It was always there

I have been squeamish about including the term sex addiction on my blog. I preferred to think of what happened as a little slip. A one-off infidelity. Maybe I thought Neil's searches for it would bring up my blog. But now our relationship is officially over. I venture to suggest that his sex addiction never went away. Nor was it ever really a problem for him. It is a lifestyle. A real woman with hangups, domestic concerns, worries, hormones, demands is actually something he doesn't want to deal with.



I believe and acknowledge that our relationship is over, and yet for some reason I am driven to have one last snoop. And as always, it bears fruit. Sexually explicit SMS from someone we both know, which leaves me in no doubt that they are or have been intimate.

Its not as though it is the first time this has happened. Let me remind you...

1. The original No Smoke Without Fire in which I surmise that regarding an earlier row over a text message, his infidelity was not in fact in my imagination. Too bad I've had several rounds of infertility treatment and bought a house with him in the interim.

2. There was the STI scare (and he currently has another) although these things can lie dormant and don't really signify infidelity in any real sense. Disturbing for a good convent girl who knew for a fact she had not been with anyone else.

3. The second No Smoke Without Fire in which he accidentally stays logged into his email and I find quite a few leads..

"Nah" I think, "I'm imagining it. They are probably just good friends". One at least turned out to be a male colleague of his!! Lesley!! (and anyway I'm no saint myself by this time)

4. The unexplainable receipts

5. The German controversy

... and finally this. Finally there is very little doubt that he has never been faithful to me (if that matters)

I have repeatedly given him the benefit of the doubt, wondering if I am reading too much into this? Is it all in my head? Are they just good friends?

I am not particularly hurt by this, but it does give me the impetus to actually move on and start a separate life. I love my home, and I have no doubt this will be damaging to Connor, but I can't live my life as the room mate/ house keeper/ admin assistant and Connor won't look back when he's 40 and say "Gee mum, thank you for staying with someone who you didn't love, and who continually cheated on you to give me a stable home"

It "ended"

And the inverted commas are entirely intentional. Finally I spoke up. I told Neil that this relationship is not meeting my needs, sexually, emotionally or practically. ...and my word did he have a response for me! A whole lot of things are wrong with me. For the record, let me get them down.

(1) If I want sex I should learn how to do it! Foreplay, I need to do foreplay I need to warm him up... btw those FBs may not have been marriage material, but they knew how to **
(2) I always have to be right, and I let that get in the way of everything including (ouch) my relationship with my child
(3) I have treated him badly (not cruelly, or unkindly, but badly) this stems from the fact that I just do not know how to look after a man.

He has been unhappy for a LONG time.

For his part he has been working like a dog. Maybe not around the home, but at his job which in his accounting ledger counts as work he is doing for me. When he completes a report at work or closes a deal at work, it is for me. This surprised me and brought me to thinking

here might be another difference between men and women

When I complete a report or close a deal at work (we are at the same level in our careers), I know am doing it for me and my career . The money that comes in as a result is a side-effect. I would never dream of saying it was for him or shirking my household chores in lieu of it.

Oh faithful readers, I expect you are trying to imagine what sort of a woman I am? or even empathizing with poor Neil stuck with this sexually overeager, self-righteous, neglectful, unappreciative woman.

Whilst I will try to my lesson, if you met me you would not recognize that woman. I am a hard working, loyal, reliable, funny and lovable friend.

So we agreed to be flatmates, until we are both living in the same country a year from now, and then think about selling the house. Which to be honest was my major stumbling block.

But it still isn't wrapped up

I still cook and clear the dishes after every meal. I pay the bills, kill the weeds, and do what is my job entirely without support - look after my son - and somehow find time for a full time job. he comes and goes as he pleases, and now does not have to tell me what he is doing. And nothing has changed except we acknowledge we don't love each other and sleep in separate rooms. What have I gained?

The purpose of marriage

Older people these days I have heard are hooking up online, and dating. But these baby boomers from the swinging sixties and seventies are cautious in one regard. They (particularly the women) are not keen to move in together. They want the fun, dates, pampering, sex but they don't want to be cleaner, nursemaid, housekeeper. And they don't want to hand over their childrens' inheritance in the form of the family home. I can completely understand this.

Perhaps you would do all those wifely things for a person you had spent your life with and raised kids with, but not for the current squeeze.

I think I have just crossed this border. Up until 40ish I still embraced the romantic dream of "the one". We all make mistakes, there is still time to try again, settle down with a new person and have a family... and then there isn't. I made this move just a tad too late.

Now I think that raising kids together is not an option. Although he may not agree, Neil is not "raising" Connor with me. We are like the single mum and the bachelor. I'm sorry, but he does not deserve the pay-off of being looked after in his old age. The prospect of an old needy, grumpy man in my home and my bed is terrifying.

Some clarity out of this

My partner cheated, and I reacted by closing down. I thought I had forgiven initially, but what it turned into was "OK I will love you less and you can't hurt me" and finally "I now don't give a shit about you". Ultimately I told him I did not feel the same, and he could no longer hurt me.

Basically under the tutelage of COSA I reasoned that I could not control who he slept with and when, so I basically may as well not worry about it. Assume it happened, and care less about it.

And this is what he heard..

"I want an open relationship" Or more particularly..."You can sleep with who you like."

Now this most certainly is not meeting my needs. You get to sleep with who you like, and I get the manage the property?

No!!!!!!

What did I just give away? The last vestige of belief in a loving, respectful, trusting cohabitation between a man and a woman. He may think he can sleep around and still "love" me. No matter how I reason it, I can't see that as love. If I was doing that, I would not be loving my partner.

I understand a lot of men can still love their partners and sleep with others.

However I think the point I am trying to make is that, regardless of what he is doing - he may be doing nothing at all now. There has been a perceptible shift in my thinking that is really the point of no return. Out of self preservation, I no longer love him. And that the relationship has become asexual is inconsequential. I doubt our relationship could now be fixed even with a good dose of healthy marital relations.

A very different end

I was with my ex-husband for 16 years, and for a lot of that time I was very unhappy. Because though I didn't realise it, I was being controlled. I wanted a home and a family. I felt he had to eventually come round to my way of thinking, but he never did. I cried on the way to work, I was frustrated. I felt trapped, but had a dogged sense of duty to this relationship. I looked with envy at couples outside. I thought the fundamentals were good. Even though I was impotent in every meaningful decision in our lives, and I was in the hands of an irrational dictator.

Maybe the actual truth was that I wanted a family for most of those 16 years, and it was the sunk cost type of decision making strategy. I had hung in there thus far, if I left now, at 37 I felt I would never meet someone else and be able to have kids.

So I got my kid. He, having lost control of me, and the family situation, had a breakdown, and we split up.

I was so relieved.

