Only Kindness Matters

“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Word can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.” – Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

I’ve become extremely sensitive to kindness lately and have had a few more of those moments when a fellow human being shows me one iota of genuine compassion or sincere kindness I start to crumble. I don’t know the reason behind this, but I have a few ideas.

I was at tango on Friday and the topic of me moving came up. One of my fellow tango dancers offered me his place for less money and it’s closer to my job and most of the tango venues. His kind offer made me bawl my eyes out. Upon further discussion, I learned that he will be away from the home for 5 months, but will return after that and we would be house mates. While I’m sure he has nothing but the best intentions in mind, I can’t risk putting myself in yet another potentially harmful situation. I know him, but I don’t know him that well. While my new place may be a bit of a hovel with no real kitchen, I am one of the most innovative people I know and am certain this is the best scenario for Merlin and me.

He's my love and the one thing I care about most in this world. 

One of my friends wasn’t so convinced. She mentioned jumping from one frying pan to another. Sure it’s not ideal circumstances, but here are my options: continue to live in a toxic environment or get the hell out. I chose the latter. Where I’ve lived the last several years have never truly been a home to me and I’ve not really been able to use the kitchen for the most part anyway – so what’s the difference? I’m trading a little bit of convenience, but that’s really all I’m giving up. I just can’t live under the same roof as someone who is unpredictable, angry and negative. I’ve been pretending in this environment for a long time and I’m quite certain I’ve reached a point where I can’t pretend anymore.

This. I just can't.

I’ve had a long standing record of issues with maternal figures in my life – the women who were supposed to care for me and have my best interests in mind used me to manipulate others, financial gain, or as a buffer to their public image. Granted, I’ve received motherly care from very unexpected places and they’ve loved me, cheered for me and have been a constant source of support without expecting anything in return. My current maternal figure has been no exception. While she did legally adopt me, it became apparent to me soon after that it was to boost her own image so her social circle and colleagues could see what a good person she was for all of the things she did for the little orphan lass.

Because I never know what mood is going to greet me at the other end of the door, I dread going to the place that I’ve called home. It feels as if all the negativity, anger and hostility she’s ever felt towards any single person or situation is set aside and saved specifically for me. The last straw came when she told me she wished the hound dead; this coming from the woman who displayed herself as supportive when Cassie died. That was it. I haven’t been able to pretend to be even slightly content in that environment. In fact, I’m sick and tired of pretending. I’ve seen what a lifetime of her verbal lashings have done to her son who is nearly 20 years my senior: he still lives at home, has no motivation of leaving and does none of the things that most responsible adults would do: own a car, pay rent, buy food, etc. I refuse to let her wear me down to the point that I’ve given up on life.

No knock on my brother. I love him. On the same note, I'd rather live in a cave in the wilderness than have to live one more day in that house. 

I made another trip to my favorite shop this weekend with a friend. As usual, the owner knew exactly what I needed and had nothing but love and support to give me. As I told her about my current transitions in life and the hurtful, threatening words towards the living being I love most in this world, the shop owner said this, “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’d be thrilled to have a daughter like you.” Once again the flood gates opened and there I was bawling my eyes out – in public – in the middle of a store. I think I’ve become so conditioned to negativity that I don’t know how to handle kindness and every negative thought I’ve ever had about myself has been consistently reinforced by the current environment in which I’m living.

The smallest form of kindness and I can't stop crying.

For a brief time I felt guilt over having no concern for my adoptive mother. She was hospitalized. It was nothing serious – a condition that causes some really nasty headaches. While it was a painful condition, it was nothing that was life-threatening. While this was going on and the doctors were running a battery of tests to determine the root cause, I had no concern whatsoever that she was in the hospital. It’s not that I didn’t visit and it’s not that I didn’t go out of my way to do nice things for her – I just realized that my actions felt forced and disingenuous. I felt worry over the fact that I may have turned sociopathic from my constant exposure to such a toxic environment – and that was the only thing that concerned me. When I saw my therapist later that week she told me that I shouldn’t spend any more time saving, just get out. That’s exactly what I sought out to do.

