Many people I try to connect with, they have love-trauma. Something bad happened to them when they were young, where they tried to care for someone, be there for someone, and have their words match their behavior. Something bad happened where they got accused of harm or disagreement about what love is.
They tried to love their friend and be there for them, and the friend asked, “Are you trying to love and be here for me?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m doing,” they replied.
Then there was some kind of pain, and their behavior changed. So the other person said, “What are you doing? You said you were loving me and being here for me–forever, till the end of time, no matter what. You are a bad person who doesn’t do what they said.”
trap
So then they get damaged, and afraid of being held accountable because it hurt, that one time when someone tried to trap them. The other person took the words and used the words against them, to try to control or shame them. So the result is they do whatever behaviors and don’t want to use words, anymore.
I was born to love. I like all of it–touch, listening, sharing ideas, being there for someone, forming bonds, cooking foods, adjusting the blanket. We can connect informally for three minutes, like helping a stranded stranger with a dead battery jump their car. Or like me and Ming, we can form a long partnership of deep trust, vulnerability, and knowing one another. Building a life together.
There’s nothing wrong with the stranger saying “thank you!” and then you go your separate ways, their car now functioning. I love all the kinds of connection that are consensual and feel good.
words
But I love words too, and want to know what we’re doing. If someone treats me like I matter to them, I want to know–I need some hints what they feel, what they want, are they building something with me.
I don’t need them to only relate to me if they’re intending to stay in it for the long haul. But after sharing tons of resources, experiences, affection, vulnerability, whatever–it feels like time to talk about it.
Many people seem to think words are a net they’ll get caught in. Accountability is scary to them. I don’t understand why. That kid who hurt them with accountability– could you do some ritual to let go of that pain, or forgive that person and heal your accountability trauma to get your behavior and words on the same page?
Or maybe people feel way less than I think they do. They don’t need to have the conversation about how they feel–they don’t really feel. They’re just fucking around.
Nothing wrong with fucking around, if that’s what you all know you’re doing. The problem is people who are fucking around but pretending like something matters to them, in order to deceive others.
It reminds me of “The dream is gone, but the baby is real.” If you want to be lighthearted and have fun without longterm anything, good for you. But bringing new life into it, you’re affecting many people who will rally to support the kid and try to build something reliable for the kid, hopefully.
responsibility as chore
I don’t understand what’s so scary about love. Or people who want half of it, without responsibility. I don’t understand why responsibility is so painful, for so many people. I guess they don’t enjoy being there for someone. So it’s a chore they want to get out of, like washing the dishes.
Feels so cliche–a man wants sex without responsibility, so he pretends he cares, gets some sex, feels a twinge of boredom, sees another prospect, and departs. The lover is surprised–I thought he cared. I guess not. Oh well.
Is that the big story of life? Life we live, but life itself: how people come about. Adults are unclear about what they’re doing, not communicating, or flat out lying.
“This is less fun than before–I will take my leave of you now.” He packs his bag–there you go.
I sound like a republican for a second there. It’s not that I’m against divorce–I love divorce. If you gotta go, go!
contracts
I don’t want any contracts signed in blood, personally. I just think being able to talk about how we feel and what we’re doing is part of being an adult. One of the 12 or so things an adult should be able to do.
It scares the hell out of some people. Horror movies shouldn’t be about murderers, ghosts, or pandemics–I ask someone, “How do you feel about me? Are we doing something, here? Because I notice it looks like we’re doing something, and I’d like to check in.”
The other person flees in terror. “This conversation is not what I want to do. I’m going to look over here now.” Then they run. They say, “No, we’re not doing that thing,” or won’t talk about it at all. It’s like I have a chainsaw in my hand, but all I have is a heart.
I’m like, “Oh, I see–my mistake. We’re not doing that thing. Strange, felt like that thing, to me. Oh well. See ya later.”
If I’m smart, I depart. If I’m not smart, or so far in it I can’t help myself, I stick around to get kicked for a while longer. I’ll tell myself, “I see what we’re doing, and I don’t need words.” Or, “I need someone’s behavior to match their words, but maybe I could try out not needing words…?”
Or, “Yes, his behavior is bad at times, but nobody is perfect! I know he’s really a good person–I’ve seen it.” But everybody else is seeing the bad behavior and telling me, Get out right now.
happy
I want to build happy relationships more than anything. I’m thwarted sometimes, but I don’t think my requirements are weird. Being honest about what we’re doing, checking in so I have a sense of someone’s inner world and plans if any, pertaining to me. I’m not asking for a kidney–just an honest conversation. Weird, that’s too much.
I have Ming, a distant bestie, a local close friend who’s bestie-like, people I check in with on a daily basis, friends I talk with less often. Community I live with, community that’s looser who I don’t live with but am trying to form something longterm with.
I have a relative I speak with; I have tons of penpals, online friends, people I email with, people I txt with.
It’s a lot going on. Along with making zines, gardening, riding trike, blogging, singing, talking to God, cooking delicious veg foods…. My life is amazing. I have resources, so much freedom, meaningful work, time to do what I want to do.
Is that borage magical, or is it just me?
thank you
I’m not a drowning suffering person who’s trying to trap anyone into being my friend and letting me hurt them. I have more friends than I want to, really. Sometimes it feels like I’m spread thin because I’m trying to be there for a lot of people.
And I don’t want to hurt anybody. I want fun, mostly–the different kinds of fun I enjoy. I’m not looking to marry everyone. I’m good with Ming, as my spouse.
I’m a happy, fully-formed adult person who feels a lot, thinks a lot, and likes connecting to people. And I love words. Yeah, I’m wordy. Ming has a learning disability pertaining to language. Trying to communicate with him is a wonderful adventure. We learn a lot, from one another, and share so many smiles of trying.
When our resources are low, frustrations can come up. But we make a low stress life and treat one another with kindness. Extra kindness. We choose to spend our lives together, so it makes sense to be very kind to one another and help one another be very happy. We say please, thank you, I’m sorry, excuse me, ask questions, check in a lot. We enjoy doing things together and talking about it afterward.
Ming is my partner, my darling, my favorite–something about security also. Luckily we’re nice to one another 99.5% of the time. We lucked out.
lunar
Saturday we made enchiladas. It was our six year wedding anniversary again–we get two each spring, on the lunar calendar and the regular one.
I know what love is. Ming helps me have a wonderful home, a good life, a safe place to heal, rest, learn, and grow. We like changing together. We change keeping an eye on one another, changing in a way that works well.
That’s what’s going on around here. I hope you have good people you’re deeply connected to who are willing to be upfront with you about their feelings and intentions, if that’s what you want. I guess I’m a weird person who likes honesty. Why is that weird? Who knows, but whatev.
