Patience, the most evasive of virtues

March 27, 2007 at 2:59 am (Uncategorized)

I said I’d try to not get worked up about this.

I said I’d try to keep it all in perspective.

I said I’d just let it be what it was.

I said -on this very blog- that if the FrenchMan thing turned out to be just a lovely thing that gave me a friend I’d be OK with it.

I’m having a hard time following up on all that.

Because the truth is, I really, really liked him. I really, really had hopes. Hopes that now I’m beginning to have to shelf and bury because I’ve not heard of him in a week.

Last Monday, in between the Ex calling to tell me his feelings, the FrenchMan and I spoke on the phone. He had written to me and I, following his cue, called him back. He was on the way out but he said he’d call this weekend, so we could “figure out” my impending trip to his country (for a conference which I’ve known about for months and he just found out about). On Tuesday I said hi over IM really quickly and he was very busy. So was I, so it was really quick. Wednesday he was online, I was too, but nobody said anything. That was the last time I saw him online and he never called this weekend.

Now, before you guys tell me the obvious, I know it already. He might be busy, out of the office on God-knows what. I know this is not what my insecurity-driven mean voice tells me (“he’s not online because he’s avoiding you). I know that. What I’m bummed about is the fact that he said he’d call and didn’t. And again, I know, I know. I’m an adult. I’m 30, I should know. But I let myself get excited and well… I think it was OK. He did call that day I got back, he did talk to me online, he did say “we’ll figure it out for when you come in April for the conference”. He did hug me and look me with those eyes of his. He did seem to get the vibe that our connection was strong. He did remember stupid little details about me. He did seem interested.

And though I know it’s only Monday and there are a million things that can be happening and that he may still call or that it may just have been what it was: a great connection to show me they can happen, etc, what irks me is my own lack of patience, my own “mini-desperation” about this. I tell myself every day that I am a grown woman, that a man in my life does not make my happiness etc, etc, etc. Yet in the end, when I’m alone with my thoughts at night, I end up admitting to myself that I’m lonely, that in the end I do want a man in my life, that I just want to be loved, and I wind up saying out loud “When will be my turn?!”

No, I am not good at waiting. If patience is really a virtue, I am the least virtuous person in the world. Maybe it is that the “French connection” felt that good because it came after years of emotional drought from the Ex and I just clung on to it. Maybe it was that good and I was right to cling to it. Whatever it is, I hate that while I know good stuff is coming to my life (be it French or not), I’m impatient and don’t know how to wait for it without fretting. I hate that it’s grinding at me, that I’m upset he didn’t call, that I keep thinking of him, that even though I tell myself to let it go, I still check my email and my messenger list and keep hoping he’ll show up.

Damn it. Why is it so difficult to wait?

Sigh.

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Perfectly wonderful da(y)te

March 23, 2007 at 10:24 am (Life, NY)

Hmmm…. Did anyone see the gorgeous NY day we had today? Lovely high 40s, low 50s… Spring is in the air…. Yay!! Can’t wait to put away the long-sleeved stuff, the scarves and hats and that !”·$%&/($·” winter coat that weighs like I’m walking around with my bed comforter.

There’s something so comforting about days like today, when Spring is really pushing the winter out the door and starting to settle back in. I’m a sucker for sun, brisk breezes and the beauty of daylight savings being pushed forward. I love that I can walk out at 7pm and there’s still light outside.

Inspired by this push of good weather I decided to make today a very productive one, with lots of undergraduate teaching and advancements in my dissertation. I also decided to wear “my self esteem” as my mom calls it, and wore colors that highlighted my tan and a t-shirt that showed my belly. Of course, in order to keep with the standards of “good teacher etiquette” required by the bosses, I wore my sweater while I taught the young minds. It’s enough to catch them checking out my ass when I write on the board. No need to be accused of wearing too high a t-shirt.

