If you know me or
have read my previous posts, you know that Sam and I are separating. Romantically, we have been very distant from
each other for quite some time, but we still live in the same house while we both
figure out what each of us wants for our future and pay off our shared debt (ironically,
our wedding, among other things). We
remain very good friends and have had many post-mortem conversations about our
relationship, what went wrong and why and I think we are both at peace with it
being over.
This whole post
is about love and sex, and the thoughts in my head about these subjects. It’s not meant as a commentary on Sam in any
way. Many people who have weight loss
surgery find their relationships are changed after surgery. Some people find it improves their
relationship, many others find their relationship is over after the weight comes
off. For Sam and I, it happened before my
surgery, probably because I had long term therapy for the year before surgery
whereas most people don’t, so I think that hastened the process for me.
This post, just like all the others, is about me thinking critically about myself as I progress
through the weight loss surgery experience. Anything I say here is not a reflection of Sam’s shortcomings,
but rather my own. It’s just rather
difficult to discuss sex and love without mentioning Sam in any way since he has been in my life for the last 7 years. My relationship with him was only my second relationship that lasted more than 2 dates.
He said something
to me a while ago that has really haunted me these past few months and I’ve
been thinking about it a lot. He told me
that I push everyone who loves me away because I think I’m not lovable.
When he first
said that, I really just kind of brushed it off. I
didn’t really think about it a lot but then one day, something happened and it
was like a stone hitting the windshield.......you think it’s nothing but it completely cracks your window. That insignificant thing that happened in my day suddenly made me realize there was something to what he
said. So I found myself re-examining my
life, yet again, in this context.
When I was 14, I
was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.
My family doctor had referred me to a specialist because I started to
develop hair growth on my face. The
endocrinologist gave it to my mom and I straight: I have too many male hormones; will always have cysts on my ovaries which means I am probably infertile and probably won’t
ever have kids; I’ll need to be on birth
control pills for the rest of my life to balance my hormones, and I will probably
always struggle with my weight.
So at the age of
14 I started on the pill and electrolysis treatments. That also set the expectation that I carried
with me throughout life that I wouldn’t have kids. I never thought about whether or not I wanted
them…I didn’t want to get excited about something that would never happen.
At this point in
my life, several things were already true:
I already felt different than everyone else even before this, and even
more so afterwards. I already knew that
other people thought I was fat and that it was a bad thing. I had been on several diets, and generally
felt that I was not acceptable the way I was.
Other people’s fear of my becoming fat leeched into me and
started to shape how I felt about my body and myself.
At the same time,
I also became aware of how powerful my body was. My classmates, my family members,
advertising and media - everyone - seemed to have such strong reactions to and opinions
of the female body and what was and wasn’t ok. I mentioned previously that by the time I was 14, I looked 19. I got a lot of attention from older guys. I was already obsessed with sex and the
attention I got was kind of scary to me.
I knew I was way too young for sex.
But still, I was curious so I would raid my dad’s porn stash and watch his VHS tapes
until he’d realize one of his kids was seeing stuff they shouldn’t and try and
hide them somewhere else, which didn’t work ‘cos I just found them again. He probably thought it was my brother – not
that he ever asked - but nope, it was me.
I was
confused by the dichotomy between being told I wasn’t good enough and all the
attention I got. It made sense to me that I wasn't good enough for love or real interest but I was good enough for sex. Those guys probably gave that same attention
to every girl, hoping someone would sleep with them, so I tried not to rely on it for my feelings of self-worth. I tried to not want that attention. I tried to see it as not important. Instead of trying to be sexy and attractive, I tried to focus on other things like being stylish, smart, mysterious, cool, a rebel. In a previous
post I mentioned how I had a lot of male friends in high school and how I
thought dating was a big waste of time.
That’s all true, but the more complete story is, I didn’t think any guy
could ever actually be interested me.
I knew I didn’t
want to ever get married. I saw what being married
looked like all around me and that wasn’t how I wanted to live, even as a kid.....that just
wasn’t how I saw myself. Being married
seemed…….safe and "normal" I guess, to me. It just wasn't the kind of life I imagined for myself. But I am a
total romantic and wanted a relationship someday. I just wanted the intense, passionate,
transcendent, rock n roll, soul scorching kind of relationship poets write poems about and
Led Zeppelin wrote songs about. I wasn’t
interested in a safe life…. I wanted a partner as tempestuous, irreverent and challenging as I
was and our relationship to reflect that.
But I grew up hearing
from everyone around me – especially from well meaning people who loved me - that I would be alone
for the rest of my life unless I lost weight.