While I found a place and have been consumed with packing boxes instead of fawning over my adoptive mother, she only comes across as resenting me more for it. Any time I enter the house (which she reminds me is hers on a regular basis) I’m bombarded with a plethora of her, ‘You need to’ and ‘You’re not doing this right’ among many other things. Recently I responded by telling her that I’m an adult and I am confident that I’ll figure it out. She’s basically ignored me since and has resorted to her own special form of passive aggressive action: she knew I will be moving the last weekend of April/first weekend of May. She knew that her husband and son wanted to help me move. She decides that the last weekend of April/first weekend of May should be the best time for her to take a two week trip to Hawaii with her husband. The end result has been a lot of pressure to get all of my things out NOW. Because I’m working full time and house/pet sitting in a neighboring city that gives me a little bit of a commute, this has been a considerable source of stress to me.

It’s almost over. It’s almost over.

Reflecting on the last several years of my life combined with the conditioning I received at such a young age, I’m not surprised why I’ve failed so much in relationships and why I tend both gravitate towards and attract what proves to be harmful to me in the end. I'm working on breaking that. I can do a lot about my own outlook on life, but very little on others. It's an individual process. I know that once I’m away from her influence I’ll not only feel better about myself, but other aspects of my life will improve as well.

On another note,  I survived an interaction with the Beloved and it was nice to have one of those rare moments when we can sort of talk without scrambling in opposite directions. He seems content in life and I wish him the best . . . . and then there was the brief moment I saw a pretty young lady sitting on his lap while he played music in a rather intimate manner. My first immediate reaction was the realization that I desperately wanted to punch this girl in the face. The other realization came a couple of days later and it was this: despite how much I cared for him, I was really nothing but a number among his long list of admirers. When I’m ready to date again, I think I deserve to be more than a name on a list; and I won’t be ready for that aspect of life again for a while. I’m hoping that bearing witness to that brief moment will be the nail in the coffin and I can finally lay all of those feelings I bore for him to rest. I need to move forward in life. Deep down, I’ve known this for a long time and perhaps I’ve finally reached a point in my life that will enable me to do so. 

A New Chapter

“We must be willing to get rid of the live we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.” – Joseph Campbell

I know I’ve been posting a lot lately – but I take it as a good sign because I’ve got nothing but good news these days. I’m starting a new chapter. Just knowing this has lifted a huge burden off of my shoulders and I feel light and free. I woke up this morning and it’s the first time in a long while that I didn’t feel like waging war on myself by being self-destructive. I didn’t feel defeated; I didn’t feel as if I was losing the longest battle I’ve ever fought. I feel relieved – happy even – and that’s a pretty good feeling.

Let there be light! It's kinda a big deal for those of us who dwell in Portlandia - HUGE actually.

I’m growing suspicious of my Celtic Spirit meditation book; I think it’s reading my mind or something. Today’s reflection was The Prayer of the Spring Equinox, of darkness fading to light and new beginnings. I’m grateful for those words and I’m grateful that the sun is shining today. I’m not even upset anymore over not fitting into my jeans due to the pounds I packed on after Cassie died. It’s not permanent. I’ll get back to where I want to be soon enough. Also, I’m pretty damn lucky because I carry it well and no one seems to have even noticed the weight gain except for me – or they’re being extremely polite because I’m my own worst critic.

On the topic of criticism I struck up a conversation with one of my gal pals last night regarding how insanely self-conscious we females are. For every good quality that someone points out to a woman, I can guarantee she has a list of at least five things in her head that she thinks is ‘wrong’ with her. I’m not sure if this is built into our DNA or something engrained in us when we were little girls, but women tend to have insanely unrealistic expectations regarding their appearance; and not just their features, their size as well. I’m making a commitment to myself to not criticize every single imperfection and focus on the things that I can change – like the weight gain; and this is something I’m doing for me and no one else. And I also need to take my own advice and start noting my good qualities and what I’m doing right.

Ladies, let's stop striving for the unrealistic perfection that others tell us we should be. 

There’s this hilarious song by Flight of the Conchords called ‘Business Time’. This song mentions business socks. I wore my business socks last night – but within an entirely different context. I went to tango to meet with a friend I haven’t seen in a few weeks. I missed him. Guess who forgot her dancing shoes? This gal. The funny part is that I actually had two pairs of shoes in the bag that I took with me and I somehow managed to leave them behind when I was shuffling things in and out of my bag. So there I was. In my business socks. Dancing. It was challenging, but still fun.