Whilst I know I do not want to be here in this relationship, it is different. A generaliszed discomfort and mistrust, profound uncertainty about the future, and a sensation of being a square peg in a round hole. I can keep on sanding myself away. I'm not distraught, but I am afraid of the consequences of "just leaving" in that I have no idea if he will react violently.

But perhaps once again there is an ulterior motive. What I am just as afraid of is that to get out of this, I have to lose my home. The thing I craved for so long.

Breaking up (is hard to do-o)

Its hard for a whole new reason that I have just realised. When I try to break up with Neil in the normal way it simply "fails to compute" for him.

(1) How could someone not want to be with this paragon of manly perfection which leads to
(2) I must be mad

That's it in a nutshell. I have known for sometime that I absolutely do not want to be here. Intellectually, spiritually, emotionally - not to mention the dreaded morally. If I were to try to workshop telling him... (some of this has actually happened some has not -yet)

Fiona: Its not you, its me. I have been unable to accept what happened between us.
Neil: Well get over yourself. It happens in all relationships. What did your mother say?
Fiona: She said it happens
Neil: Well your mother is right as usual.

Fiona: You are not meeting my needs sexually
Neil: Well accusing me like that is very "Sexy" isn't it. The more you talk about it the less likely it is to happen.

Fiona: You are not meeting my needs to be part of a family
Neil: Well you gave that away when you got divorced. I can't be Connor's dad you know.
Fiona: Why can't we eat as a family? go to bed around the same time, get up together?
Neil: Sorry that's just the way I am. You can't change the way I eat and sleep.

Fiona: I need practical support help around the house
Neil: You just won't be happy until I'm doing it all will you?

I'm realising I will never "wrap it up" by nagging, or even improve it. Basically to him, this form of communication is just me having a head-rush. I need to be humored, firmly put back in my place (physically intimidated if necessary) because I am clearly out of order. Then life will carry on as normal.

So the upshot of it is. When the decision has been made, when I am bold enough. I have to just go. Not telling, showing. Which is apparently what his last fiance did, and he simply could not understand it. For years.

What I've learned

Its been four years since my marriage ended and somewhat less since I was introduced to the murky world of infidelity. At 40, I was a babe in the wood, truly. I believed that many, if not the majority of married/de facto couples had meaningful, mutually respectful relationships and regular satisfying sex. I knew that couples argued, and at times loathed each other because I was married for 16 years. In my marriage I was somewhat controlled, and my needs (for a home, a family) were disregarded in favour of his "higher" needs, but we could always trust each other.

Neil has introduced me to a whole new world, in which people are not faithful, 1 in 4 babies is born to a man who is not the partner of the woman concerned. Women and Girls who dress in a certain way literally ask for sex (as in FMBs - he believes they are in fact code). Women and Girls who ask men back to their home/hotel after a party want sex. And if, as a man you merely progress towards sex, without asking permission, 9 out of 10 girls will not stop you. Further 80% of the women are chasing 20% of the men. We are mobile breeding machines, they are alpha males, it is a jungle out there. As I have often said in this blog, I reluctantly accept this. How could I be so naive?

However, it does not appeal to my experience. As a married woman I went to literally dozens of parties/receptions/conferences dressed howsoever I wished, where people came back to rooms and that was not the agenda at all. We would drink, flirt, talk then go home. If the above were true, it is a wonder I had not been either victim or assailant in seduction/inveiglement/lure or rape on numerous occasions.

I would proffer that I gave off "Married vibes" and I was steadfastly committed to my marriage vows. I would also proffer the crowd in which I circulated, hard working, professional, men and women of integrity. But not once was I propositioned. I am only human (as we shall see) and may not have been so strong under duress.

So I learn the hard way. About a year into our relationship I learn that Neil is having sex with someone else. I am (in my naive way) shocked, nauseated, horrified, stateless, confused and.... changed.

I struggle not to blame anyone else for what happened next. This erstwhile choir girl, married woman, pillar of society quietly embraced revenge. If you can do it so can I. Not actively, not rushing out there, but alive in that world I had previously doubted existed. And in the fullness of time opportunity came my way.

For maybe a decade before he met me, Neil had no formal relationship, he had a roster of "FBs" who satisfied his needs, and they his. There were no strings, although they did sometimes show troublesome signs of wanting to commit, in which case they were kindly but firmly reminded of the terms of the relationship and if they didn't want it they could go.

So what we have is 4 or 5 women actively trying to "catch him" whilst outwardly declaring they were fine with friends with benefits status. Their role very much akin to that of the other woman (having now been one myself). They would always be dressed well, coiffed, plucked, perfumed, never nag, badger, or complain.

I have learned that living with someone who has been this kind of a "bachelor" (read SA) makes for a very hard act to follow.

I have learned that the reason I did not cheat on my husband was less iron will and more lack of opportunity/motivation.

I have learned to be careful what you wish for

Is this post feminism? One thing that would've kept me on track in my younger days is the sisterhood. How could I do that to another woman (assuming I knew about her)? Are we all just back to snaring a man by fair means or foul? Why am I jealous of my lover's wife who, at quite a mature age managed to marry him, have two kids and give up work for the forseeable future?

How could I undervalue my career so? as I lurch from near disaster, to headlice outbreak, to forgotten lunch, lost hat, board meeting, presentation, bikini wax, sales pitch in the blurry life of a near-single parent? I should remember, she gave up her freedom, her identity and her so-called husband is playing away.

One of the things Neil trotted out when he reached exasperation with my high moral stance was
"There's no law against it"

Well negotiating your way through it without rules may be an intellectual and personal challenge but it does not favour women.

Forgive myself - Understandable?

I wanted a baby, but I realised in the nick of time that I didn't want a baby with him. Or rather, serendipidously it turned out I couldn't have a baby with him in the nick of time.

It is unfair to him because all this was at the core of a shared dream.

I'm not sure how I could've been blind to this. I felt as though I was in love with him

Ein schlechtes Gewissen braucht keinen Kläger

As you may know, my partner of three years is away overseas. And the state of our relationship means that this is little more than a relief. I have half-heartedly attempted to break up with him, and I am still undecided as to whether to follow him overseas, as my folks are over there, but my son's father is over here.

As the COSA philosophy goes on snooping, basically evidence does eventually fall into your lap. So here's the latest. Once again like my "no smoke without fire" it could be my imagination.

First, Neil's widowed father is planning to visit him overseas and during the visit Neil has a business trip to Germany. His father suddenly cancelled because he didn't feel able to organise/afford accomodation or be left on his own whilst Neil went to Germany. If my mother was visiting me on her own, I would have a whale of a time taking her along as my consort to conference dinners and having her explore the town during the day. I have been wondering why this is such a problem...

Second, some time ago a "little bird" told me Neil was rumoured to be sleeping with a colleague who has, incidentally, gone back to Germany.

