mind had wanted for SO LONG. Painful as it was, I was woozy with gratitude and wildly, helplessly in love, even more than I’d already been.

So part of the dream came true, hooray! Cue choir of slutty angels! But then, jetlagged and getting sick and also just him, he withdrew afterwards, both went home and became a little less reachable, and I felt abandoned. Abandoned is a big scary dramatic word for a grownup to be using, but there we are. In those needy, vulnerable, most love-dizzy moments, he went away from me. Even if he only withdrew a little, I felt foolish, lost, stupid. I felt like the world was being taken away just as quick as it had been given. Like the sun had stopped shining.

(I do wonder how much of that emotion I owe to my own trauma. I kinda wish he and I had been able to sit down and sort out our traumas like laundry. I wish I could know more about what he was feeling, whether those shifts to not-liking-me after sex were as real as they felt. But in the end, it’s as simple as “this feels bad” I think.)

I think, someday when I restart this part of the project, I’d like to be kinder to myself about it. I’d like to hold out for someone who wants to be with me after. A guy who feels the afterglow with me and wants to bask in it. Somebody patient who can pat my head and soothe the vulnerable feelings. He’ll bring me fizzy water and tell me what the experience was like for him. We’ll talk all night.

The Lessons of Mister Hazel Eyes

I’m still really sad that Mister Hazel Eyes disappeared, but I guess I know that in some ways, it’s probably for the best. I’m taking a month away from (non-Sweetie) body adventures partly because I need to make space for heartbreak, and partly because my student teaching semester begins next week. I feel like I’ve listed some of these things before, but here’s what I learned from him:

1. I have abandonment issues. I hope to outgrow them someday, mostly by noticing that people often do stick around, but in the meantime, I think the best I can do is avoid men who trigger said issues as much as I can, and talk it over when the feelings come up. I can’t trace the abandonment fear to anything besides the fact that I took men away from myself for so long. My body’s sometimes like “Is it gonna be ten days or ten years?” I’ll do my best to comfort it.
2. I need to slow down and allow for the other partner’s pace. I’m not sure if I sabotaged us or if we were simply a bad match, but I wish I would’ve given him a little more time to catch up to me, emotionally. I get attached fast and I need to be okay with that, but I also need to give people more time and space to feel what they end up feeling.
3. Poly guys only. I think that this is an okay preference to have. I want metamours, not rivals, and it’s hard not to feel competitive with someone who will likely be my replacement. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being a stopgap, but I don’t want to do it again.
4. If facebook is telling me things before he is, it won’t work. It will, in fact, make me feel like a crazy person and also like I am twelve.
5. Asking for what I need is wonderful and good, but basic respect needs to go without saying. If someone is too careless or incompatible, asking for what I need can feel like harpytown, population me. It feels awful, and it’s cruel to the person who’s getting harped on, too. On a related note: no more guys with too South Parky of a sense of humor.
6. It’s okay to prefer good communication. I felt superneedy for wanting him to make plans proactively, to respond to texts within a day or so, but really, that’s just the bare minimum.
7. Snuggle me, snuggle my complications. He made me feel bad for who I am, for coming with a full calendar, with other partners, with a list of knots and a suitcase of rope. I felt like a burden because of all my facets, even though I love those things about myself.
8. Jealousy is not going to kill me. It just sometimes’ll feel like it might. It’s another thing I have to practice. At least I didn’t run away this time.
9. I want something long term, so I will do my best to choose guys who are more likely to be long term, who feel secure, adult, and good at planning.
10. That being said, as you might have noticed from the recurring theme of nineties music, there’s a teenage aspect of me who is turned on by a certain kind of guy: filthy/affectionate, boyish, detached. I would like to find a way to entertain that aspect of myself in a more sustainable way. I never thought of myself as an ageplay girl, but I think I might like to play 17 sometimes. I’ll put that on the list of things to try after my kitten break.