Dancing is serious business. 

I may have had a small victory over my relentless reptilian brain as well. I danced with a guy my age and I was at perfect ease (even though I was dancing in business socks). I’ve given it some thought because I want to know what was different about this experience that made me feel so comfortable with him. I had a shot of bourbon; I had spent the entire day consuming caffeine to keep myself awake. I was still too wired for bourbon to knock me down a couple of notches, so that was most definitely not the reason. Before he and I danced he spent some time talking to me. He shared his art; we talked about hobbies and a variety of other things. I’m thinking that’s why I felt at ease – and it was lovely . .  . and yet another reason for me to wake up feeling grateful.

Did I mention it was close embrace as well? Thank you fellow tango dancer!

Tonight is another tango adventure. I have a feeling I won’t be dancing much because the crowd is going to be insane and I volunteer on Friday evenings. I’m slightly nervous. Beloved is going to DJ – and I’ve missed him. While I’d love nothing more than to hug him and talk for a while, I’m going to refrain from that urge. I’ve got to get my head on straight and deal with all of the baggage that I kept stuffing down so it doesn’t latch onto someone else, so I don’t lash out at anyone close to me. I’m working on forgiving myself for that as well.

I have a good feeling about my new chapter in life. I’m marking it with a tattoo I’ve been coveting for years, Says the gal that just got an apartment and needs to save money for practical things. I asked for some insight from my co-worker and jogging partner. Her thoughts echo my own – everything is aligning so perfectly and it should be honored. So I’ll be keeping the appointment I made on Tuesday and not worry about spending a small chunk of change on myself for something that isn’t practical in life, but honors a spiritual aspect of myself. 

This awesomeness is going on my back. 

Self-Awareness and the Subconcious

“Seven long years I served for thee,

The glassy hill I climbed for thee,

The bloody shirt I wrang for thee,

Will you not waken and turn to me?” – Scottish Lore: The Black Bull of Norroway

One of the recurring themes in my life lately has been love, and what love truly is. My morning meditation book spoke of a young woman from Scottish folklore who went to a seer to gain knowledge of her future love. The woman suffers many trials to save this man, who has come to her in the shape of a bull. She must climb a hill of glass with shoes made of iron. She obtains these shoes as the result of a seven year long apprentice service to a smith and in the end must wash her lover’s bloody shirt to disenchant him. One moral of this story is that love is not equal – at least not usually in the beginning; one partner may need to be patient while the other discovers a similar depth of affection. The ability to be constant, consistent and reliable is learned over a long period; during this time, many relationships falter or come to grief. The glassy hill of love presents a great challenge to the faithful lover. The spiked shoes of iron are not made overnight; and many shirts filled with wounds may have to be laundered before old loves and hates learned in past relationships are leached out of the present one. Constancy, perseverance, and patience are the skills we learn in the apprenticeship of love.  

I do my best to live my life with nothing but love for others. It's a lofty goal and I fail at it often. 

Needless to say, my morning meditation blew my mind – it offers the truth of what it means to love another. These are honest truths and I think we have to deal with our own baggage that drags us down until we can truly open up to someone else and provide them with consistency, patience, and a willingness to tough out the bumpy patches in the road. I’ve been doing this entire process for a very long time; not just by lacking in patience, but also by putting unrealistic expectations in my mind. Of course he’ll love me as genuinely as I love him. Of course he’d never hurt me. Why on earth wouldn’t he want to spend more of his free time with me? Of course he’d keep my best interests in mind . . . . . No. That’s just not how it works. The reality is that it takes a hell of a lot of work on both sides to build something beautiful and both participants have to be willing to bend and challenge one another.

I always think back to the analogy the Buddhist gave me about the pumpkin vines. We are connected. Love one another and share in both joy and pain.

Of course, dating in any way shape or form is the last thing on my mind right now. My plate is pretty full these days. I’ve just found an apartment – and my own space is something I’ve needed for a long time but couldn’t obtain until now. It has the perfect set up for the hound and I. It’s a bit farther away from work – but I figure when I can afford a bike and am cycling back and forth I’m going to be in wicked awesome shape. Also, the hound has a fenced in yard and a dog walker; I couldn’t have imagined a better scenario.