Third, each day Neil and I send each other SMSs. It is always the same boring "Good morning, darling x x " so I decided to be a bit playful and wrote one in German today. Not consciously thinking about it, just wanting to have some fun with him "Guten Abend Mine Liebling" probably shocking German, then I wrote another... and finally I got one back "W.T.F." (which I'm sure you can translate)

Either he really doesn't understand any German at all (you'd've thought doing business in Germany he might've whipped out a phrasebook once in a while) perhaps he thinks I am making a fool of him, or trying to show off how clever I am...or he was reading something more into my SMS.

Suddenly a curious suggestion pops into my head. He is off to Germany for a tryst with the ex-colleague. That's why dad can't come, and that's why he is angry at my use of German he thinks I am backhandedly accusing him

For a translation of the Title visit "The English German Dictionary"

Loud and Clear

I know, I know, you've lost patience with me. You all voted on my future. I am telling you loud and clear I want to leave, yet nothing happens. This is how it is sometimes I think. Need the right impetus. In the meantime I seem to be conducting my life in two parallel streams.

(1) Please show me a way to get out of this. Just one little exit and I'll be gone
(2) Planning my life in the long term getting the house set up creating a future for my boy

I can't be the first, but I think I would be happier and more able to focus if I was true to myself.

I hear you Elinor

"I have known all of love's pain and none of its reward"

Elinor Dashwood: Sense and Sensibility

I can't find this exact quote anywhere, but I swear I heard it in the 1981 BBC mini series.

This is how I feel about my current relationship. He gives me so little apart from a half share in a roof over my head, and some sort of weird brother-like affection. We no longer have sex, because he is not interested.

It is partially my own doing. I broke off the engagement, around the time we discovered we couldn't have children. Because 2 years after his sudden proposal of marriage, I still could not trust him or understand either his sex addiction or his supposed recovery from it. And after several rounds of IVF I realised I did want another child, but not with him.

And now I think to ask myself the question "why did he admit to sex addiction? why didn't he just admit to a little meaningless sex?" He is quite practised at manipulation and lying why would he have been so candid with me? A little slip-up would've been so much easier for me to accept. In fact that's pretty much how I have dealt with it - imagine it was just the end of his "philandering ways"

So here's the timeline

*Trying to get pregnant
*Shock email from ex-girlfriend describing numerous trysts
*Confession from Neil of sex addiction
*Proposal of marriage
*Uneasy acceptance by me
*More trying to get pregnant
*Give up trying to get pregnant
*Try to end relationship admitting I have not properly forgiven him and the only way I can cope is to disengage.
*I actually want him to go off and find someone else to have babies with
*Sex life ends

From his point of view maybe he was only having sex with me to get pregnant, or maybe he was so hurt by me putting the brakes on our marriage plans, or perhaps, he is just getting sex elsewhere. It isn't such a stretch is it? on current evidence.

In exploring "Husband not interested in sex" the answer by barbarafl about half the way down struck a chord. It starts

Wow Ladies,
I feel compelled to respond. I have been in this situation for 18 years. It is only the last year that I truly discovered the real problem. My husband is a sex addict. After lots of research, and therapy, he is in recovery. A long hard road for both of us. There is many levels of sex addiction. Some only use masturbation and porn and some use prostitutes, affairs, etc. There is something also known as sexual anorexia. Where the sex addict will masturbate but avoid intimacy with you.

I can't discuss it with him. In fact if I do he gets angry or facetious saying things like "you nagging me about it is so sexy"

But he still occasionally says he love me, or that I am his love. I think perhaps he needs a mother. His was depressed angry and unavailable to him. Now it seems he is trying to find this lost comfort through me. Here is what would really work: If I were to run the house like clockwork. Quietly and efficiently moving around him, and never making demands on him. Let him lie in, clear away his mess without ever complaining, never ask where he's been or why, defer to him on every decision and opinion... He will love me totally and will reward me with hugs, and adoration, but never sex.

Really folks what's in it for me? A half roof over my head (I work too remember) and stability for Connor. But Connor is not going to come back to me in 20 years time and say, "thanks so much mum for putting your life on hold and living with that man so that I could grow up in a misogynistic, self centred, dysfunctional - yet stable household"

Is he?

I'm a lizard

I guess this happens to everyone to an extent, but maybe I am worse affected since I have moved countries 3 times since I was 25 and I got divorced. Here is my problem.. I keep leaving large chunks of my life behind. Usually quickly and under traumatic circumstances. Like a lizard losing its tail. For all I know they keep on twitching after I leave them, like the those perfectly nice circles of friends, those groaning bookshelves, a couple of decades shared with my husband. Those severed parts can twitch all they like. Me I just walk away.



Photo credit: www.naturephoto-cz.com

But look, my beautiful tail, it grew back, but not like before. Something is lost, something is changed.

I've been away

I'm sorry, I've been away. I'm not gone. Actually I got a little sporting injury and now I have some metal in my leg. Time consuming. But whilst resting up I have had time to set my blogging agenda (always keeps me on case) and do a lot of reading. So here is what's coming up in the next month:

(1) I'm a lizard
(2) Celibacy and Anorexia
(3) The world according to my ovaries

I watched a lot of Jane Austen and developed a special affection for Elinor Dashwood. She will appear in (2). But how could I be disappointed to discover I am actually Elizabeth Bennett?

You Scored as Elizabeth Bennet As one of Austen's most beloved characters, Elizabeth Bennet represents what most women would like to become: strong, independent, and loyal. Of course, she has her faults including a stubborn will of iron and a clinging to first impressions. Overall, Lizzie is bright and lovable...something to admire and aspire to.

...and read a most disturbing book, disturbing because I found myself in it. Myself of the last post in fact.

Things that kept me awake last night

I have come to the conclusion that I am a weak person. I didn't used to be - as I have explored on this blog before. My parents sent me out into the world with a work ethic, a moral code and an inner happiness that I rode along on more or less comfortably until I was 40.

Now I question everything.

Which may be a good thing.

My new partner blew away my concept of marriage. I weakly accept (in the face of his evidence) that most marriages are not monogamous - despite the fact that I was in one myself for 16 years, and my parents set a sterling example for 40 years.

So I reset my moral compass. Downward. In disappointment, in disillusionment, to my own detriment.

I wasn't the kind of kid to be drawn into the wrong crowd. I wasn't easily swayed. I didn't smoke behind the bike sheds...

What I did do was accept my parents' moral code lock stock and barrel. Which Neil would call a Mc Moral Code. I didn't question it, and it worked well for me. Until I met him. This to him is abhorent. As thinking adults we should make our own decisions about everything in life - right and wrong, politics, who we sleep with, the death penalty, what we eat....

