Cracking

“You may think you know someone very well. But there’ll always be parts you can’t see. Sometimes she’ll look weak, but she is hiding her strength. Sometimes she’ll seem strong . . . and yet she is so fragile on the inside.” Kiro Yumi, Library Wars

I have had so very many stress factors lately, and most of them I can do something about – just not right this second; but I’m close and that’s a comforting feeling. In all aspects of my life, I make every attempt to be strong – to hold it in because I don’t want someone to know just how much their word or actions have hurt me. I’d say this has worked quite well for me overall – and then there are people who manage to see right through me. One of these is the beautiful gal who has been teaching me to dance tango.

She is extremely intuitive and I often feel like even though the rest of the world looks at me and thinks I’m fine, she often sees through that façade. It’s funny how the slightest form of kindness can make someone fall apart. She looked at me Friday and asked if I was okay. In that moment, I felt as if I were a shattered piece of glass that was about to crumble. I couldn’t muster an answer and then she asked if we could talk later. I spent at least the next hour or so hiding underneath my sweater at a milonga because I didn’t want anyone else to see that I was falling apart at the seams. I hate to seem that vulnerable and these little meltdowns sometimes take place at the most inopportune times. When she did find me and she let me tell her all about what was troubling me, I came away from that feeling as though I had just spoken with the all-knowing Creator of the Universe. I can only hope I have that much wisdom and comfort to offer a fellow human being someday.

I’ve been trying to piece myself together that last few weeks. It’s proven to be more difficult than I thought because things keep happening and I simply shove them down so I can keep on going. Additionally, I’m the friend and co-worker that most people turn to for comfort when something is troubling them. I don’t mind this – I really don’t. Despite how drained I feel, I’d still drop everything to offer emotional support to someone I care for. The only issue here is that I’m forgetting to care for myself. As the months have passed, trauma has been stacked upon trauma and I feel as if a small piece of my foundation has been chipped away every time I offer a helping hand to someone else. I hate that feeling – because it makes me feel powerless to help myself and those that matter to me.

Return to your roots. Dance with nature. Run with the wolves.

“Behind me the branches of a wasted and sterile existence are cracking.” – Gustave Mahler

So I manage the best I can for now – and that’s all I can ask of myself. I have to remember to practice patience when it comes to me and that it’s okay if I miss that one phone call from a friend who needed to talk or wasn’t emotionally available for another. I just keep reminding myself that I am so very close to where I need to be in life and that I will feel much better when that all falls into place. It’s gradually coming together, piece by piece.

Among my frustrations, is the seemingly unending barrage of men who want to pretend to be a friend to me and I find out soon enough that what they want from me is far more than friendship. It really irks me that no one really says what they mean anymore. “Hey Ava, I want to be your friend. I want to be supportive of you.” Translation: “I don’t really care about your feelings and am really interested in getting in your pants because I see you as a sad, easy, vulnerable target. I couldn’t possibly get the attention of a woman if she weren’t in a state similar to yours.”

Seriously, I’m enraged. I want to throw punches at these douchebags more often than not. Most recently, a ‘friend’ asked me about taking private lessons with him. It sounded like honest fun – until he began to say things about holding me on the dance floor and sending me texts asking me to let him in so he can comfort me. Oh HELL NO!! I’ve never been particularly great at handling these situations, which is why I’m grateful a friend who has turned into a bit of a mentor to me stepped in, told me she’d handle it, and sent several texts to this guy on my behalf. Mostly, I think he got the hint. Not entirely, but mostly.

Overbearing bloodsuckers . . . Just stay away and I won't start pulling out my pepper spray.

As another friend pointed out to me, I may as well throw myself into a shark tank – because the unsavory people of the world can sense when someone is their weakest, and this attracts the worst kind of individuals. This is the main reason I’m on a very long dating hiatus. I’m not interested in physical or emotional intimacy. I don’t want the attention. I don’t want the drama. I just want to tango. That’s all I’m willing to give for a while. I need my main focus to be on me, the hound, and what the next few years are going to look like for the two of us. 

I know there's a quote somewhere that states cracks are what let the light through - I can live with the cracks. 

We're content. He's all of the happiness I need. 

(dis) ability

“Part of the problem with the word ‘disabilities’ is that it immediately suggests an inability to see or hear or walk or do other things that many of us take for granted. But what of people who can’t feel? Or talk about their feelings? Or manage their feelings in constructive ways? What of people who aren’t able to form close and strong relationships? And people who cannot find fulfillment in their lives, or those who have lost hope, who live in disappointment and bitterness and find in life no joy, no love? These, it seems to me, are the real disabilities.”  - Fred Rodgers

Those that are close to me know that I have worked long and hard for many years to overcome a very traumatic past. This doesn’t mean that I’m still not affected. I have relapses from time to time, usually triggered by a combinations of stressful events that occur simultaneously and are  a little too much for me to process at one given time, or a trauma has repeated itself. For women with abusive pasts in particular, this is not uncommon. We find ourselves repeating the same patterns over and over again – regardless of how educated and self-aware we are that this happens. We think it will be different this time around; the ending is the same.