Continuing with the good spirits, I had some yummy sushi for lunch and then settled in the library. I was productive, writing an abstract for a conference, settling some email business and -ahem- catching up on blog reading. Hehe. Then I went for a “short” one-hour-long coffee break with two friends, after which I went to meet a student for a tutoring session. Then, on the walk home, I stopped by a shoe store that was having a sale and got some pretty hot boots for a super reduced price. Every single activity, except for the tutoring and coffee break, was accompanied by the wonderfully addictive new Miguel Bosé CD, Papito, on my iPod. (If you’re going “who?”, Bosé is a Spanish singer whose career started in the 80s who now instead of launching a regular ‘hits’ CD remixed his hits and did all of them in duets with other famous singers, like Juanes, Shakira and REM’s Michael Stipe. He’s pretty awesome and I at least don’t know anyone who grew up in Latin America and didn’t at least once dance to his most famous hit “Amante Bandido”).

As I got home, I realized I had had not just a wonderful day, but a wonderful date. With myself. Plus, I hadn’t had such a content regular school day in a long, long time and it made me happy. And what was most amazing was that it had more to do with my own input than with what happened around me or to me.

Mom mentioned the other day that she was happy I was coming out of my slump (both in school and in my love life). Her exact words were: “It’s good that you’re getting rid of the stress. You are so ‘bubbly’ and all that stress sucks it out of you if it gets to be too much”. And she was right. My ‘bubbly’ had not been very present as of late. But today was different. Today was good. Today was a proof that the Spring Break feeling I got about starting to get back to ‘me’ was not just fleeting. It really is happening. And I am so happy about it.

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I am the one

March 21, 2007 at 3:01 am (The Engineer)

He called and asked to talk. He said it was important.

He said I was the one. The one he loved, the love of his life, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the one he wanted to be the mother of his children.

He apologized for all the pain he ever caused me. He promised to “be the one he used to be”. He said he would move to New York. He asked if he could come see me now.

He said he would do whatever he needed to do, he just wanted to be with me.

He said all of this with tears in his eyes, with sobs in his voice, with a pain that broke my heart.

I heard him out. I cried with him. I searched my heart for the answer I’d had ready for him in case he ever said those things. But I couldn’t find it. It was gone. Crushed under his anger, under his manipulation, under the fear that I can no longer trust him, under the knowledge that I can have a love that is not so complicated.

I no longer felt his voice echo in my heart. I can no longer try again.

I said it was too late. I said I could not do this anymore. I said he should not come see me. I said no.

I said no to the man I’ve always called “the love of my life”. I said no to the man that for years I dreamed of marrying, of growing old with.

I said no to the Ex.

His timing is excellent. After I come back from the beach, after he finds out through friends that I went with a group and sees in a collective photo album photos of me with the Accountant, Dancer and FrenchMan (which, if you know nothing, looks like two couples who went on holiday together). After I have met someone who has made me feel not only that I could love again, but that I can be liked and accepted just as I am. After I’ve gotten tired of waiting, after I have closed the door. After all of that, now I am the one.

Had he done this 3 weeks ago I probably would’ve still fallen for it. But now it’s too late.

And though today I search in my heart and I know the answer is still no, and though the FrenchMan and I talked on the phone again and I was super happy, why did it take me until 3am to go to bed? Why have I spent the day in a haze, almost crying if I’m not keeping myself in check? Why do I have a small twinge that something’s wrong? I really hope it’s just that as always, the Ex has gotten away with manipulating me and though it may take me days to recover, I am on the right track. Otherwise, I don’t know anything anymore, because the other answer is too scary to face.

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More than a break, a breath of fresh air

March 17, 2007 at 12:17 pm (Mexico my love)

So if anyone noticed, I fell off the face of the earth for about 10 days. Not abnormal for me, but if you also noticed, my absence coincided with the already commented Spring Break beach trip.

WARNING: Long post. I’m so happy I will share pretty much every detail. To anyone wanting a Cliff’s Notes version, here it is:

- Nothing happened with the Accountant, as I don’t like him
- I had a very relaxing 5 days which were extremely emotionally healthy for me
- I met someone.