And here's just one funny thing about him..he thinks nothing of having unprotected sex with >100 women, but he would never eat an out of date yoghurt.

Is it good for parents to hammer a moral code (e.g christianity) home to a child? How can I find an alternative acceptable approach for my son?

Vote on my future now

I have to make a decision it seems, which is always hard for me. Of course my natural instinct is "No change" accept the status quo. In this case I am not even sure what the decision is. However I press on...

My partner, Neil, has accepted a job overseas, and my child's father is in the same country as me. I know my partner will eventually come back. In the short term I need to decide whether to go with him. The cost is high. There will be a court battle, I will risk losing my job. If we loved each other wholeheartedly this would be a no brainer - I would go and particularly if we had a child together (which had always been the plan). But with my survival mantra - "My self, my child, my health, my work" in mind I can't find it in my heart to risk my job and my child's happiness in exchange for a half-love.

There is another dimension to this. The country in which he is working is my home country. Near to my folks, and my child's grandparents. The last sentence there seems redundant. Perhaps after all this is not going to be too much of a risk to my child - he will be back with his Dad in a year or two and in the meantime he has his extended family. Dad could visit, if he could afford it. Or move even. He has the passport. If I had more self esteem, perhaps I would care less about holding onto this particular job.

But now we come to the nub of the issue. All this obfuscates one fact. If I turn to my only working decision making tool, my gut*, I get the following answer. DO NOT GO. DO NOT FOLLOW THIS MAN. LEAVE HIM. BREAK FREE. And following this, should I take this course of action, some questions


(1) How will I cope with the smug self-satisfaction of my ex and his new partner? (Not having my own partner will doubtless create a power vacuum in which Simon will move in, metaphorically, and try to control my life)
(2) How will I manage to discipline/manage/parent my child? and who will support me in this emotionally? (this is a place where Neil takes a role)
(3) What will happen if I get sick, who will care for me and my son? (In the short term I have health and income insurance - I fondly imagine Neil would take care of me, but in reality he could not, with his job responsibilities, and he never takes care of Connor in that hands-on, bathing, story-reading, sport taking kind of a way)
(4) Where will I live? (this is probably the most emotive part. I love my house. I have waited 20 years to have my own home, I have put more cash into it than Neil - and there would be a court battle to try to retrieve that)
(5) What will I do for sex?
(6) What about my aging parents? will I ultimately opt to re-patriate to be with them?

If I go, I should go for me (because I have a good job opportunity, I want to be near my folks), if I don't go I should realise that I am in a holding pattern where I can live separate for him for some time, but eventually it will only tear us apart and the questions above will have to be addressed. Not going and not even taking extended leave over there saves me from court-battles. If I go semi permenantly I have to lose my job and fight connor's dad for custody. If I follow my gut, do not go (at least not with Neil) use this as a chance to sever ties. I have to have a court battle over the house .

Here it seems are my options

(1) Move No Action: Stay here. Remain in relationship. Avoid all court battles.
(2) Explore the boundaries: Stay here. Remain in relationship. Plan extended leave over there and minor court battle with Connor's dad
(3) Gut Instinct: Stay here. Get out of relationship. Have financial settlement battle. No attempt at custody in near future, although reserve right to go and live near folks when connor is old enough to make his own mind up. Put myself at risk of domination/interference by my ex.
(4) Armageddon: Drop job - follow Neil (my SA partner) - have full on custody battle, leave my job and tenure, go an be near my folks with no plan to come back - this would give me a power base. Neil will want to come back but having made the move I would have family support.

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Musings on codependence

It dawned on my rather depressingly this week that, if we believe such a thing exists as codependency, I have it. Apart from the control patterns of codependency (which I don't have), I have a good handful out of each of the other lists. Where did this come from? I have no idea. I did not grow up in a dysfunctional home. But as I look back on my life, from the discomfort of my mid-life crisis. I realise that for no good reason that I can discernm, I have been living my life for other people. And what have I got to show for it? Nothing. No, sorry, very little....

(1) A very unhappy disatisfied mentally ill ex-husband.

I rearranged my life to be with him. I changed countries, left the family I loved. Accompanied him on all his hair-brained adventures, never once saying NO, THAT DOES NOT INTEREST ME, GET STUFFED. I held off on buying a house, having a baby, all the things that meant so much to me, because he was not ready. I cooked the food he liked, shopped where he liked and carefully packed it in the in environmentally friendly bags that he liked, I went on holiday where he wanted to go, did the sports he wanted to do, often to the point of physical exhaustion.

The only thing I have to show for this is my beautiful son, who was a result of my only act of rebellion when I got to 35 and refused to wait anymore, and he was the catalyst for the breakdown of my marriage.

(2) A disrepectful, unfaithful, sex-addicted partner

I do all the household work, and I never argue with his opinions, it is not worth it. This suits him just fine. I feed his addiction by saying "I don't care" and allowing him to be out all day and night and not provide me with any support, and allowing him to objectify me, and to progress his career at the expense of mine. Worse still I have no idea whether or not I do, in fact, care. I remain with him when he has offended every moral value in my soul, and stepped over more marks than I can count, and I have no idea why.

It occurs to me that if I persist in this pattern of self-sacrifice around no-good men, I will not only totally lose myself, but I will have nothing to show for all the hard work such blind devotion entails.

So here's the punchline. If I can't shake myself out of it I may as well put my self-sacrifice to good use and volunteer or give back to society in some way, rather than hitching my wagon to their capricious stars and being dragged heaven knows where.

No smoke without fire...again

Well as you know my SA partner went into recovery for about 3 months (almost two years ago), declared himself healed, and defied me to discuss it with him, because I was too angry and it was not helping. I went on bearing a grudge and being quite angry and sad about it for about a year. Then I realised I could let go. Unfortunately I "threw the baby out with the bathwater" and stopped loving him as selflessly and freely as I could. And this laid the foundation for my own slip.

I resolved not to snoop on him, and that the evidence would come to me. So now it is coming in, and I still ignore it.

The browser history shows craigslist - I have never visited it. The phone bill has two receipts for an online adult chatline - when we were away - all of us. I find receipts in my car for fastfood and car parks, late at night in suburbs far away when I thought he was at work, and finally...he accidentally leaves himself logged in to his email, and so help me I take a look. Half a dozen flirty emails to women I don't know with among the seemingly light friendly banter words like "lick you" "pinch you".

And on the way home in the car, he sighs, tells me he is so sorry he is just not interested in sex... even cites a well known male problem.

So I replied - oh no doubt it would all be fine given the right conditions, and looked at his face in the half light - Dead Pan.

Funny thing is...I feel nothing...this is not a marriage....

Thursday Haiku

Were my hopes founded
On a moment of folly
Or twenty one years?

