Love is indeed a four letter word

I have written and rewritten this post. I’ve filed it and I’ve almost deleted it three times. Writing this feels exposed and a tad self indulgent, but I think necessary to my understanding and that of Marlowe and Lyra.

I came to this posting after a very difficult week of soul searching in which I found myself deeply unhappy with our relationship and in which I found myself trying to find excuses to end it. Reading Marlowe’s post has shocked me into thinking more about why; why is he so clearly in a different place to me?

I had to naval gaze in a way which I hope isn’t too tiresome to read, but I think the answer lies in my history and my learned defences.

I don’t wish to sound like I seek sympathy (anyone who knows me will know I am less than great with people who play the damaged childhood card) but I think it helps to understand me if you understand my upbringing. I was the youngest child in a materially generous but emotionally cold household where practicality and social acceptance were valued above all. This left me with very good core concepts of generosity, charity and an enormous streak of sense (which I loathe on occasions) but taught me very little about loving. I reached into my adult life desperate to be loved which is an approach bound to end in disaster.

My first relationship was significantly abusive and, although I think about it very little now thanks to the help and love of many good friends and lovers, it has left its scars. The worst damage was done by my inability to discuss this abuse with my family and by the harmful lesson I learned for a while; my parents were right, practicality is more important than love.

Nearly 10 years on, numerous attachments to unavailable men and a five year relationship with a wonderful but completely emotionally unavailable man, I reached a turning point. Most of this was triggered by meeting Marlowe whose vitality, energy and passion for life shone out. He gave me a glimpse of a different world from the one I’d known and one I wanted to access. I made possibly the hardest choice of my life; to abandon safety and security for a glimmer of a hope.

I have never regretted that choice as it has led me to more joy than I have ever known but it has remained a hard choice. Marlowe had been hurt before but he had an openness of spirit and a passion for life that I had never encountered before. To grow with him required constantly throwing myself into new experiences, to challenge myself and my prejudices and, most of all to hold a mirror up to myself. I was not surprised to find that I did not always like myself, the surprise was that it was not for the reasons I initially thought. Many of the self deprecating thoughts I had experienced over the years I was able to let go of in the face of being adored by someone who I considered outside of my league. However, I was able to see that my life had left me more selfish and self absorbed than I had realised and that was not a comfortable place to be. Changing this and letting go of the more petty aspects of my existence is a constant battle.

I am sorry if this reads as self indulgent, but this is important to the place I find myself in now. When I am challenged by something new, I revert back to type. Unfortunately for me, this is a self focused and closed off place. Ironically, I actually behave in a more giving way – I rush to do things for others and put myself out to meet their needs but if I am honest, it is entirely self serving. I hide behind a mask of generosity and start using all those weapons my mother taught me to wield so well – guilt, martyrdom and appropriately large bouts of public self deprecation (one of the most effective ways of getting support whilst still looking humble). I think this is pretty much a text book example of being passive aggressive.

Entering into this relationship has been one of the largest challenges I have faced since discovering my kinky side and, true to form, I have reverted to type. I can feel myself closing inwards and shutting off emotionally; giving physical love and affection but withholding that which has the most value – love.

I can hear Lyra and Marlowe yelling at me now for being hard on myself but if I am to let myself enjoy this experience, I have to face this and let go. I am afraid, I am in new territory, and my entire view of self is challenged; perhaps not to the extent that Lyra is experiencing, but enough to shake my core. There is a real danger at this point that I will revert back to the only way I know and politely and generously fade into falsity. I don’t want to. Once before in my life I took a risk and it paid off. This is nowhere near as dramatic, as I face this situation with love behind me and a stronger sense of self than I have ever had, but it is a risk. I want to love like Marlowe and I want to erase the belief that I developed long ago; that I cannot love as I am broken. With time, I have realised that this is untrue. I may be mildly sprained, but I’m not broken.

So, that leaves me with alternatives. To leave Marlowe and Lyra to establish the love within our relationship and drift quietly away, to force an ending by being so clearly unhappy that Marlowe makes the decision for me (thus leaving me feeling less guilty) or to actually face my fears and approach.

I love the saying “if you do what you always did, you will get what you always got”. Maybe it’s time to do something different and hopefully get something different.