I've given considerable time to reflect on these instances in my life. The end result is almost always the same every single time - I refuse to admit it's happening and then I'm ashamed to admit that it's happened. I'm taking a very long break from dating for now. 

I don’t share my story with many, mostly because it’s literally one sob story after another. I choose not to dwell in the past, but strive to move past it. From my experience, most people attempt to understand and don’t treat me like a fragile piece of porcelain that will fall to pieces at the slightest crack.

As I’ve documented my experience with tango, it’s been no secret that I often come across women who seem to hate me for no reason whatsoever. I also come across women who love and accept me as I am – they do not require explanations, but offer an understanding that I am rarely granted from my gender. I am grateful to these women because they understand the concept of sisterhood.

We are there for one another. While sometimes envious of another’s beauty, we are genuinely happy for her, her talents, and the light she gives to the world. I sincerely wish I could say all of my female sisters shared this mentality. Sadly, they do not and strive their hardest to rip one another to shreds because they are so unhappy and insecure in their own lives – because this is the only thing that will make this type of woman feel better about herself.

While some have made it crystal clear that they despise me, I pity them. What a sad way to live life.

The woman on the left: I've lost count of how many times I've seen that look directed towards me. It's easy to hate ourselves and emanate those feelings on our fellow females. Learn to love yourself instead. Life is too short for that kind of pettiness.

“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.” – James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

Valen Tango 2014 has consumed the last several days of most tango enthusiasts. While I had sincerely hoped that this was something I could have participated in fully, I knew I could not because I had promised friends I would care for their very energetic dog over the weekend.

I attended opening night of Valen Tango. Before I go further, I would like to explain what a PTSD relapse is for those who may not know. The most basic, reptilian brain takes over – regardless of what my higher thinking, prefrontal cortex says. I am driven by instinct, which is mostly fear – because my early life taught me to fear.

I walked into the doors of the opening milonga. The door shutting behind me startled me. The two women at the desk thought this was hilarious. I’ve always been embarrassed by my over reactive startle response, particularly when it is PTSD induced. While the woman laughed, I tried to brush it off, mumbling something about being pathetic. She replied thusly, “Yes you are!” and laughed even louder.

I attempted to hold my true feelings in. I said, “Actually, it’s a side effect of PTSD. Thank you.” I should point out that this was not a polite ‘thank you’. The other (younger) woman chirped in, “Was this before or after the door?” Both had a good laugh at this one. I paid my fee and walked inside, wondering to myself what on earth I had ever done to offend either of these women.

I don't view myself as broken and I sure as hell don't consider myself lesser than just because I react differently than the vast majority of people to certain things. In fact, there was a time in my life when my senses were so high that I knew if someone was standing behind me and I could tell just from their presence if the person was male or female. Depending on the gender, I would sometimes tremble out of fear. I'm not as hyper-vigilant anymore. Overall, I'd say I've come a long way and see the 'symptoms' of PTSD as badges of strength. Not everyone in the world can boast they've survived (and thrived) under circumstances such as mine.

It's far easier to laugh and point fingers rather than took a good hard look at your own reflection and consider what kind of energy you are sending into the world.

I ran into the younger of the duo on Friday at a milonga mixer. I dragged my brother along to tango for the first time. He seemed to enjoy himself and this made me happy. I hope he tries a few more outings with me. When I ran into the younger woman again, without saying a word, she looked at me as if she wanted to slit my throat. I still have no idea what I have done to offend her. Perhaps it was the fact that I had one hell of a time regardless of her looks of disdain.

It’s a pity, really. While I’ve never known her name, I always thought she was a very unique beauty. I no longer see her that way now, but as someone who is plain and insecure in her own sense of being. Someone close to me with whom I confided about this ordeal told me that this is just something I’m going to encounter from time to time, because he thinks I’m lovely, outgoing and almost always smiling. Granted, I'm no raging beauty - but attitude definitely goes a long way.

In the eye of the storm, there is till a constant peaceful form of bliss. This is what I cling to when life feels overbearing. 

What I ultimately hoped to achieve by attending the milonga mixer was the ability to be near my male cohorts without fear. Mission accomplished. I think that was the perfect setting to test my own boundaries and address some of my fears.

I have come across plenty of ladies in tango who I have thought far more beautiful than I. I admire them and I always think, “Good for you.” Good for you that you have smoking hot legs and are confident enough to show them off. Good for you that you have a curvy figure and don’t try to hide it. Good for you that you are outgoing, clearly loving life, and shine a light on others. These are lovely things and no one should try to snuff those out . . . particularly one female to another. I think we need to stick together.

If I could reach out to her in love, I would – however, I’m quite certain this would only result in more insults. I’m working on healing myself and there’s no point in putting myself out there for more abuse.