To the rest who may want details… here they are:

As you may recall, I filed the Accountant as friend (a while ago wonderful Miss M mentioned that I kept obsessing with whether he liked me and had not stopped to think about whether I liked him to begin with, which led me to realize I didn’t, ha!). So I took the trip with him and another female friend of his (whom we shall call the Dancer), as just a relaxing time for me.

And it was. I didn’t get as much reading done, but I got plenty of time to sun bathe and mostly to think about the stuff I’ve been keeping tucked in my mind and heart. And it was good to do so. You will find out more about the struggle with step dad in the last F-word installment (coming up soon), and also an update on how I’ve been feeling about the Ex. The trip was good in that it gave me perspective and helped me get in touch with me again. I needed that.

But now for the juicy gossip: the new man (who also has a lot to do with the many smart insights I gained this last week).

Last Thursday the Accountant, the Dancer and me flew together to his beach house, which is not in the US, but close. He mentioned that on Friday his cousin would join us for the weekend because he lived in a city nearby. On Friday night, as I came downstairs from taking a shower I heard another male voice in the patio. I sent out a little prayer, “Lord, please at least let him be good looking so I can have some eye-candy this weekend”. I walked out and he was excellently good-looking!! So we talked a bit, it was explained to me they were “cousins” by choice, not by blood and that they had been good friends for about 9 years. They met in France, when the Accountant was there in exchange. Wait. France? “So you’re French?” I asked. “Oui” came as the answer. Great. I speak Italian and Spanish and this guy is French. Grrrr.

But I digress. We went to dinner and since I wasn’t necessarily looking into picking someone up, I wasn’t being my normal nervous “I like you” me. I was being a very relaxed, very giddy, very 100% me. The FrenchMan and I talked and talked through the appetizers and dinner; he laughed at my jokes in the car and loved that I started staring at the dessert menu before the main course was ordered. The Accountant looked at me from across the table and raised his eyebrows as if to say “well hello! My cousin likes you”. I just giggled.

We then went to a bar and that’s where the magic started to happen. Somehow we got around to the subject of therapy. Most times people react with a “oh…. you go to therapy?” weird look. He grabbed my arm and said, “¡me too!” And from then on we just jumped into talking about why we think therapy is so good and about our lives and we had those wonderful conversations that go something like this:

FrenchMan: Don’t you think the sky is green?
NSLW: Yes! So I’m not crazy. It’s totally green. And at dusk, olive green
FrenchMan: Exactly!! I totally see that!

….. you get the drift. All punctuated with finishing of a couple of the other’s sentences and lots of excited holding of my hand and wrist from his part whenever he agreed with something I said. I felt like we were in our little world and the Accountant and the Dancer didn’t exist.

So we left, went back home, everyone went to bed (them downstairs, we girls upstairs). On Saturday we hit the beach and guess who asked for me to rub lotion on his back? Yup. At some point he fell asleep on his belly and when he woke up he had a sore and burned back. This will be important later… He he.

After lunch, it got cloudy, so everyone but him just sat reading by the beach. He stayed behind to work on his computer. After a while, I decided to “go look for my journal” in hopes to exchange at least a couple of words. When I got to the house, he gestured for me to come in, patted the sofa spot next to him and said “come see my friends in France”. And then for about an hour or more, I didn’t check, we talked and talked again. He told me about what he was struggling with, I told him about my “forgive the step dad” project. It was a beautiful conversation where we touched on our perspective of life, the difficulty of being an ex-pat and the struggle to find the place where you belong in the world. He never seemed to want to go back to the beach, and I didn’t move. Eventually I did go back out – I didn’t want to be too invasive of his “work time”. But he came out a few minutes later and sat talking to the others as I journaled a bit away. The funny thing is that I wound up journaling not about the step dad issue (because I talked it out with him), but rather about how happy I was feeling to find someone I could connect with, even if it was a bit frustrating that he isn’t in NY.

