Blind Spots…

We all have them. I have been particularly stubborn about mine. Someone told me the other day what they thought one of mine was. And I was bracing for something I had heard before. I was prepared for what I thought I was going to get:

You are avoidant

You can’t handle intimacy

You choose freedom over safety

I had heard all of the above before. So, in fact, they were not blind spots any longer. They were, in fact, just facts living in plain view of me and all my introspection.

So when this one came, I was a little caught off guard, which doesn’t happen to me very often. They said:

“You create impenetrable boundaries to keep others away. You do this when you feel trapped so that you can keep everyone else out and keep doing what you want.”

And I was not prepared for that last part. I know I create boundaries. I can keep a date at arm’s length for months with only body language. I don’t even know I am doing it most of the time. Then I walk around wondering why they don’t like me. When all I have done the entire time is put up a really good front that I am an island unto myself.

True story: My ex-husband and I went out like every weekend for a month before he kissed me. Finally, exasperated to try to figure out why he spent so much time with me but seemed uninterested in me physically, I asked him. “Dude, why haven’t you kissed me?” He replied, “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.” I retorted, “Yes, because I always spend every weekend for a month with a guy I do not want to kiss…” We laughed. But I will also have to tell you that the next time we saw each other, it still took him like eight hours to kiss me. Impenetrable boundaries. That are largely invisible, even to me.

What really fucked me up though was the last part of the statement…that I do all of this so I can keep doing what I want to do and do it with zero accountability. That rang so true. Fuck.

I went on a date recently. We had talked at length prior to said date. Super nice guy. Smart. Funny. Present. He liked me, a lot. Too much in fact which freaked me out. I thought I could handle someone being super present and adoring but I couldn’t. The longer the date went on, the worse I felt. I was like that cat in the old cartoon “Pepe, Le Pew.” The more he adored me and liked me, the more I felt panicked to get away. And sure, yes, perhaps it was just that guy in that situation. And I would love to tell you that was a one off. It wasn’t. I feel that way pretty much all the time when emotions start flying all about and are attempting to land on me. I bolt. I am a bolter.

And I guess I have always known this about me. My ability to stay present is directly proportional to how much truth there is in the relationship. The more truth and presence, the more likely I am to flee. But I never really got to the other side of why I do this until this person said this to me the other day. That when I feel trapped, I bolt so that I can continue doing what I want to do. And in the above example, the entire time I was thinking the following, “sure he is great and nice and appears like a suitable person to commit to…but that would mean that I have to give up so much. The other men, my freedom, my weekends, my schedule and routine. I just feel like what I am going to be getting pales in comparison to what I am going to be asked to give up…”

I wanted to continue doing what I wanted to keep doing. Which was my already in progress life. My life on my terms. No one else’s terms. And so I bolted. I danced away from him and all the potential he had because I just couldn’t handle it.

Perhaps it is extreme selfishness. Perhaps it is unhealed trauma. Perhaps I am just an asshole. Perhaps I have a fuckton of commitment issues. Perhaps I haven’t met the “right” person. Perhaps I am not the “right” person. Fuck, I don’t really even know anymore. Feels like I have been working on this shit for years. For decades. For fuck’s sake. And I really don’t know if I have made any progress at all.

I guess growth will always be pained by the revelation of new blind spots. And then you just have to sit with those awhile, waiting for some new inspiration to take root and hold and grow up within you so that you can show up differently to this life. Fuck me, I really don’t know anymore.

I know the older I get, the worse I get in my willingness to give up my freedom, my independence. The lifelong feeling that relationships is where I go to die, to lose parts of myself in some sort of ongoing atrophy of me, isn’t getting better. It is hardening and concretizing itself into a path that feels like destiny.

Part of me wants to keep trying. Part of me doesn’t. Part of me just wants to quit and move on with my life sans dating, men and the whole fucking shitshow. Part of me loves the drama of trying and failing repeatedly. I guess the truth I have to own is that the only relationships I want into, that I can fully commit myself to, are the ones that I can see the ending in the beginning. Those are safe. I know how they are going to end from the word go. And so I feel safe. I feel like I know the plot and so therefore I can afford to spend myself away, knowing always that this one doesn’t last or work out.

I know, I know, fucked up. I get it. I know. And I am trying…I really am. It is honestly hard to find a man I respect. That is truth. And the very few that I do, aren’t people I could or would date for various reasons. It is a hard thing when men have been a constant and unremitting disappointment in your life. They do not show up, they do not rally, they do not put anyone else first. They pick them every single time. It is hard to find any kind of willingness to commit to them.

I know there are other men out there who do show up, who do put others needs first, who rally. But I don’t seem to meet those men. Me and my impenetrable boundaries sort them out of the mix I am afraid.

But I have new information about a historic blindspot…so I need to ponder that a while. See what this information means to me now that it has landed. I am not sure I will ever get over the sad and disappointing appearance men have made in my life. Perhaps my standards are too high. Except you wouldn’t say that if you saw the men I chose to date. Low hanging fruit, almost every single time. I think that is why I pick the ones I do, I know they will disappoint me, I have no delusions that they won’t. That is why they are easier to pick (and find) than men who I do respect and have some scintilla of belief that they might be different. If I had a nickel for every time I thought a suitor was gonna be different, I would have a lot of fucking nickels.

But it is my blind spot and now that I see it, I have to do something with it. I am just not sure what. I do kind of love my identity of being a bolter. It makes me feel safer. It makes me feel like my life is more my own. I am not out here trying to marry myself off, but it does beg the question: “What the fuck am I really trying to do???”

And to be honest, I really have no idea. And I should know. I am way too old to have this much doubt about what I want and need and can tolerate. And yet, here we are.

Again…still.