My sweet boy. We've made it, hound. 

While I’ve paid for rent for March and April, I won’t really officially be moving in until the very end of April or first week of May. I’ve committed to house/pet sitting for an entire month. I didn’t intend to even start looking for a place until I was done with that commitment, but I stumbled across this ad for an in-law cottage and knew that it was something I had to have. It has a small fenced in yard and a sliding glass door for an insert-able dog door. Also, the landlord has a teenage daughter who loves basset hounds. I’ve found a yard for Merlin, a dog walker, and a place to live all in one fell swoop. I literally pestered the landlord until I was first in line and went straight to the bank to give him rent and a deposit the very next day. I beat out the one gal that was on top of the list by my endless persistence. 

I’m not sure if it’s the excitement of the last few days or my commitments that leave me feeling exhausted. I feel as if I’ve literally been going nonstop since February. I’d love to have a weekend to just pack, or sleep, or lounge about for a while. That hasn’t been available to me in a very long time. I’m always doing something. If it hasn’t been apartment hunting,  trying to cross off items of what feels like an endless to-do list, it’s been catching up with friends. I love my friends dearly, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a breather and disappear for a week or two just for the sake of my sanity. Emotionally, physically and psychically I’m nearly tapped out. There’s not much left there to give. I just need to get through a few more days and then I can allow myself some much needed down time before I keel over from exhaustion.

My secret fear is that my boss will walk into my office one day only to find me curled up under my desk fast asleep.

I’m still working on being in the moment as well. Since I’ve had my new place, my mind is already scheming ways to section off a part to make a ‘room’ for my bed, where I’m getting furniture and also where in the hell am I going to get a fridge because the previous tenant ruined the one that was in the unit. Rather than driving myself crazy by thinking about how I’m going to pay for x, y and z and in what order these events should unfold, I keep reminding myself to let it go. It will work out. It's not worth losing sleep over as the result of me driving myself to madness with worry.

My slow decent into madness! I feel like I'm half way there already. 

While I’m grappling with my mind go to stay in one place, I’m wrestling with it on a subconscious level as well. I went to tango last night and noticed it for the first time. Perhaps this has been going on all along and this is the first time I’ve achieved a level of self-awareness that had allowed me to see it. What my cognition was telling me and the message that my subconscious was sending my body were two very conflicting messages.

 I do know that I tend to struggle when I dance with someone I’ve never met or danced with before. I had a new dance partner. I’ve never seen him before. He was polite, kind and didn’t display any kind of behavior that would make me feel uncomfortable. I knew he meant me know harm, yet I couldn’t get my body to feel that way. I could hardly follow because I was so tense. It wasn’t until the very last song that my subconscious got with the program and started cooperating – and then I was able to follow at least for a little bit. It’s a frustrating thing when I know what’s happening and just can’t get the subconscious, reptilian part of my brain/mind to turn off. As I’ve found common ground with others in my life, I can only hope my cognitive side and subconscious side will meet somewhere in the middle. 

I really have no idea what's going on in the vast subconscious of my mind - only that those two parts of me need to start working together.

Wrapping up, a brief tangent on tango. I've hooked my brother in for a second time. Last night had a lot of good dancers. I spent most of my time watching and still dream of the day when my boleos don't look like someone scraping dog poo off of their shoe. I'm either too tense or too self conscious - or maybe a combination of both. The good news about my new adventure in life being on my own is that I'll actually have room to do things that are good for me at home - like yoga and dancing. Life is looking up. Thank you for your support and words of encouragement; the power of a few kind words is immeasurable. 

"We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves." - Buddha

The Answer Is No

“Being challenged in life is inevitable, being defeated is optional.” – Roger Crawford

Last night was the true test of my fake engagement ring to my fake fiancé. The outcome wasn’t quite what I wanted, but it will do for now. I missed dancing most of last week; my mother was in the hospital. Needless to say, I was very much looking forward to hitting the floor for some close embrace dancing.

