Bad Feminist!

Since college, a voice in my head has often said "You're A Bad Feminist." It is an authoritarian voice that pops up whenever I'm living as less than the ideal, or, more accurately, as vulnerable or needy. It is a warden that can’t see nuance, only that I’m not living up to a ‘perfect-feminist-ideal’ archetype that is more machine than human.

Now, my definition of 'needy' isn't a very kind one. To me, 'needy' is whenever there is ANYTHING I can't do by myself. The only exception is construction work that is physically impossible for any human being to do alone. Putting up a 6' long piece of crown molding would be acceptable to ask help for; driving across the country in a U-Haul would be unacceptable to ask. After all, I know how to drive! And so the U-Haul broke down along the highway, in Wyoming at night. That’s why you have roaming on your cellphone, and surely, I should have been able to handle that by myself. There was a little traffic on the interstate. No need to feel scared or overwhelmed. If I can’t do it by myself, I can at least pretend.

I've also forced myself to be emotionally strong. Crying in public, or even in front of my ex-boyfriend, was verboten. Somehow, that weeping woman was a stereotype I couldn't stand.

The 'strong' veneer had clearly developed by high school. I had been bullied a lot in elementary school, had an arm broken in a bad tussle, and all the adults said "don't let them see it is bothering you." Somehow, my vulnerability was supposedly a provocation to the bullies. The world is too harsh a place to be trusted with. So, piece by piece, I learned to hide my pain, my exposure, weakness or openness. Anything that admitted vulnerability meant defenselessness. And piece by piece, I learned to hide any remnants of vulnerability behind an iron mask of strength. I've been incredibly strong and independent, and somewhat successful. And so lonely. And so tired of the energy it takes to be 'strong.' The 'strength' is an act that is poisoning me from the inside.

Learning to be soft, to open, to trust, has been quite difficult for me. I'm terrified to admit I want a man in my life, that I feel incomplete without one. But I have to make a choice--either I can start to open, to create places to welcome him in and pray to a God I don’t know if I believe in that he will arrive for that place, or I can continue to harden my heart, making it more bearable to be alone, but also more likely I will be.

One on level I'm complete. I love my job, which is really a calling for me. I love my house, and have good friends. But I ache to curl up next to another soul and feel his breathing, to be woken up with a gentle caress or a harsh kiss , to be needed and to have it OK to need help. To develop roots together, allowing up both to soar into the world. I find tears welling up at the most inappropriate moments, because it reminds me of a moment I thought I had a partner. I yearn for someone to watch over me.

Even writing this, I rush to add, 'that doesn't mean I don't want equal pay for equal work!' I shouldn't have to say that, but given the political environment, I can just see some Republican saying "see, even the feminist liberal bloggers want to just be told what to do, to be told their place. Yes, on an intimate level, that might be true, but I certainly don’t want Washington regulating my private life, and it is only when I get to soar in the world that I’m comfortable yearning for that vulnerability at home.

Rejection and Confusion

Well, The Man That Smote Me, dumped me. Not that it can, intellectually really be a dump. Two dates, some intense phone calls. Nothing more.

And yet, it shattered part of me.

On some level, it hurt me more badly than breaking up with my live in lover. The second was more of a pain, but I knew he never saw the real me. It was part of the reason we broke up.

This is the only man I ever let see me. Every other man I've ever been with only saw the girl I try to pretend to be. The socially acceptable, not too intense, girl who plays games and giggles. This man saw the woman I really am. I sang for him. I was more in touch with joy and love than I've ever been with anyone. He looked into my eyes for about 10 minutes at dinner the second day, and I didn't look away once. Afterwards he said "well, that was better than half the sex I've had in my life." He stared into my soul, saw me at my very best, as I've never been for anyone else, and he said 'ehhy~~I can do without--thanks.'

I realized several things:
I have a much more beautiful energy than I've ever let anyone see. There is a power there I need to get in touch with.

But that famous Marianne Williamson quote that everyone thinks is by Nelson Mandela (who is not dead, btw, Saddam didn't kill him), well that is wrong. It isn't that we are scared of our lightness. It is that we know how fragile it is. To have our purest light rejected is far scarier than having our social mask rejected. Having someone brush off who we pretend to be--we can handle that. Having someone reject who we yearn to be, our soul, rather than just our social mask, that hurts to the core.

I want to find a way to get in touch with the energy he inspired, and I'm terrified. I don't know how I could be that vulnerable and risk that level of rejection. And yet, I must, because it is the only way I can possibly meet a soul mate.

Playing Games?

After one date, I believe I have met what can only be termed as my soul mate. Intellectually, I know how cheesy that sounds, but that is the only way I can describe it. Our energies vibrate off each other in a way that is both emotionally grounded and lusciously sexy at the same time.

I have always played dating games. Always. And this time, I’ve decided not to. This terrifies me! I grew up on the East Coast, and I think West Coast women underestimate the importance of a man choosing to come to you. Games are just a way of taking a step back so that the man can come to you and find the distance that he wants, and in coming to you, he realizes if he cares for you.

And yet, with this man, I’ve decided not to. Several of my vanilla girlfriends have chewed me out for this—saying I absolutely cannot risk that with this man I claim to care about. But here’s the thing: This is the first man I’ve met in my 37 years that just opened me up and I was able to let go of all my self-consciousness, and all the ways I try to present myself in public. I was just how I really am, not who I try to pretend to be. And we just resonated with each other. I can’t expect to have that vital, centered and alive energy if I play games with him.

So I’m letting go of that entire dance of not returning phone calls when I want to and what not. But, I’ve decided on one single game, which is that I’m going to assume that he is my soul mate. This means, I’m not going to ask for reassurances. I’m going to let him set the pace, and I’m going to give him all the space he needs, because I know we are meant to be together. It will work out. I just need to give it room to breathe; I believe we will work.