You introduced me
To the girl I used to be
then led her astray

My phone is silent
A weapon of destruction
it lies here inert

And I am still here
The passion has subsided
but still I need you

The olympics make me feel old

Everytime some olympic veteran looks close to triumph, and the commentator says "This is wrinkly podgesome's 4th olympics, and what a story, what a triumph, what a competitor, at 33 she is quite the veteran, quite the seasoned athlete..." I think hmm 33 that's old... about my age...then realise I am almost a full decade older... and feel my olympic dreams fade. I remember not so long ago when the only ones of my age were the para-pubescent gymnasts such as Nadia komenich or Olga Korbet did I take my eyes of the road??? how did I get to be so old????

Needs Meme

An old one from MamaMPJ

The rules: Google your first name with the word "needs" behind it and post the first 10 results.

1. Fiona needs loving home
Yes, one where it's not me doing all the loving

2. Fiona needs clothes
My work colleagues would undoubtedly agree

3. Fiona Needs | Facebook
Like a hole in the head

4. Fiona needs star treatment
Oh, go on then

5. Fiona needs some foster family help ...
OK take me in

6. Fiona needs sangria
yes Yes YES

7. Fiona needs a Cowboy
yes yes Yes Yes YES YES

8. Fiona needs cash for mercy mission
Mission impossible

9. Fiona needs a boyfriend
Like a fish needs a bicycle

10. Fiona needs a caption.
Because no man is the isle of Iona

Does my ass look guilty in this?

Since my last post a number of sequels have come into my mind. I usually don't put pen to paper until I have the thoughts well formed in my mind, but I think I need to take the taste of the spectacular misbehaviour away!! I got less comments than I expected. An ominous silence. Anyway here are the three possible sequels:

(1) Why I never need a counsellor again, and have reached serenity in my life
(2) How infidelity looks now I have tried it on for size
(3) Vote on my next step (in which I put up a reader poll and you tell me what to do)

So I will opt for number (2) with the others coming up shortly

My higher power, in their wisdom has brought me two pieces of reading material this weekend. The first was from a british newspaper. Why I cheated, inside the mind of an adulterer which tells the story of an affair from a man's point of view. The line that really was a wake up call for me came near the end where he describes the reaction when they were found out.

"Emma was stigmatized as a cheating spouse and a disloyal friend. People reacted less violently to my betrayal. The fact that I was a man seemed to make it easier to understand. But the societal condemnation of Emma, the woman, was brutal. It was too much for her. She went back to her husband"

He thought, as a man might, that he could have it all. Love his wife, and indulge his passion for her friend. The second was about sex and the dems by Michael Wolff in vanity fair in which he asserts that

"Men in public positions who have sneaky sex are weak. The very fact that they would risk their public positions for sex (just sex) is a sign of their weakness. "

It is clear to me sadly that when I move aside from the quasi-romance of being with someone from 20 years ago, and dreams of what may have been. The risk of being found out is too high. Apart from the damage to our small children. I am the one who has most to lose. I would be stigmatized and hated, he would at worst be considered "weak".

A spectacular piece of misbehaviour

About a month ago the second of my decamped ex-boyfriends arranged to meet up with me as he was in the town where I work. I decided not to make the mistake of telling Neil this time because he has nothing to fear. Right.

I notice woman.anonymous7 has been toying with "getting back at her husband" through infidelity. There is, as you will see, and element of this. It is more about me, than revenge however, I never intend anyone to find out (that's why I'm publishing it on the web). We fell into each other's arms in a way that was, as my friend Dan once described overwhelming and for about a month after there were passionate exchanges and declarations.

Since then however things are starting to return to normal. The messages are dying down. I can package the night away, as a happy and memorable one. Twenty years elapsed between out trysts. And whilst I may cherish a hope that sometime in the future we will be together, I fear that time is actually in the past. He represents the life I may have had if circumstances had been different.

This is the first time I have ever cheated on anyone, but somewhere in there, there is catharsis.

Two things I do know:

(1) I can now instantly forgive my (formerly) sex addicted partner
(2) Things felt so right, so connected, and there was so much chemistry, I know things here are wrong.

But part (2) is corny. How could Neil possibly compete with a pheromone charged evening of lust with someone who I not only have a shared history and affection with, but also subconsciously believe is still 23!!!!????

Understanding Me

As with so many of my insights, this one occurred as I was driving home, rushing, as it turns out because I was late for the childminder after a long and stressful day at work and a manic dash round to food store.

Why is it that the last person I understand is ME, and I am the last person to understand me?

After my divorce I met Neil who lavished attention and love on me, and seemed ready to fast-forward me into a life long commitment of shared love and respect. At the time for whatever reason this appealed to me perfectly. I had longed to own my own home, I had longed for another baby, I had longed to have a shared vision of the future with a man who loved me, and somewhere in there I hoped that stability for my son would eventuate. He offered all this. We moved in together, started round after exhausting round of unsuccessful IVF, bought a house, and suddenly CRASH he's a sex addict. He has been sleeping with other women throughout our short passionate courtship. Darghh!!! What to do???? He asked me to marry him.

So this is what I did. I said yes. I put my head down. I reasoned that the proposal marked the end of his philandering ways. I pronounced that I had forgiven him - although on reflection I had not. I was full of resentment, and distracted to the point of obsession with visions of him with other women. There were jealous rages by me - possibly hormone driven, though possibly not. At this point I believe I still loved him.

I was not ready to give away the dreams I had held for so long of a home, children and a happy marriage.

So began the steady process of "letting go" I consulted COSA who reasoned against snooping. I stopped snooping, in fact I took it a stage further I decided I didn't care. He could do what he liked, I just had to worry about keeping ME sane. Incidentally about this time and maybe as a result of his 'recovery' our sex life went to custard.

Then this year, 1.5 years after disclosure but somewhat longer since my first suspicions my OB/GYN tells me at my age I only have 2% chance of a take home baby through IVF, and suddenly something gives. That important piece of the puzzle - If I can't have babies with him and don't love him properly why am I wasting his time? I am living a lie, and I now know 100% for sure that I do not want to marry him. All that is left is the lifestyle, and stability for my son. We may as well be room mates.

Enter the agent of change that is the subject of my next post...

Long Silence

I know I've been away. A long silence. None of you seemed to like the picture I painted in my last post, or have any comment at least. I plan to address the reason for the long silence (aside from being on the other side of the world) in two posts. The first explaining myself to myself, and the second telling what has happened.

Paint Me a Picture

Sometimes I think my life is the wrong size for me. It just doesn't fit. But as long as I keep my head down and focus on my child, my work and myself I can survive. I yearn for a richer way of being. A radio show I listened to lately suggested to be happy we need to live in the right place, have the right job and be married to the right partner. I have also read in another source that we are often happier doing what we enjoyed as a child. My third inspiration William Wharton's answer to his daughter's question What is Love? was: “It is passion, admiration and respect,” he told her. “If you have two, you have enough. If you have three, you don’t have to die to go to heaven.”