When I finished, I went back to the group and when the Accountant and Dancer went for a run, we stayed to watch the sunset. We kept on talk-a-talking until it got too cold and we had to go in. After showering, he came upstairs and asked me to rub lotion on his very red back. The Dancer was closer to him -distance wise- but he asked me. After we got ready, we again went to dinner and we found a cute Italian restaurant, where I chatted up the owner, who came from Italy, in Italian. At the end of the meal, the owner sent a complimentary drink for all of us, and gave us a freshly baked loaf of bread. I taught the group how to say thank you in Italian and as we were leaving and they had yelled a collective “Grazie!”, I approached the owner and thanked him personally. When we walked out, the FrenchMan said to me: “It says a lot about you that you take time to thank the owner” I replied I had been taught well by my mom, but he insisted: “It really says a lot about who you are inside”. I was floored. I mean, I thought it was the most normal thing, but he seemed to love it.

Anyways, the four of us went for a walk by the sea shore, where we again he and I talked and talked. We tried to go dancing but hated the place and left for home. On Sunday we decided to go to another beach where you could go horseback riding. Again, at this beach it was I he asked for his lotion/sunblock application assistance. Then they went horseback riding. I wasn’t too into that, so I stayed behind sun tanning. Later, they went swimming and I fell asleep on the beach, laying on my belly. I got woken up by water splashed on my back. I turned and he said “I’m back, and I’m going back out to ride, want me to teach you?” Now, I was not planning on doing that. But I thought… Time alone with him? Heck yeah! So I suddenly was all into horses.
We spent about one hour in between that and going into the sea to swim. He found it awesome that I do yoga and had played tennis in high school. I found out all about his love for adventure in the outdoors.

That night after dinner his back was hurting bad so I offered to give him a massage (I give mean ones!) and he agreed. He laid on the living room sofa and for about 30 minutes I gave him a back rub. It was all 100% G-rated as the other two were there watching TV. Lots of giggling ensued whenever I hit a good spot and he groaned, but when I was done he insisted on how good he felt. Later that night, we went to an awesome bar by the sea. We again laid next to each other on the beach with our drinks and started to count shooting stars. Once back home he was exhausted and wanted to go to bed. But we drunkies were not letting him, until he said that maybe he would sleep upstairs. The Dancer mentioned the room was a mess. I said I’d go straighten up, but what I did was put all the junk on her bed so mine was free. And no, I wasn’t planning a hook-up. I knew that would not happen under the circumstances and I didn’t want it anyways. Things were too good to mess them up. I just wanted his cologne on my pillow (I know, lame). After I got downstairs I gave him my notebook and asked for his email so I could send him the pics of the trip. He took forever to give it back and when he did I had every-single-way to get a hold of him. All 4 phone numbers and 2 email addresses. Sweet.
Sometime later he did go to bed and when I went upstairs to get my toothbrush I did see that he had fallen asleep on my bed.

That night, the Dancer and I slept downstairs. Very early in the morning, I heard him come downstairs to get in the shower. He got out and eventually made a loud noise, at which point I pretended to jerk awake. We said hi and I fell back asleep. Then I woke up again when he came to get his bag, which was right next to my sofa (we were sleeping in the living room). He said he was leaving, so I got up to say bye. He gave me the biggest, longest hug and told me how much he had enjoyed meeting me and that I had better email him. I replied that I hoped it was not the last time I would see him and he responded with a very strong “Of course not!”. He hugged me again, started to walk out the door and at the archway he turned and the following convo happened:

FrenchMan: So… you leave in two days, right? You’ll be in NY on Thursday?
NSLW: Yes
FrenchMan: So I can expect an email from you starting Thursday.
NSLW: Of course!
FrenchMan: OK then. Bye… (sound of kisses being blown)

When he was gone and I got into bed, the Dancer turned to me and said: “Dude! He’s so into you!!” So it wasn’t just me liking him? I asked. No, according to her. She said it was obvious he was into me, all the attention, talking, etc, and the fact that no matter how close she was, it was always me that he asked for anything.

**********************

On Wednesday, on the way to the airport (I left a day earlier than the other two), the Accountant said, “by the way, NSLW, FrenchMan called this morning and said to wish you a good trip.” At the airport, once I had cleared security, I called him. He answered his cell with a “please hang on a sec” and I could hear him talking in business mode on a land line. When he got to me, the credit on my calling card (remember he was in another city already) was running low. So I teased him for beating me to a “good-bye” call and thanked him for all the talking. He said similar niceties and reminded me to come visit him whenever I wanted and said he’d try to come visit “you and the Accountant” in NY. Since I had about 30 seconds of credit I just said by and boarded the plane shortly afterward.

On Thursday (I swear, I’m almost done, but it’s goooood!!) I showed some restraint and added him to IM at about 2pm. Then I built the photo album and at 5pm emailed him with it. I wrote in French the opening (I used an online translator) and called him my “dear horseback riding teacher”. As a P.S. I added my phone numbers and joked I didn’t have as many as him. Two seconds later the email bounced back because the address was wrong. I realized I’d typed it wrong, fixed it and sent the email again.

Then I logged of and went out to meet a friend. On the bus, one of my roommates called to say hi. Just then, I got a call waiting from an “unknown” number, which normally means long distance, my parents or anyone outside of the US. I thought, “oh, if it were only the FrenchMan” but thought it was probably my parents. I switched the call and got a “NSLW?” after my “hello”. Instantly I recognized him.

NSLW: FrenchMan? What an awesome surprise!
FrenchMan: Hi! I just got your email. I was writing back and then decided to just call you!

And for about 8 minutes we talked. He again mentioned he’d come to NY sometime this year to see me. Would I be here? I said yes, except for part of the summer when I’m going to [country where he lives] to do some grad school research.

FrenchMan: Well, I’m going to France for a couple of weeks around that date, but when I come back it’d be great if we could see each other. Would you like that?
NSLW: Of course!
FrenchMan: Really? Or do I need to sweeten the deal to convince you to see me?
NSLW: No, there’s no need. We will definitely plan to see each other then.

We said good-bye and hanged up. When I got home, I found a message on my home machine, which he left before he called the cell phone.

And that’s that.

The conclusions from this loooong post and wonderful five days? Very simple, but meaningful all of them:

- The FrenchMan may become just a friend down the road, but feeling the chemistry and the joy of just clicking with someone gave me great hope for the future. It can happen again that I can find someone who likes me -a-la Bridget Jones- “Just as I am”
- The talks I had with him challenged me to think a lot about what I think and who I am. Talks which, along with some “me” time and lots of spiritual reflection thanks to a very nice little book I took with me helped me feel….
- that I am me again. Two years of suffering ups and downs with the Ex and being completely insecure about myself and doubting everything because I always wanted his acceptance have left me exhausted. The weeks without him and specially this last week, I’ve felt a growth, a peace and a return to me I cannot describe. Which is why this mini-vacation more than a break, it was a breath of fresh air.

And finally, indulge this Not So Little Woman with some teenage answers: While I’m trying my best to not get too caught up in the illusion of what could happen with the FrenchMan, I need to ask:

I’m not too crazy when I think he likes me, no? I mean…. Would you call a girl LONG DISTANCE FROM ANOTHER COUNTRY just to answer her email if you don’t like her? Would you offer to “sweeten the deal” for her to see you when she goes back if you don’t like her?

Sighhh… We clicked in such a way that it blows my mind. I really, really would like for this to work out and until I see that it’s a no, I will continue to pray (as I’ve been doing since I saw him last) that it’s a yes.

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The F word, part III

March 7, 2007 at 9:09 am (Family)

Yeah, so I made a mistake in my last post. When I turned 18 my dad didn’t offer for me to go see him while in college. That was my mind not remembering things well (or re-writing history?). He asked to come to my high school graduation. The college part was something I decided on my own after being in therapy for a while.

