More about me

I fall in love easily

I had always seen this as a virtue. I am warm, open and see the best in everyone. So I was more than a little abashed when my life coach friend said "You need to take a look at that". She asserted that I clearly am lacking something in my own life that I need to look to others to "complete me". She also said that until I was completely happy with myself I could not love another properly.

So.. let's explore.. why do I fall in love easily? and what implications does this have for me, and those who attempt to love me back.

My first thought was that maybe it is just lust. Psychologists have clearly examined the three stages of love Lust, Attraction, Attachment. maybe I just fall in lust get a rush of chemicals and wake up with a (h/m)an(g)over.

My second thought was that it is a personality thing. If anything walks into my home/life be it cat, dog, guineapig, unusual lamp, clapped out wreck of a car, difficult child/in-law, homeless student, coffee machine. Sooner or later I pattern on to it, and begin to love it for all its foibles. I came from a loving and accepting home and by-and-large I am driven my the need to have people and things I love around me whether or not they love me back. Once again, I suspect, this is a side effect of my supposed lack of ego. It does leave me open to being landed with things I don't really want, or don't realise I don't want until I reach a boundary.

I reject my friend's theory though, because I do believe I know and love myself. I can be alone. I actually enjoy my own company. Having a hyperactive 8 year old in my life does not make these moments of quiet reflection easy, but I can definitely amuse myself I have a lot of talents. I play the piano, paint, enjoy the outdoors etc.

I have not enjoyed, as you will have gathered from this blog, being separated from my family of origin. And yes, I seek to recreate the warm, close, quirky, rabble of family life.

Ten years ago, I would've said I don't fall out of love easily. I am a swan-like bond-for-life type of a gal. But circumstances have dictated that I learn to deal with this. This is the one indication that I am not a love addict.

Yes I have indulged in co-dependent relationships with Narcissists.

Yes, I fall in love easily. But when it doesn't work out, I don't become a bunny-boiler. On the contrary, my paired to the bone, doormatism allows me to walk away and simply shave another little slice off my meagre self-esteem.

I guess the work I need to do, is to be able to say to myself, that person was not worthy of me. I am bigger than that, I have so much going for me. I am able to walk away when someone treats me badly. I am able to deal with not being called back, hold my head up retain my self esteem, and get on with my life. Whilst at the same time not appearing brittle. In "Act Like a Lady, Think like a Man" Steve Hardy suggests that you should tell your prospective partner that you want him to be the head of your family. Certainly massaging his ego, and implicitly telling him you also want him to be the head of you too. This would definitely need to be coupled with firm boundaries.

Perhaps the worst of it, is that the very fact that I have to have this conversation with myself, means that now I enter relationships in fear, with an exit plan in place. I am unable to throw myself giddily into love with all my heart and soul.

This (Autistic) Life

I have vowed never to capitalize on my brother's disability. I am in no way entitled. I hope I do not offend anyone with this post, particularly my references to "normal" which we all know is a nebulous concept. But I was driving to work the other day, and thinking about how my Autistic brother has made me who I am today, and I found tears streaming down my face. I have recently met a new friend with an Autistic son, it is lovely to know her, and to perhaps see what my mum went through when I was too young to remember. My first memories of my brother was that he was a beautiful child. I went out on an image search to try to find a picture as beautiful as he was, but noone came near, and then I remembered the little boy in the movie Kolya who was impossibly sweet and innocent. He was like that.

I am three years older than him, so I remember waiting for him to learn to talk. We waited and waited. I remember him saying a few little words/phrases, but they disappeared somehow. People kept on telling us about children they knew who didn't talk until they were 3,4,5... By this time I was old enough to be on my parents journey too. I kept on hoping, along with them, as each milestone passed, that he would soon make a developmental leap.

I think he taught me to be in for the long haul, and somehow to cope with disappointment. Hoping and praying will not make it happen.

Soon we realised this was not going to happen, then my focus shifted, he became my project I was determined that he would be as normal as possible. I took him around with my friends. I made sure he never wore dorky clothes or got a dorky haircut, or had greasy hair. I stood up for him when people teased him. I taught him to swim, to ride a bicycle...