And for the third inspiration, this is what I think he meant. Respect is engendered by trust, equality, love, forgiveness, integrity and mutual liking. Admiration is engendered by personal attributes that will vary according to the admirer but in my case cleverness, resourcefulness, resiliance and acheivement. Passion is engendered by; love, sex, chemistry and shared enjoyment of food, music, sport....

So here is my ideal life

I would live near to my family. I love them, I love their company and I would simply adore being included in all the family events. As for the actual geographic location. My home in the mountains is pretty nice, but I think I am deep down more suited to an urban setting. I have always wanted to live in France, mainly because I was rather good at the language at school. A loft apartment in Paris maybe, or just somewhere English speaking, Melbourne, London, New York. Definitely a small manageable home, in amongst the hussle and bussle, with a lively local community that I could connect with. As for my job, I would like something creative, that involved creating a usable artifact. As a child I loved to run, sing, play the piano and make clothes. Software development does fulfil this to a degree, but what I would really like to be is an Architect, fashioning the lived environment. Finally the most difficult part, to describe my ideal partner. Despite a life time searching and a good deal of compromise, I have never met my soulmate. My ideal partner would be someone with a similar level of interests and accomplishments as myself. A trained professional, who could earn their own living, active in sport and a good amateur on a musical instrument, or voice, with enough knowledge or love of culture and arts to be able to talk about it happily and freely and maybe participate at some level - draw paint sculpt cook.dance...Someone who is internally tough and does not need to be babied, but at the same time someone who I am sexually compatible with who's body soul and very being I long to be near to.

I faint at how lost I am to myself

How odd that when I translate my own attributes into those I look for in a man, I automatically feel I am asking too much, and that such a person would be too good for me? how low I aim!

I am frankly horrified by the man I live with, who recreates by lying on the sofa, farting loudly and listening to offcolor racist sexist humour downloaded off the internet, or porn. I can't believe this is my life choice. I do not seek to change him, I know this is impossible, cha·cun à son goût, but sadly neither do I seek to marry him.

Which Book are you?

Taking my lead from MamaPJ. I decided to try the which book are you quiz. Oddly I was rather pleased with the result. This is somewhat how I see myself. Must read it.

You're The Things They Carried!

by Tim O'Brien

Harsh and bitter, you tell it like it is. This usually comes in short,
dramatic spurts of spilling your guts in various ways. You carry a heavy load, and this
has weighed you down with all the horrors that humanity has to offer. Having seen and
done a great deal that you aren't proud of, you have no choice but to walk forward,
trudging slowly through ongoing mud. In the next life, you will come back as a water
buffalo.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Liberty

One coping mechanism I have evolved is to just not care about anything.
(1) I don't care if you shag other women, because I don't love you that much
(2)I don't care if my ex does not answer my requests about my child, because my opinion doesn't matter
(3) I don't care if I'm not promoted, because I don't deserve it.

And so on which eventually leads to a loss of self...
I think I may be in a dark place at the moment, but I am too busy coping to even try to get out of it.

Addiction

I really hate to post about sex addiction, because it is one of the darker and more private parts of my relationship with my partner. And if anyone recognised me here, it would be something I would not want to share with my friends and family. But here I go...

I generally prefer to think of his (self diagnosed) sex addiction, as just an affair or final fling before he settled down with me. However, recently I read some stuff about alcohol addiction and how the addict lies and justifies their behaviour, and one particular style of justification that I had all but accepted from him has taken on a new light. Here is the argument which I have almost been forced to accept.

Women are equal to men. If they say they are happy to have a relationship that is "just sex" then who is the man to "nanny them" and probe further. If they are lying to themselves, and actually want a relationship, why should the man try to second guess them? this is an insult to their intelligence and personal autonomy.

However, when it is also obvious to said man that the woman's feelings have changed and he goes on treating her like a f**k buddy, perhaps it is time to look at himself, is it possible that this logical and quite elegant (feminist almost) argument is a justifying cover up for an addictive behaviour?

More generally, I think in this post-feminist era it is becoming obvious that casual sex has more to offer men than it does women, but I could be a prude.

I should also add that I am stressing about some behaviour in my partner that took place before I met him (with one exception I know about) see here

I would appreciate some general moral/philosophical/ethical direction on that one.

Bride or Bored

I've been looking for a picture that adequately describes the way I feel about re-marrying, but there really is nothing that does. I have felt this post coming on for a few days now. Not and old yet happy bride, more a dishevelled bride giving the finger. I have definitely crossed a boundary lately.

For the first 30 years of my life I was a romantic. I was excited about the prospect of meeting someone, falling in love, having a family, and living happily ever after. At 24 I launched into it all with the wrong guy, had a rollercoaster of a 16 year marriage struggled against his will, and then my ovaries to have a child, and was spat out at the other end... Forty, with no sense of personal autonomy, fertile years drawing to their close, and utterly utterly bemused.

Neil, who has never been married, and has apparently put his philandering ways behind him, wants to marry me....but why, now, would I want to do it all again?

There is precious little chance of being a parent again, I have no desire to outsource the management of my life to someone else (been there, trying not to do that again), I don't want to make any more promises I can't keep and I have so much more to live for.

Life Curve

Listening to some music from my teenage years, I was suffering a wistful moment about all that lost potential and how my parents had given me such a good start in life and I had squandered it, when it occurred to me that this is really just all part of anyone's normal lifecycle (and they will admit it to greater or lesser extents) and some have more luck than others. Basically we start out, as babies, all potential, and then a number of things happen and we either reach it or we don't. But at some point (mid life) things switch from breath taking anticipation of what might be - who will I marry, where will I live, will I be successful, to a measure (come on admit it) of wistful regret. if only I'd tried harder I could've been an olympic athlete, world class musician...oh my god I wish I'd never married him. Wistful regret can also accompany glib satisfaction. I'm pretty successful, I may have a few wrinkles but I know a lot about the world, and gratitude. Gratitude for me is the predominant emotion when I think about my friends who have died young and yet contributed so much to the world in their short lives. Thank god, I've got an extension!!!

Esteem and Self-Esteem

My ex-husband often meets me on the opposite side of a footbridge from where I work to hand over Connor. He never crosses it. Today for the first time I crossed it on a different day without Connor and looked into the oily waters below. That is where my husband tried to commit suicide 4 years ago, by walking into the shallow, slow flowing water. Maybe that is why he never wants to cross, and see the water below. Or maybe he just wants me to do the walking, who's to tell?