First I chatted with a guy that was a few seats over from me. He looked at me the wrong way. I’ve heard it’s a fairly normal reaction for men to steer their gaze straight towards a woman’s cleavage – which is exactly what this guy did when I bent over in my seat to adjust my dance shoe. Not okay. I excused myself saying I needed to refill my water bottle and went to the opposite side of the room where there was fellow tango dancer that I know to some degree and trust him not to eye boggle me or make me feel threatened at all.

Dude, come on! I wasn't even dressed remotely close to this revealing.

Then there was the extremely angry, two-faced tango guy who I’m quite certain asks me to dance for the sole purpose of getting under my skin. I can tell him no, I know this – and yet I never do because I’m still not absolutely certain this action won’t come across as 1) insulting and 2) the Irish Lass looking like a cold-hearted a**hole. So I sat there as I saw him walking towards me thinking to myself, “Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact . . . . Crap! I just made eye contact. Then there was the cabaceo – and my immediate reaction is always a smile and a nod. So there I was, dancing next to the devil himself counting down every song and hoping it would be a short tanda. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I like how he looks at me, either – I really need to make a point of avoiding him as much as possible and for the life of me can’t figure out why I haven’t given him the cold shoulder, regardless of how mean some may perceive that act on my part. Is it really worth it? My guess is no. I don’t want to dance with the devil and I certainly don’t want him to touch me, either. Note to self: channel rage.

Yeah . . . That's pretty close to what I felt like.

Later on, I danced an amazing tanda with someone I had only met that evening. That’s one of the beautiful things about this dance. There’s an amazing synchronization of music, movement and synergy in tango that makes it so addictive. It was perfect – until the end when he asked me for my e-mail address. Who the hell are you, guy?  I told him I don’t give my contact information out to people I don’t know.

 . . . or my e-mail, or my real name.

I pride myself on nearly making it to the end last night. I headed out as the last set of the evening was playing. I ran into an acquaintance on the way out. He mentioned he had been in California. I said I was jealous and he told me I should go with him next time. Granted he and I have talked during tango and often have a good time together. He’s carefree, has a good sense of humor, and I laugh and smile a good deal when he’s around me – but still, I really don’t feel like I know him enough to pack up and head to California for a weekend. All I could think was, ‘Why?!’ I said nothing in response; I merely stared blankly and walked off – perhaps with a shallow smile on my face.

Did I mention he could probably be a stunt double for Chris Hemsworth? I want to be a stunt double, damnit.

I think I’ve reached the ultimate state of paranoia. Seriously, any male presence that is unfamiliar to me is perceived as a potential threat – even some that I do know but haven’t made a decision on whether or not they are a trustworthy person who has no ulterior motive or ill intention towards me.

Just in case I ever feel lonely and am tempted to seek comfort in the arms of another, I remind myself that no one else can mend my wounded heart . . . and also that tango is a great source of comfort in the arms of another without the emotional turmoil and wreckage that usually comes with it.  I remind myself how emotionally painful it’s been since the Beloved – and for now I’ll simply accept that my depth of feeling for him will make an excellent deterrent from even thinking about dating for a while – a very long while. 

I just want a life that's not entangled with someone else's for a while. 

When I'm not preoccupied with paranoia from fending off unwanted attention, I find that I have to remind myself more often than not to mentally stay put. Stay here. Stay now. This is where I am. I'm the type of person that thinks of every possible outcome before I make a move. Sometimes this serves me well, and sometimes this practice causes me to worry more about things that I don't even need to act on yet . . . and now know why I feel like I'm always running in circles. I've been thinking about the upcoming move and apartment hunting. It occurred to me that the hound has never been alone. He's always had Cassie and since I've been in Portland, I've lived in a very busy house in which there is almost always a human presence. I soon found my mind ridden with anxiety wondering how he would cope with this change and how he's coping with Cassie's absence and how the heck was I going to afford a dog walker or doggy  daycare? Stay here, Irish Lass. You're not there yet. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. For all I know, Merlin the hound will probably be perfectly content to have a couch all to himself all day.

They've attempted to block him from the couch . . . . I know he's quite proud of himself.

Sweetest Downfall

When god (aka tango instructor) spoke to me during my emotional breakdown, she said something that I’ve been churning over in my mind since, “Don’t’ live with regret.” She mentioned the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah; the characters were turned to salt when they looked back. Moral of the story: don’t look back. Look forward instead. That’s a lot easier said than done, but I’m still trying. This doesn’t mean we don’t learn from our experiences and mistakes, it simply means we don’t live in the past – in what has already taken place – in the things we cannot change.

Live in the moment and make it beautiful - I'm still trying to get there.

I’ve touted a good deal of regret with me for many years; and not just regret, but also guilt. I feel guilt for the life I live sometimes – because I ask myself why I’m a college graduate and my sister has been swallowed by life and I have no idea how even start looking for her. I regret that I don’t know how to find her and I regret that I couldn’t do more for her. Then I have to look at it like a rational person, What could I have possibly done differently? The answer is nothing. I have to let that go. We were children. There’s a very unpleasant feeling that comes with being a powerless child. I keep reminding myself that I’m no longer a powerless child, but someone who has a say in her future and her here and now.

Then there are the people from my past I carry with me like heavy weights – because I feel guilt over having some measure of success in this life and know that they suffer for their choices. I’ve made choices, too – I just feel that somehow it was luck of the draw. I have to remind myself that while that is a small part of the equation, it’s not the whole equation. I didn’t choose the same path and that’s why I have no criminal record or teenage children before I make it to thirty or in a really bad marriage. Granted, I almost made that mistake once. I dodged a bullet.

Then there’s regret over lashing out at the wrong person. My sweetest downfall in life was loving someone deeper than I knew myself capable and seeing the beauty in life again. Before that time in my life and before the Beloved and I crossed paths again I felt as if my life was drifting in a black sea. It’s still mind blowing to me that joy can be a trigger simply because it’s as emotionally strong as fear. I regret the words I said when I was both confused and in pain and even still now I wish I could take it all back, but there’s no rewind button to this life we’re living, is there? I’m quite certain that’s my biggest regret in life. And there are times I regret hardly being able to speak to him the few times I’ve seen him since . . . . so I remind myself that regret is a destructive force and I can’t keep living if I’m too busy beating myself up.

"You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first, I loved you first

Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth

I have to go, I have to go

Your hair was long when we first met . . . 

Samson came to my bed 

Told me that my hair was red

Told me that I was beautiful and came into my bed

Oh I cut his hair myself one night

A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light

And he told me that I'd done alright

And he kissed me 'til the mornin' light . . . " - Regina Spektor

So while I honor the practice of not berating myself, I have noted things that I most certainly do not regret. I don’t regret ever being owned by my dogs; those two furry babies have been my constant joy and comfort since one precious little lady literally walked into my life and the other was a treasure I sought out. I don’t regret ever purchasing or wearing a fake engagement ring. It’s either boosted my confidence because I don’t feel like I have to hide away or it really does have mystical powers that ward off predatory douchebags. I don’t regret all the times I tried and failed. I don’t regret starting tango only because I wanted another means of connection with someone; the dance turned into one of the best forms of therapy. Overall, I don’t regret moving to Portland. Sure, the sun practically never shines here – but my time here has been far more enriching than any experience the Central Valley could have possibly offered.

I confess my quads are killing me - but I am so going to own this mother f-er

I don’t regret starting a couch to 5k challenge with my co-worker; I was quite certain I was near death on day 1 – yet here I am and we’re still chipping away at it. I don't regret that my hardest lesson learned in life was also my sweetest downfall. I don’t regret living, losing, loving or crying. I don’t regret who I am, either – quirky gal with occasional meltdowns, PTSD rage and hesitation blended with a whole lot of laughter. I often say ‘I regret nothing!’ in jest – I’m thinking that’s something I should start taking seriously. Lastly, I don't regret the expensive dress I just ordered so I can showcase the tattoo I'm getting in a couple of weeks. 

Okay . . . not quite as dramatic - but it's still going to be awesome.

Truths and Warning Signs

"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself." - Harvey Fierstein

I hesitated for some time to even talk about this, much less write it and post it in cyber world. I’m rather disappointed in myself, really. Ultimately, I decided to go for it in the hopes that someone like me can benefit from it and also a plea for women with low self-esteem, who are naïve from lack of intuition because you were never taught these skills, perhaps you’ve experienced trauma or loss and there was no one there to comfort you, to take the time to reconnect with yourself. Find your footing, embrace who you are and trust your instincts above all else.

There are several forms of abuse; I will be discussing the form that comes in spoken word and manipulation. Vulnerability can be easily sensed. We become vulnerable from time to time due to things like loss, trauma, a broken heart, etc. Vulnerability makes us easy pickings for others seeking to take advantage of a person in an emotional, psychical, weakened state of mind.

"With each passage of human growth we must shed a protective structure. We are left exposed and vulnerable - but also yeasty and embryonic again, capable of stretching in ways we hadn't known before." - Gail Sheehy

Vulnerability is a strength as well. It shows we dare to experience life and ride the emotions. It's problematic when you've become so exposed and feel so voiceless that you've allowed others to dominate you.

I came to the realization last night while talking with a friend over dinner that every guy I’ve dated, spoken with, hung out with, or had any connection to whatsoever over this past year (my genuine friends excluded) – has really only been a Band-Aid – and they’ve been poor Band-Aids at that: the kind that leave the wound festering.

I need to learn to take life slower and grieve when I’m sad or mending a broken heart instead of trying to stuff it down and tough it out. This lack of self-care and personal awareness landed me in a relationship that was headed down a very dark path.

Not only was it dark, but it was lonely, too. When I finally quit denying what was happening I was too ashamed to tell anyone the truth.

It was nice in the beginning, but there were also some blatant warning signs that I never noticed until I gave myself some time to turn things over in my head. He seemed nice. He said he wanted to protect me. Warning Sign # 1: No one should talk about protecting you. It hints at ownership – and this is never a good thing.

He was consistently late. Very late. I once sat outside of a milonga waiting for him for 2 hours. He kept telling me that he was on his way and to wait. Warning Signs #2 and 3: Someone who is consistently late is blatantly stating their time is more important than yours and that you are on their clock. In other words: your world must revolve around this person’s schedule. Lies, even little ones that seem harmless should be examined closely. More lies surfaced later: his status as a college student, his employment, even a criminal record that he kept under wraps. 

Less than a month into the relationship he had too much to drink and picked a fight with me. I excused his behavior with inebriation. I didn’t want to stick around and try to work it out because that was pointless: He was drunk and would not listen to reason. He threatened to break up with me if I left. I did. What proceeded after were several texts. Some of them threatening followed by pleas to turn around and come back because he was sorry. I was very stupid. I turned around to patch things up. Warning Sign #4: Someone who drinks that often and to the point of angry inebriation is battling with their own demons and possible addiction. Stay away. You can’t help them. You are not responsible for them. You are responsible for you. Warning Sign #5: He obviously tried to intimidate me by playing on my insecurities. It didn’t work at first. Eventually I caved in. Don’t let someone intimidate or manipulate you. Ever. You are better than that and you deserve better than that.

This is an accurate depiction to how I should have reacted to that

Not long after that first spiff things went downhill very quickly. He accused me of flirting with a friend of a friend. I was chatting with said acquaintance over drinks with a group of people. He was a transplant doctor. I work with transplant patients. That subject was 90 percent of our conversation. Warning Sign #6: It was obvious that the guy I was dating was extremely insecure and he took this out on me on more than one occasion. He hated my job, accused me of bowing to the corporate gods, and often tried to talk me into skipping work to spend a day with him. I’d had the job for less than a month and he knew I worked very hard to get it. This brings me to Warning Sign #7: Never involve yourself with someone who lives their life with jealousy. This is one of the unhealthiest emotions.

From his perspective, my alleged flirtation is what ruined everything. He hated the way I dressed. He resented any male friend I had and the fact that I am still speaking with a few of the men I’ve previously dated. He didn’t want me to dance tango. He wanted me to just lay about with him all day . . . . and it was never enough. I never gave him enough of my time. I never did enough. I was never enough. Warning Sign #8: You are enough. Never let someone try to tell you otherwise. Warning Sign #9: Don’t involve yourself with someone who wants to change you. There is nothing wrong with you. No one needs to ‘fix you’ or tell you to act like a ‘proper lady’; f*ck those social conventions straight to hell!! Connect with the archetype of the wild woman. Channel that energy.

Sing and howl at the moon while you're at it - just for kicks.

Because he was always angry with me, I was constantly doing something for him to show him how much I cared for him - because I was always wrong. I was always the one who screwed up. I do not have enough words in my vocabulary to express how very wrong this is. Warning Sign #10: Stay away from angry people, especially those who want to use you as their personal verbal punching bag. You don’t deserve that kind of treatment. Never allow someone to put you down. Never allow someone to make you feel shame for who you are.

I was beginning to see the many unhealthy aspects of this poor excuse for a relationship one night when he took me to a restaurant just to be extremely confrontational, tell me how disgusted he was by me, accuse me of never showing my real self to him and a rambling of other things that I can’t remember. He didn’t stop until I threw money at him for my soup and walked out crying. I walked home. I cried the whole way. I don’t recall a time in my life when someone has ever pushed me to be so sad and simultaneously angry. I had apologized over and over again for things that I wasn’t at fault for and this was never ‘sincere’ or ‘genuine’ enough for him. Warning Sign #11: If someone can’t see your truest intentions, but people you’ve barely met can, that person has clearly painted an image of you in his/her head that is unfavorable and inaccurate. Don’t let someone tell you who you are. 

This is pretty much how the pattern works. Don't allow yourself to fall into this. 

Towards the very end, I took him on a vacation as a birthday gift. Originally, I had been looking forward to it, but dreaded it as the days passed drawing me closer to it. He made me wait for more than an hour while he finished packing. I drove because he told me not to get a rental car, he would work something else out (he didn’t work something out). I was tired when we finally arrived. He wanted to go out. I accommodated. I accommodated the entire time – and he still chose to be angry at me for the things that I didn’t do. If you always feel like you have to apologize to someone, get the hell out. Don’t put yourself through that. Warning Sign #12: When it comes to a narcissist, everything is about them. You will spend time with their friends and their family, not yours. Someone who takes more than an hour to get ready on a regular basis is not worth your time. Someone who always makes you feel badly about yourself is a bully who is lashing out due to his or her own insecurities. The insecurities of another person are not your responsibility.

I finally asked for some space. He could only honor that request for one day - just one. He sent flowers, fruit baskets and texts. My request was simple and he couldn’t honor that. He tried to persuade me. He tried to buy me. You are not for sale. You are not a piece of property.

That was a whirlwind that lasted just three months. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Sure, he was charming – but also a ticking time bomb and I didn’t see how bad my situation was until much later. Had I been watchful, had I been cautious and in tune with my instinctual self, I probably would have ignored him.

In the words of Bukowski, "Be on the watch." 

Since then, more things have happened that have compounded trauma on top of trauma and I’ve encountered even more people who are ill intended. One person in particular is from tango. He’s married, but they’re ‘trudging through it until their oldest graduates from high school’. I’m angry because he lied to me. He presented himself as a friend and it soon became clear that friendship was not what he had in mind. To be honest, I’m just plain fed up. Last Friday I bought myself a buffer ring. I’m really not sure if that’s the correct term; basically, it’s a fake engagement ring. So far it’s working quite well for me and will hopefully keep the bad type of man out of my life long enough for me to just be me.

I’m spending time in self-reflection and coming to terms with a few truths about myself that I didn’t care to admit: 1. I am emotionally vulnerable right now and have been for some time. 2. Genuine love cannot be turned off and a Band-Aid will not fix it. I can’t simply find a substitute and hope that the pain goes away. 3. I have no business dating and probably wasn’t quite ready when I was reunited with the Beloved. I was still healing and didn’t recognize it because I allowed myself to be caught up in the joy of him: his presence in my life, being with him; to be honest, everything about him, actually.

I sing 'Can't Touch This' in my head every time I put this on. 

If you’re still with me now, I’m impressed. I want to be clear with my intent. This is not meant to mar someone’s reputation. The purpose of this extremely long entry is to reach out to those who are vulnerable and perhaps feeling a little lost. Don’t let someone take advantage of you. Don’t let someone try to talk their way into your life. Trust yourself and perhaps even guard yourself until you feel ready to face the world again. Surround yourself with people who are uplifting and bring positive energy into your life. For any female readers I recommend Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. It has been a real eye opener for me – so much so that I’ve purchased a handful of copies for friends. I hope it helps you to reconnect with your inner strength as well.