Answering the most basic questions when it comes to dating someone new is hard enough. What should I wear? Where should we go on our first date? Who should pay? If I have a martini will he think I'm a lush? If I have a diet coke, will he think I'm a square? Should I order the bacon cheeseburger with a side of onion rings? Or is the house salad more ladylike?
I've had near panic attacks simply trying to decide whether Twizzlers or Junior Mints were the appropriate choice for nibbling while canoodling at the movies. Which one am I more likely to choke and spit out of my nostrils if I laugh too hard at Steve Carell trying to put on a condom? While Junior Mints are refreshing as hell, if my palms are sweaty, that could spell doom for fondling my new honey. Should I use my licorice whip like a sex toy and demand he go Lady and the Tramp with me, or should I go with the tried and true method of using it as a straw to slurp my jumbo Diet Pepsi?
Eventually, if you've been single as long as I have, you figure out the silly stuff.
But what happens when it's time to dig a little deeper? When IS the appropriate time to introduce your lover to the skeletons in your walk-in closet?
If you're the type who's been lucky enough to pack light in life and your most profound secret is your slightly webbed toes or the third nipple on your back, (later removed when your parents decided a future in the circus wasn't likely), then spilling the beans really ain't no thing.
If you've had a slightly more challenging existence like I have, then candle-light confessions can prove a bit more complicated. And sometimes, it can spell doom to a budding romance.
Take my divorce for example.
To say I've become skilled at answering the awkward question of, "what went wrong?" is an understatement.
I've used all of the following responses at least once:
"We got married too young."
"I simply hadn't found myself yet, I didn't really know who I was or what I wanted out of life."
"We grew apart, our priorities changed, and we didn't want to end up resenting each other."
"I married my best friend, not the love of my life; I was too naive to know the difference."
All of those answers are partly true.
And all of those answers are the easy way out of having to relay a much longer and painful story over a mediocre meal of veal parm.
But the real story is nearly impossible to tell without fear of being judged, if not left clutching my half of the bar tab while he's jumping in a cab, telling the driver, "just go now."
Recently, I've been fortunate enough to meet a man I genuinely like a lot.
On our third date, we decided to head back to my apartment and talk over a few beers.
An hour into the conversation it started to get heavy.
I had a choice.
How would I answer the inevitable?
I used to be such an open and honest person.
I'd bare all my hardship, like a gleaming, albeit warped badge of courage on my chest.
But I learned the hard way, not everyone is as understanding or as accepting as my mom or my best friend.
Rehashing a life battling mental illness is hard enough when you're lying on your shrink's couch.
Telling a virtual stranger who you just made out with like a teenager that you have a severe chemical imbalance can be a tad touchier.
How do you tell a story that no one really understands unless they've lived it themselves?
How do you balance letting him get to second base with telling him about the anti-depressants you'll have to take for the rest of your life?
How do you tell him you have a fear of stairs and escalators, door knobs and turnstiles?
Taxi cabs.
Cafeterias.
Crowds.
Cracks in the sidewalk.
How do you tell him if you don't take your meds, you'll stand paralyzed for hours at a time, making sure your door is locked?
The iron is off?
The oven burners are cool?
Your cigarette you put out an hour ago won't start a fire?
How do you tell him you used to wash your hands until they were cracked and bleeding just to feel ok?
How do you tell him why you were afraid to get out of bed and let your feet touch the ground?
"Why?'
"Germs."
How do you compel a man to fall in love with you if he thinks you're a freak?
"Like those people on that reality show?"
"Yeah, like those people."
How do you tell someone who doesn't know you almost didn't make it at one point, that he should try and stick it out?
That hopefully, your demons won't return?
"I married my husband because he took care of me."
"I married my husband because he was the only one who didn't look at me like I was out of my mind when I told him I was too afraid to drive my car.
Hold my nephew.
Hug my father.
Walk through the aisles at the grocery store.
Wake up in the morning.
"I married my husband because he was so kind and relentlessly patient."
"I married my husband because I thought that was the best life possible considering my condition."
"I married my husband, and then I got better, and I wanted all the things I thought I couldn't have before."
"And he didn't."