Anyway today for the first time it affected me. I realised I never asked him, or I Don't recall asking him, WHY???? Why did he want to commit suicide? things must've been very bad. He would've felt hopeless, helpless, worthless. Yet to look at his situation you never would've guessed. We had been trying to have a baby for 5 years and had just been successful via IVF. Money was not tight, I was going back to work after paid maternity leave and we had a great bunch of supportive friends. He had gained a law degree as a mature student and was working on a high profile case. His career as a lawyer appeared to mean a lot to him, and to be an integral part of his identity. He'd say "I'm a commercial litigator, that's what I do" and our friends would look up to him and value his advice.

This whole suicide thing is eating at me today, and there is nobody I can ask really, my peace of mind (the ex-wife) will never be a priority.

I don't remember him ever saying "I felt desparate, lonely, unloved". Just before he tried to drown himself I was telling him about a friend of mine who had given up her job because she couldn't cope with the stress of small kids and working, and he said "If anyone's going to have a nervous breakdown around here, it's me" thereby reserving his right to a breakdown.

At the time of his suicide attempt. I had just had the happiest year of my life. I was off work for 9 months with my beautiful, longed for baby. Our marriage was not unhappy, we did a lot together and had a good sex life, although we did not communicate well. After the suicide attempt he begged me to check him into a secure facility, and from there on in I became the enemy. I had just gone back to work full time and was quite stressed about childcare arrangements. He discussed his problems only in hushed tones with his psychiatrist, and I was not allowed in on the underlying problems, just reassured that it was a deep biological depression. So I took to researching the problem. Whenever I asked him what the problem was he would say, it is a chemical imbalance in my brain, I kept on delivering my child to childcare, working all day and visiting my husband in the evening before taking connor home, putting him to bed and doing it all again the next day. On the outside all the psych talked about were his control issues, which were real. I had definitely been a victim of those and I still am. I really had no idea what was going on.

In short I don't think I took it seriously. I remember saying to Simon "All I want is a functional husband" which on reflection was not the most sympathetic thing. His pre-emptive remark reserving the breakdown, the difficult method of suicide that he chose (if he had meant it wouldn't he have tied something to his legs and jumped into deep water?) and the refusal to discuss all but the medical details added to the objective fact that his life was not so bad, added to the extraordinarily busy life I was leading myself made me just assume it was a "cry for help" or had, as he himself said, some sort of brain-chemical abberation which would be fixed presently with drugs. His psych likened it to a heart attack, it comes on suddenly and requires a long recovery and a change in habits. We did not have an extraordinarily combative or unhappy marriage so I can only blame the job.

Anyway he gave up the marriage and the job whilst still apparently in a deep biological depression - not a time to be making life changing decisions I would've thought. He also courted and moved in with someone new - if he had low self esteem he hid it very well - behind a blustering self-confidence. Which brings me to the point of this post.

If I was feeling desparate, out of control and suicidal I would not ponce around proclaiming my expertise, I would keep a low profile. I suspect this might be a male thing. I feel dreadfully out of my depth in my job a lot of the time. I ask advice, I tell my seniors honestly what I think I am capable of. I confide in my girlfriends if I can't cope and I ask for help. I certainly don't lie and cover up until it comes to crisis point.

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.

The Sum of True Love

I am almost certain I have never know true love, but maybe if you put together all the crushes, first kisses, close friendships with men, the great sex, the marriage proposals, cathartic moments of understanding, companionship, adventure... maybe just maybe all together it would add up to true love.

The Lure of Pre-History

I'm not sure if this is a side effect of turning 40, the internet, globalisation, facebook, or what, but old boyfriends are crawling out of the woodwork. Two of my more serious ex-boyfriends from my 20's appear to have emigrated across the world too, worse still they are happy, successful, godamn pillars of society.

One of my ex's (NOT the one that got away) emailed me last year to say he would be in town and would I like to meet up. Sure! why not? it's been 20 years surely enough water under the bridge for any acrimony to have subsided, and surely all remnants of lust will be gone, surely?

Neil saw this differently. He did not want me to see this fellow. He was adamant that no good could come of it, he said once a man has slept with a woman he feels confident to, if not entitled to, do it again. The more he became angry the more determined I became to meet this man, I was curious. The reason I told Neil that this old boyfriend had got in touch, was not to seek his approval, but in the interests of honesty and transparency. There is a subplot here, in that Neil was in fact sleeping with his own ex at the time, which makes his outrage hilarious in retrospect.

I did meet the ex, during the day, for coffee, in a public place, it was good to catch up on him and his family that I had once known to well. But there was something else, it was comforting to be with someone who had known me so well, so long ago. And yes, he was still and attractive man, and I suspect he saw the same in me. We do occaisionally email, on birthdays and Christmas, but we keep it to a minimum, an unspoken but I suspect conscious rule on both sides.

So NO all remnants of lust were not gone, Neil was right in a way. Dan had a similar experience with an ex-girlfriend. He was in a vulnerable place having just been separated, they were both away from home. When they met, he describes the feelings between them as overwhelming. I can fully understand this I think it was a love is worth the wait moment as described by Mir. She also describes how well they know each other (below), which I think is likely to be true of your college boyfriend. Perhaps even, far from visualising the pre-pregnancy body, they actually do not see the post-pregnancy body.

"Otto and I have known each other for coming up on 18 years. I am neither surprised nor particularly bothered by his penchant for lousy jokes. He seems fairly tolerant of my melodramatic streak, and if he can clearly visualize my pre-pregnancy body he’s bright enough not to mention it. Our view of one another is realistic, I think."

I have just read a bit of chick-lit on the same theme pillow talk by freya north. If the timing is right and you are lucky enough to encounter "the one that got away" when you are both free I say go for it, but at 40 the "both free" part is pretty much a contradiction in terms. For me, I will meet them, enjoy the frissant of pre-history and leave it at that.

Divorce challenges self image

Dan's marriage, as I hinted in my last post, has broken down.

As we left the meeting we had this cathartic conversation. He, like me had emigrated to be with his wife. He understood the challenges to self image that divorce brings especially when you are not in your home country.

"I am not the sort of person to get divorced"
"I am not the sort of person who emigrates"

I often liken it to being a small boat that was towed out to sea and abandoned (next to a hostile oil rig). My husband was the tug boat, and now he is holed up on that oil rig.

Like me there are children on Dan's boat, so even if he could brave the storm and get the boat home, he would be taking the children away from what they know. There is no choice but to stay nearby and weather the storm.

Changing partners in the 5th Age

Last month I met an old friend Dan at a work function. The last time I'd seen him he was happily married with teenage kids. I, on the other hand, was going through my divorce. I was jealous of his seemingly perfect life.

Around that time, A mutual friend and colleague of ours, Terry, had left his wife of 35 years for a younger woman. Terry exchanged a long stable marriage for a high maintenance wife who had been single for a long time herself, she has many idiosyncrasies of her own. Worse she appears to expect Terry to worship her whilst seemingly loving her cats more than him.