My Ass Is Smitten With Mister Hazel Eyes, Part One: Spanked in a Stairwell

I feel really vulnerable writing this. Though it may not seem so from the title, last night was the first non-Sweetie date of my poly career that was truly romantic. I bonded with him. I felt cathexis. I got attached, and with that attachment comes a terrible, sad fear that he’ll go away now. (Which, okay, is made worse because I just watched the Gilmore Girls episode where Luke and Lorelai break up.) Liking him makes me feel like I’ve got to be ready to let him go, which is one of my central issues to overcome. So here goes.

Mister Hazel Eyes surprised me with tickets to see Jane’s Addiction and Die Antwoord. He bought the tickets before I’d even said I would go, which really knocked my socks off. Also, because he is sweet in a rather odd way, he asked if I would rather take the tickets and go with Sweetie: awww. But of course I was over the moon to go with him. Jane’s Addiction was my favorite band when I was a teenager, and I’d never gotten to see them. So it was a pretty big deal.

He wanted to meet him at his work, in one of the skyscrapers downtown. I stood in the fancy grey-marble lobby looking decidedly unbusinesslike in my black dress and sneakers, pigtails and spiked collar. I felt a little hookerish waiting there for him, but not unpleasantly so. When he came down, he said I looked great, and so did he, in the standard rock-boy bowling shirt and boots. He presented me with the tickets and I said “That right there? That’s some second base for you.” and he smiled.

He said he had to grab something from his car before we went to dinner, but I’m pretty sure he just wanted to spend some quality makeout time with me in the parking garage elevator. As soon as the doors closed, he crushed me against the wall and kissed me, yanking my pigtails and running his hands lightly over the front of my dress. I was more than happy to let him. I was so ready for him to be there. I’d been fantasizing pretty much non-stop about him feeling me up. (Also about bearing myself to him, ohboy, but we haven’t made it there yet…) I wish there’d have been hands inside my bra, but what can you do. Eventually he had to stop pushing buttons and get out.

On the way back down there were people in the elevator, so we took the stairs. In the stairwell, he kissed me some more, and when I was sure no one was coming I said “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” and bent over. My feet were on the landing, my ass was stuck out towards him, my arms draped up the metal railing. If it hadn’t been that-time-of-the-month, I would have pulled the back of my skirt up, too.

He hesitated for a moment but then started stroking my ass gently and thoughtfully. Then he pulled his hand back and smacked, full and strong, pushing the breath out of my lungs and into a laugh that echoed up and down the stairs. I looked down at the stairs spiraling down four levels and ooof, oh my goodness, he spanked me a few more times, and I laughed and blushed and signed.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been spanked by some experts, but boy does his guy have a talent.

I stood to face him again and he pulled my face into a kiss. With no warning, he grabbed both my nipples and squeezed, just like he owned the place. I have already revisited that moment a few times during personal time. Fucking swoon, sheesh. Nonetheless, I pulled his hands down to my waist and said “Um, tickets…”

We dawdled around making out and getting dinner. Over Chinese, we made some more plans. (He likes eluding to the fact that plan-making turns me on. He gets the Good Listener badge.) We’re going to go to the next rope party, and he assures me he’ll take a crack at learning the knots. (!) The only part of the conversation that worried me is that he says that he doesn’t feel jealous of me being with Sweetie, he would feel jealous of another guy. Seems like there might have to be a little negotiation there. Jealousy won’t bother me, unless it translates to him going away like it did with Bill.

For someone to be close to me, they have to be good at concerts, and MHE totally is. He was even thoughtful enough to pick up some pastries and water in case we got hungry after the show. I think this was the first time I’ve had actual seats to a show, so that I didn’t have to get there early and jockey for general admission space. Which is a good thing, because there were certainly some car-shenanigans to be had.

If you’re thinking that I have a strange definition of romance, you’re right, but it’s coming, I promise.

Next: Getting spanked in another parking lot.