"So I left."
How do I start that conversation before he ends it?
Before he decides it's all just a little too much to take?
Maybe he thinks it would just be easier to call the girl back he went out with last week.
The one who seemed a bit boring at the time, but now he remembers her smelling like strawberries.
And ease.
How do I convince him that I'll never be dull?
But I'll also never ever be effortless.
How do I bring up the baggage before he's even ready to take the ride?
After talking for a few hours, he told me he wanted to get to know me better.
"Grab some rubber gloves and the Clorox then.
We'll start in the kitchen."
Follow Kate Brown on Twitter: www.twitter.com/BrownieBites
The fact is we cannot compel anyone to fall in love with us. Period. What we can do is do what we must to forgive ourselves for being human, for having our own 'warts,' and encourage ourselves with high fives for the risks we take. The more this is done, the less the other issues trouble us: like choices of candies to pick, that you mention, and the myriad others. The real issue is NOT what he thinks of you, whether he loves you, but do YOU love you? What do you need to embrace all the particulars that make you you? Doing so attracts truly beautiful human beings into our lives.
I wish you all good things. Why not be good to you today? Why not start there? Soon 'what they/he/she thinks' will be a mute point.
Peace and blessings,
Cara
"How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb? Just one, but the light has to really want to change."
It's one thing to get involved with someone who wants to change (like the author) but it's nothing but trouble to get involved with someone who doesn't want to change, just complain and feel sorry for themselves.
And who cares about getting him to fall in love with you? Love yourself and all of your idiosyncrasies: it's what makes you YOU!
From the number of posts, it seems to me that this has touched a lot of people. Evidently, lots of people have been touched by experiences like that you describe.
You are a much braver person than I for having posted such an intimate peek into your baggage. It seems that more than a few posters have taken the opportunity for a bit of introspection.
Thanks again.
I told her everything. For once no secrets. No secret life. No hidden agenda. Warts and all. So Genevieve knew I was on meds but I don’t think I’ll tell anyone else I'm depressed or on meds especially not my next(?) girlfriend because I think they don't want the kids to be afflicted. It’s genetic. It's in their biological awareness that they seek out the healthiest mate to insure survival of the species and the family because raising kids is hard enough and what mother wants depressed kids anyway? So even if I don’t tell the next one she will know intuitively that something's up with me from her built in mother-radar and that's there even if she doesn’t want kids so I might as well tell her anyway.
In the film "Thief", James Caan is asking fellow convict Willy Nelson if he should tell his new girlfriend he's a jewel thief. "Lie to know one," Nelson tells him. "If it's a friend you're only going to ruin it; if it's someone you don't know then who the f**k are they to you that you gotta lie to them."
I'm shocked at your lack of empathy and compassion for the husband that she ran out on as soon as she thought she could have "all the things I thought I couldn't have before."
She will eventually end up alone because that fairy tale she is pursuing does not exist.
should have stayed married.
did he beat you?
did he have a drug or alcohol problem?
did he have an affair?
if you grow apart, then grow back together.
if you marry a friend, be glad that they like you in spite of your rediculous behaviour
you married too young? people did that in the old days and stayed married for sometimes 60-70 years.
My response was "yes, of course", and I continued to listen. Nothing she revealed in discussing her baggage was news to me but it was very refreshing and enlightening to hear her talk about it. And, it had the great attribute of conveying what she thinks about it, so I was no longer just filling in the blanks with my own supposition, but rather I filled in the blanks with her words, her views, her thoughts, her feelings, and this was a valuable gift.
The author has a point, though, which is simply to ask the question aloud of when - and how - does one share what one thinks are the important details of ones' inner workings. Notably, though, one does not always know what ones own baggage is, so this question is restrained to merely the domain of what one knows about themselves.
However, I posit that "the right person" is likely to pick up on whatever it is very early on - at the very least get hints and clues. Therefore, there's a good argument that you speak up fairly early because the other person is probably already picking up elements of the subject - keeping them guessing is probably not great for a committed relationship.
I suggest, "We all have issues, and if you want to know about mine, please ask. Otherwise, I'll reveal them as the moment comes."
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