Last month Dan and I were making light of all this. Having moved in with a new partner myself in the interim period since we last met, and, as you know dear bloggy friends, having had all sorts of horrible dramas and wake up calls, I felt emboldened.

"Terry" I said "should watch out. Changing partners in late mid life is a dangerous thing to do"

"It's is like moving house" I continued "You keep walking into doors, you don't know where the light switches are"

Dan is very funny, quick as a flash he replied "Yes, and in Terry's case its a haunted house".



My experience is also confusing. Although I don't think my house is haunted, there are trip wires and I never know when I am going to set something off.

I wouldn't say don't do it. What I would say is if possible check out the house before you move in. Look for something comfortable, and modern and easy to maintain.

The seven ages of woman

About 15 years ago when I was a graduate student, I was privileged to be invited to a consortium where we would get expert help and advice some from big names in academia. To my delight one of these mentors was a woman. She was very glamourous, tall, fashionable - she had big chunky jewellry, she was edgy, and sooo intelligent. Quite frankly I was in awe.

Years passed, I graduated, crossed the world and, in a quite separate existence, found myself at an academic conference. At some point this sweet little old lady sidled up to me. After peering at her for some time I recognised her as my old mentor. But what had happened? My idol was smaller, gentler, softer.

Maybe the first time I saw her she was a young 45, and now she was 60, but what I really think had happened was that I had gained in stature, emotionally and academically if not physically. She, for her part, had abandoned the killer heels, she had nothing to prove anymore, she was undeniably successful and an expert in her field. None the less it was a peculiar (to me) and vivid illustration of how short life is, and how we pass through these definite phases.

Shakespeare identified the seven ages of man in as you like it.

Fifteen years ago she was the soldier, Full of strange oaths, Jealous in honour,... sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation. Now it was me.

Happy New Year

I promise I am going to blog more.. All coming in January

The seven ages of woman
Changing partners in the 5th age
True Love
Esteem and Self Esteem
More two year reflections

Happy New Year

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.

Objects of my desire IV

When my sister in law's mother died, my mum took her out and they bought a lipstick togther. My mum had never been close to Anne, but in (Anne's) grief they were drawn together, My mum provided a shoulder to cry on, and the lipstick was their first true bonding experience.







Years later she and I bought a lipstick together, identical brand, identical shade, and for different reasons it was also a bonding experience. Now we have this shared, intimate object, which we use everyday and which reminds us of one another, although we are far far apart. It is almost as though she is here with me

Objects of my desire III

The Emperor
When I was a young woman, I had a three month love affair with a pianist. As well as being a semi professional pianist, he had another career underway, he was handsome, polite, good at sport, gentlemanly. In short, he was the one that got away.

One hot summer evening I went to hear him play Beethoven's 5th Piano Concerto in a major concert hall in the city. I remember the hot city smells and the faint sound of birdsong from a nearby park and how green the trees looked through a neaby open window. My heart swelled with pride love and passion.

I have no idea why it didn't last. My insecurities made me think he could never be mine and made me so suspicious of him. I actually dumped him. I have no idea why. I was totally infatuated with him.

Still the sound of this concerto brings it all back, but in a good way. I remember that heart stopping, breath taking sensation of young love, and it is mine again.

Objects of my desire II

In the aftermath of my separation from Simon. Life became quite chaotic. I moved into a small flat near to my work, became an exhausted single mother and called in favours from all my friends to help me juggle work and motherhood. Simon treated his depression with an energetic burst of internet dating which made him essentially unavailable for parental duties. Officially too sick, I suspected he was actually too busy trying to get better by finding someone new to love. Anyway, with the separation, I lost my wheels, and it took me some months to get a new set. Months of trudging back from the supermarket on the bus with bags and bags of shopping strung over my wrists, to add to my already all encompassing exhaustion.

Imagine the joy when my parents came to visit and with their hire car, I was able to visit car yards and find the car of my very modest dreams. It cost less than $2000, was over ten years old and had a perplexing rattle. But it was (or had been in its day) red, sporty and full of personality.

This was my freedom car. A clapped out little Honda Civic to get me to and from the shops. Or to the beach at the weekend. All mine, my choice, my money. I was in heaven.

Since meeting my new partner, the car got a bit of a thrashing, being used for commuting more than I had ever planned, and it finally died this year, but man did I love that car and all it represented.

Objects of my desire

My great uncle Herbert was a dentist, and, like many dentists was good with his hands. You may not know this, but there is a significant cult of dentists who take up jewellry making, with varying degrees of success. My mother tells me that a few of the men in Herbert's graduating class made their wives' wedding rings in a grand romantic gesture. More recently I notce Missouri state has set jewellry making as a prerequisite for dentistry, clearly being good with your hands had moved from being a coincidence a requirement.

When Herbert retired he made jewellry for all his female relatives. When it came to my turn I was priveleged to be involved in the design process. He called me in and asked me the kind of thing I would like. Having recently returned from a school exchange, where I had seen, and coveted, some Inca bracelets in a market, I asked him to make me a silver cuff bracelet with of lapis lazuli stone. He hummed and hawwed for some time and then said it would have to be my christmas AND birthday present because it was going to take a lot of silver (I think it was 25 dollars worth in 1981). He kept the making secret and delivered it to me at Christmas, he had dug out one of Aunty Maud's old jewellry boxes with the name of an old time jeweller stamped in the yellow crushed velvet interior. It truly was a thing of beauty.

(Not the real bracelet)

Some of my aunties had scoffed at Herbert's style, but this was his finest hour. My mother said it was the best thing he ever made. I have kept it and worn it for over 20 years. About 10 years ago Herbert died, and this thing has taken on a precious significance. Herbert was a cultured and wise man, but in many ways he annoyed me. When I got engaged to Simon, who Herbert didn't really know, Herberts one take on the subject was "For goodness sake marry a man that can work, and for god's sake Fiona even his family has disowned him. At the time I couldn't even see a grain of truth in this, I thought he was an interfering old man, but his words have come back to haunt me...

Once when I was about 12 I was I was trying to play A Bach Prelude he insisted on singing Gounod's Ave Maria over the top in a raspy voice. Thus stealing my thunder and distracting me at the same time.

A few months ago I was driving along and this same piece came on the radio. Suddenly I felt not only his memory but his very presence in my life. Tears pricked my eyes, his jewellry, his memory and his wisdom have never left me.

Sister Links of Strength

My friend Vic who writes her own intelligent, supportive and often poignant Blog, asked me to identify some blogs I visit regularly that are written by people going through a painful transition.
I do have two, but I think they have already transitioned. I am perhaps a bit unoriginal in nominating the lovely Mir at wouldacouldashouda. She has been through some terrible and amazing things, and writes with great dignity and humor. