Venice Carnival – Masked Lovers, Source https://flickr.com, Author Frank Kovalchek, Anchorage, AK, (Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic)
WARNING: Graphic Images
“He heals the brokenhearted And binds up their wounds” (Ps. 147: 3).
The hotel clock reads 4:30 AM. I can see from the bed that it is still dark outside. Unable to sleep, unable to bear the thought of spending another day in Los Angeles, I pick up the phone and reschedule my flight.
That done, I move around the room, gathering and throwing things carelessly into my bag. I walk over to the closet, stare briefly at the blue silk dress I had hoped to wear on Mulholland Drive, but decide to leave to it behind.
Downstairs in the rental car, I head on unfamiliar freeways to the airport. The trip is a blur. I veer sharply to the right, across two lanes, to make my exit. Horns blare.
Once on the plane, I stare blindly forward. My chest heaving, I begin to sob.
I have been fortunate in both male and female friends, but have loved three men deeply in my life. Whether lanky, wiry, or muscular, all three were men of integrity and high intelligence. All three were incapable of commitment, at least to me.
All three were lawyers, heaven help me.
How does the heart choose? We seek out what we have known, try as we may not to do this. The choice (unconscious though it may be) is an attempt to correct for past mistakes, to erase the scars.
I sought out emotionally elusive men — men unable to love me. As a result, love caused me far more grief than joy. What kept me in the relationships was not that these men loved me, but that they might. I was familiar — in a sense comfortable — with being loved only marginally.
The other characteristics I selected for were kindness and a history of suffering. I wanted to ease pain, but justified behavior toward myself other women would not have tolerated. I never considered whether I deserved a healthy and fulfilling relationship.
Both sexual abuse and codependence played a role in this.
I settled for little, believing I deserved less. In fact, I did not see myself as deserving of love at all. I simply assumed a normal, stable man would reject me; would be unable either to understand or put up with my pain.
My hope, my unspoken prayer, was that someone capable of kindness and with his own knowledge of loss might be better equipped.
It was to such men I was drawn. One lost his father early to serious illness. Another suffered at the hands of a cold and critical mother. The last was abandoned by his father following divorce.
The problem with my approach was that I sought out men as wounded as myself. Though not worth any less, those deeply wounded early in life may find it difficult to love or be loved.
There is too much risk involved in revealing the true self. Instead, they repeat unhealthy patterns, and inflict damage of their own.
Certainly I did. As an example, at a college concert my sister had looked forward to attending with me, I opted to sit near the object of my affection and his date, rather than with my sister. That verges on masochism. Yet, had he told me he loved me, my own love would likely have evaporated.
My sister remained steadfast. I remember standing in the front hall, nervously checking my reflection before heading out for the evening. “You look beautiful,” my sister said. “If he doesn’t love you, he’s an idiot.”
Though I cannot say with any certainty, I suspect now that two of the men I loved may, themselves, have been victims of emotional or covert incest.
Fear of intimacy can be well-founded. Those of us who suffer from it seek out difficult or impossible relationships. Normalcy is perceived as boring; intimacy, as suffocation.
The goal of healing the beloved can become the justification for our existence. Paradoxically, the beloved is chosen for his or her inability to heal. It is the resulting tension that constitutes the real glue of the relationship.
“You have a wonderfully feminine quality.” “I love your body. It’s so responsive.” “Any man in his right mind would want you.” All lies men tell women. All lies I have cherished.
When our relationship ended, I packed and shipped for safekeeping to a friend the emails one man and I had exchanged. Though the dream had died, I could not bear to part entirely with the words. Continue reading
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