tamarjacobson

Quote of the day:

Never apologize. Never explain. Just get the thing done, and let them howl. Agnes MacPhail

Yes indeed. Ever since my interrogation experience, in which I was the representative for all serial monogamists everywhere, I have been thinking over this re-marriage thing and the whys and wherefore’s – not for everyone, but as it has pertained to me, specifically. You see, I am back to commuting for long stretches of alone-time again and I cannot help but get to a-thinking about things across the miles. For even when accompanied by great music or interesting radio shows, when my mind wants to wander, it simply wanders, and becomes my dominant surround-sound.

One of the sobering thoughts that came to mind is that I am afraid of intimacy. I am afraid to share my personal, most private, deepest nature with another human being. The fear mainly has to do with abandonment. In other words, if you find out who I really am, you will most certainly leave me. For surely, my deepest nature is evil? The bad-dest of bad seeds, the destroyer of others, or as it was very recently stated to me: the rubbisher of others. Just before my partner could ever truly come to know me intimately, is the very time to hurry on, move on out, run away as far and as fast as my heart and legs could carry me.

And yet, the longing to belong remains within me, pulling on and tugging at me, even while I am on the run, until I try and try again.

In past posts I described how Bob, the therapist, discovered this fear of mine early on in our relationship. I wrote about the relief I felt when he not only confronted and challenged me to face it but promised not to abandon me as I did so. He skillfully taught me to hold still. And I have to admit that it has been excruciating at times. It still can be.

Holding still. I feel as if I am going to explode, choke, asphyxiate. I feel trapped, claustrophobic and terrified. It becomes dark and hopeless and I cannot breathe. I want to run, fly, even die away. Sometimes, though, lately, just as it gets so bad that I cannot stand it another minute, I catch sight of the huge oak tree, thick, tall, and old reaching towards the sky outside my living room window. Solid and firm it withstands wind, rain and amazing thundering lightening storms. I gaze at it long and hard, and a deep sigh escapes me. I realize, miraculously, that like that tree, I confronted my inner storm and have survived.

So, I guess, if anyone asks me again why I married so many times I would explain honestly and truthfully: "Well, you see, I am terrified of intimacy and whenever I feel close to someone or allow myself to need them, I become trapped with fear, desperate to don my running shoes and get the hell out of there!"

If at this point, the person who asks is not uncomfortable with my answer, I would continue: "But I think I am starting to realize that intimacy is about holding still and allowing my partner to share my personal, most private, deepest nature." "It is a struggle and a challenge for me," I would add, "But the reward is in understanding a different reality about myself. That is, I am not inherently evil, the bad-dest of bad seeds. I do not destroy other human beings or rubbish them."

I might be smiling by this stage when I would conclude: "I am just me being me as wholly and completely as I can so that my partner might be equally as free to be who he or she is."