No man – certainly not the tall, fit, handsome men I was always
attracted to - would want a fat girlfriend. I
grew up hearing I had such a beautiful face, which sounds like a compliment…….
but the unspoken “but” is, “shame about the body”. I grew up hearing, ‘you’d be perfect if only
you lost weight’. I grew up hearing that
a woman is only worth something if she’s desirable to men and fat women are not
desirable to men. The conclusion I
drew: You are fat and don’t deserve to
be loved or desired.
I wish I could go back
and take that girl under my wing and tell her to not buy into the bullshit
she’s hearing all around her….to REALLY not buy it. I wish I could cover her ears and shout, “la
la la, she can’t hear you and shame on you for being such an asshole!” The awful thing is, you hear something often enough and you
start to believe it and tell it to yourself over and over and pretty soon, it’s
your truth. All these years, I really
believed I had ignored these messages. But I can see now that was not
the case. Not only did I
not ignore those messages but I absorbed them like a sponge. I still don't believe anyone is ever actually attracted to me. I always think there must be some other reason for their attention.
In the late 90's, I started to realize my 20's were almost over and the idea of turning 30 hit me HARD. I had been living back at home at my parents' house after I was raped and had gained a lot of weight after trying to compulsively eat my anger away. I had still never had consensual sex in my life and had still only ever been kissed by one guy. It was depressing, embarrassing and I was tired of it, so I decided to start seeking out sex on the internet. I don't remember the first guy I slept with. I took what I could get. Over the next several years, I would have long periods of total celibacy.
Then suddenly I’d get the itch to explore and would sleep with lots of
people in a short time. I sometimes slept with several people a week and they were always one night stands. None of those
experiences were very satisfying. Wars were waged on sex, myths were built on it…I was convinced there had to be more to it than what I was seeing and this thirst for the discovery of the magic I was sure existed drove me on to sleep with more and more people.
I was never really attracted to anyone I slept with. What I mean is, they weren't physically my type. But they were willing to sleep with me and that was all I thought I could hope for. I didn't think anyone I wanted to have sex with with would ever want to have sex with me. I didn’t feel like I deserved to ask for what I really want. I didn’t think I deserved to be loved or
desired. I didn’t think I was good enough
to get the partner I want.
I have no idea how many people I slept with. I don't remember names, I don't remember faces (except the guy who used my toothbrush without asking...THAT guy I remember. I was SO pissed.) I put myself in some ridiculously dangerous situations. I don't even know why I did all of this.....because I could? Because I hated myself? Because I was so numb and disconnected from my body that I wanted to feel something...anything? Because I wanted control of my sex life back after having
it taken away by the guy who raped me? Because I was desperate for
human contact? Because I was just horny? Maybe all of the above.
Back to Sam's comment that I push everyone who loves me away because I think I’m not lovable. Honestly, I am
not sure about the “pushing away” part yet.
There have not been that many people in my life who have loved me - in a
romantic sense, I mean….two people. And
I’m not sure that’s enough to make it a pattern. But I do think fear ultimately plays into
this “pushing away” business. But do I think I’m unlovable? The more I think about that, the more I know Sam is right. I know I am terrible with money. I am demanding and irresponsible. I have a quick temper. I’m impulsive and impatient. I’m selfish. I always try to be in charge and then resent my partner for not being strong enough to tame me. In addition to everything else... my history, my obesity struggle, my medical issues….. who would want to put up with all that? Who would want to love or have sex with someone like that?
So yeah….I think I am pretty damaged and fucked up…….and unlovable. I guess I have things to discuss in my next therapy session!
I just can’t believe I didn’t see all this myself years ago
and do something to change it. It took a
passing comment from Sam, who obviously saw it so clearly, and an insignificant "stone" to make me stop and
think about it. Realizing all of this
has helped me feel totally confident that Sam and I ending our marriage is
absolutely the right thing for both of us. Sam is a great guy and will make a great partner for someone else.
But I could
never make him happy, and he could never make me happy......we both should have known that a long time ago. Neither of us did anything wrong…we just need
different things from our partner than the other is able to deliver. We’re all looking for different things out of life, love, sex and a
partner and what I wanted as a kid from a partner is what I still really want. Splitting up doesn't mean “you
suck and are unlovable”, it just means, “I don’t see what I’m looking for in
you, but someone else will”.
Recently I read an article on Inc.com titled, “The One Behavior That
Guarantees failure”. Although the
article was geared towards succeeding in business, the crux of the argument was
this: letting fear of failure stop you
from asking for what you want ensures you won't get it.
Yeah, I found this article helpful for me in my job, but more importantly,
I found it really hit home when thinking about my personal life. While I was reading, a fairly simple concept
became clear to me - fear of failure holds people back and stops them from
truly fulfilling who they are and getting what they want in life. It certainly has done that to me in my
life. That has to change. Starting now.
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