We should be fighting the patriarchy instead of each other. Just a thought. 

If there was one thing I sincerely wish I could get women who don’t consider themselves to be a mainstream beauty (which is a horrid thing to strive for) is that it comes with a price. Prettiness, particularly at a young age with no one to protect you from the world, comes with a very heavy price – and that is a debt I’m still trying to pay just so I can feel whole again – because I want to trust instead of fear.

On the topic of fear, I am quite certain my most recent relapse can mostly be attributed to one person: the constant distrust he held towards me, the names he called me, the blame he always pushed towards me – and the grandiose life he felt he would live someday that I somehow hindered him from living because I chose to ‘bow to the corporate gods’. I see him in reality now – away from his influence. He was no one special. He attempted to contact me recently. My immediate response was to change my phone number. It’s really a no win situation. Had I engaged him, the conversation would eventually lead to my faults and shortcomings. By not engaging him, I would most likely be called a cold heartless bitch who thinks only of myself. Instead of doing either, I just changed my number. Problem solved. Soon I’ll be moving and he won’t know where to find me, either. That’s a double win, I think. 

"Let no man pull you so low as to hate him." - Martin Luther King, Jr. 

Patterns and Reality

“The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don’t know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is a reality, and it really happened. “ – James Arthur Baldwin

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning today. I had been dreaming of the Beloved . . . . again. I don’t know why. I haven’t figured out what exactly it is that he represents to me or if there is some part of my subconscious, heart, soul or any combination of those things that keeps trying to hold on to some small piece of him. I threw my head back on the pillow trying to get back to that moment. It was gone. While I dream of him, I’m not seeing reminders of him everywhere I turn. Truth be told, I’d rather not spend too much time reading into it so this doesn’t turn into Haunting Part II or some other bizarre form of obsession along those lines.

I locked him away somewhere inside my memory. It's not that I want to forget - I just want to let go. 

I finally saw my therapist after a six month break with the exception of one visit after Cassie died. I didn’t have health insurance. I was working as a temp. I just couldn’t afford to see her. I only made a point of seeing her after I lost my wee little lass after my co-worker insisted. For the record, she was right. It did make me feel better; it also helped me put all of that pain and longing into words. I can smile about her now. I can speak of her fondly without crying. I do still miss her, but it no longer feels like my soul was split in two by the world’s dullest knife.

What I’ve managed to hash out through therapy are some blatantly obvious things and some aspects of my life that I still don’t quite understand. Psychologist, sociologists, attachment theories and others tell us that the bonds (or lack thereof) that we form in childhood determine our relationships in our adult lives. History repeats itself and this is one of the reasons we see women returning to abusive relationships. No one can quite explain this phenomenon. There are many ideas – but for now we just know that it’s a relationship of causality.

This is one tiny little piece of the puzzle.

I used to think life was too short to not take a risk. I think the key is knowing what risks are really worth it. For now, I’ll take the mundane. Mundane is good.

Simplicity. Nostalgia. Predictability. This is what I want right now. 

The good news is that it’s not set in stone. We’re not doomed to a life of misery if we were unable to form meaningful relationships with caregivers as children and infants or were neglected, or abandoned. What frustrates me is that I know I have a tendency to fall into the same pattern. It’s like I’m stuck in a repeating orbit. I know this about me, yet find myself in the same situational pattern over and over again. Relationship wise this has manifested in forms of toxicity such as possessiveness, jealously, abuse, negligence, and sometimes even bullying. I eventually recognize I’m in a bad situation and quickly get myself out – I just fail to see the early warning signs. They do exist; I’ve just been oblivious to them. This is my current therapy project. I’ve been in this same cycle for my entire life. I’d think I would have learned to hit the eject button by now. I guess I’m on the lower end of the learning curve.

I've been told by more than one person that I should read this book. Not sure if I want to - even if it is for my own good. 

While I educate myself on recognizing early warning factors, I’ll be focusing on the good people in my life and the non-threatening males that allow me to be myself, most of which I've met through tango. Those are the types of people I want to surround myself with; there is no judgment; there are no expectations; they value my friendship and that’s all there is to it. I recognize I need to be cautious with this as well. I would never want to ruin a friendship by giving the wrong impression. Tango has social rules. It’s assumed that something is going on between two people when ‘x’ amount of sets are danced with one another.

If only tango were so simple . . . . If only life were so simple. I think I'd be set. 

On days that I just want to be comforted by friends that make me feel at ease, I have to be careful. I would never knowingly hurt someone I care about - or anyone for that matter.There’s a balance somewhere. I’ll find it eventually.

“Let go of your expectations. The Universe will do what it will. Sometimes your dreams will come true. Sometimes they won’t. Sometimes when you let go of a broken dream, another one gently takes its place. Be aware of what is, not what you would like to be, taking place.” – Melody Beattie