Through it all though, he threw me into sharp contrast. When he was being naughty, I was super-good. When he failed, I succeeded spectacularly.

I think subconciously both my older brother and I had to make it up to our parents somehow.

And then I moved out of the project phase. For a while I think I forgot about him. My life got interesting. I met my first boyfriend, I left home to go to University, and so did my brother. This must've been a sad time for him.

He left home too, and has since then lived in a very lovely sheltered community.

Having opined in an earlier post that I have been looking for my father in the men I hook up with, another possibility has often occured to me. That I am actually looking for a younger brother. I have never been out with anyone older than me, and my partners are often, at some level projects they are little, defenceless, inadequate, and

I am the archetypal older sister out to defend, protect and heal them.

Recently he has had health difficulties having at 36 the first ever seisure of his life. Suddenly I am his big sister again, wanting to rush to his side, defend him, deny there is anything wrong, to make him normal

I never dared to stop and think what it would've been like to have a normal younger brother. Imagine, handsome, successful, intelligent, with a family of his own. Someone who would visit me, maybe overtly look up to me in some way (rather than tacitly). What a gift it would be. Maybe finally I am mourning the loss of that man. Maybe that was what the tears were about.

But the man that he is has made me the woman I am today, maybe more compassionate, maybe more succesful but perhaps most importantly able to love people who give almost nothing back.

Daddy Dear

My father is about to have a significant birthday, andI will be present at his party. I will walk through the door, walk over to him and hug him. Trouble is, the way I feel right now, I think once he's in my arms I may not be able to let him go.

My dad was not a hands on father, he didn't take me to sport matches, watch me compete, or take an interest in the small concerns of my life. He never asked me how I felt about anything, or even told me how he felt. He set the bar very high for me educationally, and showed disappointment when I didn't acheive his objectives. He had high standards morally too, for both my brother and I, which we often failed to meet. I think he wanted me to be a cross between Ellen MacArthur, Mary Archer and Princess Diana, and quite frankly short of getting a PhD in Nuclear Physics from Harvard, Sailing around the world single handed, and being a virgin on the day of my marriage to the Prince of Wales, I could never meet his expectations. But it never stopped me from trying.

I grew up, left home, married, did quite well and somewhere along the way his expectations and my acheivements came uneasily into line. He retired, became more relaxed, and I was able to see that he does have a sense of humour. Now I can't think of a sweeter calmer person to sit in silence with in the garden over a beer, or a cup of tea. The same high moral standards he sets for others, he always lived up to himself. He is kind, fair, gentle, generous, funny, works hard, plays hard, eats well, keeps himself fit and contributes to society. He has weaknesses, his compulsion to "speak as he finds" often gets him into trouble. He is uncommunciative, when he does speak he often makes off colour remarks, he is eccentric to the point of being antisocial.

I fear I have tried to replicate elements of my father in my relationships. First Simon, fit, moral, energetic, emotionally unavailable, then Neil, highly intelligent, eccentric, but with these elements have come a plethora of undesirable traits I was never prepared for: frailty, inprovidence, anger, violence, slobbishness, abuse, infidelity, disrespect. None of these could ever describe my father, and unlike the little girls whose daddies leave them none of it can be blamed on my father who, I am rapidly coming to realise is the only man I have ever truly loved.

Silent scream

Who to tell? Thank god for my blogging friends..

I have been in a sort of personal purgatory, visiting and revisiting the events of last year and trying to make sense of them, finally resolving to talk to someone and speaking to a counsellor who says "you tell who you like!" so I agonise over to whether to tell my mother. She has always been my chief confidante. I felt sure she would see something amiss, ask a few well directed questions and I would crumble and spill the beans. It was just a matter of which, and how many beans I would spill. So I prepared my responses in increasing levels of shocking detail.

It was almost a releif to find no questions whatsoever. But then

is she interested?
is she too busy?
how much more alone I feel

I find myself impatient when my family club together and try to resolve the minutiae of my life when they know nothing of the lumbering iceberg that lies just beneath my psyche, and are apparently now unable to detect it. I feel overwhelming sadness when my family, and particularly my mother, appear to be no longer on my wavelength.