Continuing with the story, during senior year pretty much everyone I knew was going to Confirmation classes and I really liked the Confirmation teacher. In conversation, all of this dad&mom mess came up and since he also was a therapist, he offered to see me weekly. For about 6 months I talked to him about all of the things I had bottled up inside. My relationship with my mom improved (the issues between us during my teenage years are the subject of a whole load of other posts) and I also realized I really, really wanted to spend time with my dad and felt it was his turn to have me all for him. So I decided to go live with him and go to college in country X.

Before that, though, there was a pretty bad moment. About 1 month before graduation (and 3 to go move in with him) he asked to come to my graduation. Psyched, I said yes. My dad? Come to see me!? Hurrah!! That lasted about as long as it took me to tell my mom. She felt cheated, betrayed, etc. And she told my family. They wasted no time talking to me about it. How could I do this to her? She’d put me through high school, working -at one point- 3 jobs at a time, not finding anyone for herself and devoting her life to me. Now I wanted my father, who had been a no-good man, who’d never come after me, who’d been bad to her, at my party? Who would I talk to? If I talked to dad, I would not talk to anyone else, because he hated them, they said. If I talked to my whole family, he would sulk. And what if he had an outburst? He hated them, they said. So in the end, I went back on my agreement with my dad and asked him not to come. We got into the worst fight I can remember. He started again with the insults, etc, etc, etc. That day I exploded too, and (thanks to therapy also), instead of crying and asking why he wanted to hurt me, which was my normal reaction, I gave him a list of moments he had hurt me and asked how he could do that to me. Then I hung up on him. My mom had been in the kitchen while this took place. I wanted to go to her, but I couldn’t even walk. I collapsed in the hallway. I remember her coming to hug me and me crying, wailing and gasping for air. I’d never been so sad in my life, I think. Dad called back immediately. When I picked up he said “you and your brother … (he has a child from another woman) … and your grandma are my reason for living”. I just hung up again.

When the dust settled and I calmed down, my logic was as follows: See? My dad is not so good and it’s better that I’m not going to have him in my graduation. I know, I know. But I was young and I idolized my mom.

So anyways, graduation came, I danced the night away. At some point after that, made up with dad, as I felt that the reason for all the problems was that we hadn’t seen each other and needed to get to know each other again. I had to postpone the trip for a week when my cousin decided to get married the day I was leaving and the family went “but how can you not be here!” It didn’t matter that my cousin and I had had a horrid fight 6 months before and I really didn’t care for being there. OK, I cared enough, but I was pissed that as always I had to accommodate her (oh, I could tell you stories!).

I finally left to see my dad and was exhilarated. 8 and a half years. When I’d left my brother wasn’t born, my dad didn’t have wrinkles. Now I was going to see him and meet the brother. So many things to go through in one day. Things started out OK, it was surreal to see him, but we hugged and though we were both nervous, things went well. For the most part, we had good conversations those first few days. About one week into the trip an argument over my mom ensued and he started insulting her, so I defended her and then he got mad at me. I went to my room crying, saying that I’d hoped the fighting would’ve stopped now that I was there. Later, I walked out to find him crying on his girlfriend’s shoulder. He was so sad he’d made me cry. He also wanted to start anew. We said we’d really try and hugged.

The first month went OK. We had a great time going out and doing stuff (he was like a kid with a new game. Oh! I get to take my daughter shopping! To the movies! To the museum!). I loved it all. I had miss the first round of college registration, since I needed to have my high school diploma validated. I still attended classes and started to make some friends. I reconnected with the girl who was my best friend when I was little. Still, things were not good. He seemed to lose patience with me. He still went on and on about my mom and I defended her and my life back in Country Y. Why did he have to hate it so much!? I felt that by hating that so much he hated a big part of me and it hurt to not be loved by own father. So I started to try to do things to make him happy. But it seemed nothing worked. If I did something and he didn’t like it, he’d made me feel bad about it. If next time I did the opposite, same result. If I did nothing, still I’d get critiqued. Any mistake was grounds for snapping. Once I was disinfecting my contact lens case. Back then you had to boil them for five minutes about once a month to make sure they were free of bacteria. I put them to boil and then my dad decided to go out. I walked out, having completely forgotten. Of course, when we came back, the water had boiled, the pot was burned and the lens case had smoked up the house. I got an earful. Another day, I went out to the movies with my friends. Dad had given me his set of keys, and I had locked both locks on the way out, forgetting that his girlfriend had only the key to the bottom lock. When I got home, he was pissed. How could I have locked both locks!? His girlfriend had a party and she had not been able to get ready!! Of course, let’s not forget that not double-locking was also a problem…

Things got worse and worse and I started to want to go back to mom. After three months, I did. I had not been able to start college and the University people were making it difficult for me to enroll and the stuff with my dad was horrible. So I went back to mom, sad that the experiment hadn’t worked and with the opinion that maybe mom was right. Dad was impossible.

I filled out college applications for the US, applied for scholarships and when I got accepted, I packed up my bags and left.

See, as much as I love my mom and my friends, I was always itching to go away to college. Now I realize I needed to just get away from it all. I’d always had a hard time fitting in (my friends agree on this, as I found out on a night of drunken confessions) and I just needed space to find myself, away from mom, dad and everything else.

Anyway, going back to the point of the story: I left for college, tried a couple of times to see my dad during vacation, with the same results. It even became a thing of not needing to see him. I remember the last time I asked about when he was free to see me (he prefers to also be on vacation, so we can spend time together), he said I could go, provided my step dad didn’t call the house (‘have your mother be brave and talk to me on the phone!’) and I promised to spend time with him and my brother, not just his friends. While I agree that my mom needed to just be able to ask for me if my dad picked up the phone, I felt I didn’t need to agree to rules and make promises that were absurd. Promise to spend time with him? What was I going for if not that??? Needless to say I didn’t see him that time.

Eventually conversations like those and his continuing, year after year after year, harassment about my mom and about my past, together with his making me feel unloved and unimportant, made me start to push him out of my life.

I was angry, I was annoyed, but I still loved my dad. But I was disenchanted. I felt like he could no longer see me, he had no interest in having a good relationship and I could not give anymore. Meanwhile, along with having mom on the pedestal, I was taking a lot of refuge on the step dad. Never mind that he was sometimes angry and confrontational, he was there! He was trying to be like a father to me (and I was reminded of this by mom). Never mind that he offended my grandma and aunt when he decided to meddle in my family’s past, he had helped pay for my college years, and dad had not! Never mind that he was sucking away my time with my mother and keeping me from having quality time with her when I was home on vacation. He was there!! He was, deep down, a good man! Never mind that when they fought he yelled at her in a way that made me curl up in my bed and want to disappear from the pain of hearing her fight with him like that. He was there!!

Oh, and when my mom and I talked about my dad and my step dad, the following exchange was always recycled (to this day it is):

Mom: NSLW, I don’t like that you use the word step dad when talking about my husband. You don’t have to call him ‘dad’. I know you have a dad. Just don’t call him ’step dad’. That sounds so bad.
NSLW: But what should I say? ‘My mother’s husband?’ That sounds bad, when I do that, people do think I don’t like him. If I use his name, like I do at home, people who don’t know him are going to go ‘who?’
Mom: I know, but I don’t like it. I mean, I know you have a dad, you can’t call him ‘dad’, but I just don’t like it.
NSLW: I know mom, but what can I do.

See the pattern? See the insistence on ‘you don’t have to call him dad’? I read it as I insist so much that you don’t call him dad because I really want you to call him dad. Know what I mean?

So that’s where things were when I moved to NY. With that move, the problems with the Ex started and my anger toward dad increased. I felt I was done trying to be loved and to have a relationship with him. Then I started to realize that a lot of my insecurity and other issues had to do with him and how fucked up our relationship was. And some of the problems with the Ex? The ones that started on my side and had been there since day one had also a lot to do with dad and how I related to men because of him. It was then that I realized that my issues were so big that I needed professional and long-term therapy. If I wanted to have a healthier adult life I needed to address this issue with my dad once and for all.

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The F word, part II

March 3, 2007 at 8:45 am (Family)

There is something strange about writing such private things in this blog. While I know I write them because I need to let them out, my good-old-fashioned guilt sneaks in and tells me this is such private stuff I shouldn’t be writing it. I also feel like defending my mom and her relationship. She’s not stupid, or weak. My step dad isn’t always mean, I’ve seen him be good. Then I also feel… if I do that, I’m being like her, justifying him, making it look like it’s not soo bad, when the truth is, it is bad to have to live (at least for me) worried about when he will snap, no longer being able to value his good moments. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I started this post series, the F word had one meaning. Not the expletive, but Father. Strangely, meghansdiscontent commented that she thought it was forgiveness. That F-word also has to do with it all, of course, so I guess maybe this should be about the F-words. But anyways, I should continue with the story. And my apologies ahead of time. I thought this would be a two-parter, but I’m realizing it will probably take three or four sections to get everything out.

So. Moving on…Why does all the stuff with my mom and step dad matter?

Because, as you know, I have a father. A daddy. A man I adore, a man whose role in my life has been more than defining. Well, you say, all dad’s are like that. Yes they are. But did I mention that from the age of 10 I didn’t see him? At all? For 8 and a half years? Yea.

That story begins this way: Mom and dad were separated, but we were living in the same country, country X. During a vacation, I went to see my mom’s parents in her home country, Y. A month into that visit, my cousin woke me up and told me my mom was arriving. I was thrilled. When I saw her, she told me we were moving there. I assume she gave me some explanation, but I don’t remember it. I also don’t remember how I reacted in terms of not seeing my dad again. All I remember is standing in my grandparent’s room and writing a letter to him (a letter he would show me later, in which I stated that I was staying with my mom because I loved her more than I loved him. I don’t remember writing this. I was 10).

So we were there for good and that was it. What followed were 8 very strange years. Years in which I desperately tried to fit in. I was an only child of divorced parents and some mean children treated that as a bad thing. I had learned to speak in another country, so I spoke with a funky accent. I found the weather weird, I didn’t know the anthem, etc. I eventually made friends, settled down and my accent fell into place (though to this day it doesn’t sound native).

Throughout all of this, I was exchanging letters with my dad. Some were good, some were very bad. The same thing applied to phone calls. Some were nice, most were horrid fights which involved him insulting my mom, insulting my family, insulting country Y and, of course, hurting me along the way, telling me something (it changed sometimes) was wrong with me. I always defended my mom, dad and I got into a fight and I ended up crying. When things were good, a couple of times he offered for us to on vacation. To visit his friends in Argentina, to go to Europe. My mom always said “what if I let you go and he doesn’t let you come back?” So I never went. And I also wondered why he had never come running to country Y to fight for me.

So I learned to live without him. But I never hated him. All along I loved him, forgave him time and time again, and longed for the dad I had had: The one that was my partner and best friend, the one who took me to soccer games and taught me to curse out the referee, the one who poured milk in wine glasses for me; who made life fun all the time (we used to have plate-licking contests after dinner,, to see who licked the plate faster). He had been a good father, and I missed him.

Most times, when I fought with him, my mom consoled me. Several times we remembered not-so-good moments in country X, when he would make me cry by asking me to choose sides between him and mom, stressing me so much I’d fail exams in elementary school. I also remembered times when he disappeared on me, three weeks on end without seeing him.

So in between the fights, the tears, etc, 8 years went by and -though I still missed him, remember- I came to believe that I was better off without him and that my mom had done all the right things. I also heard (and believed) from everyone who thought it was their business to tell me, how great a mother I had and how big sacrifices she’d done for me. I didn’t know it then, but the foundation to a big problem was being laid: I was putting mom in a pedestal and I was on the way of really, really resenting my dad.

But before that happened, I turned 18 and dad offered for me to go live with him while I went to college.

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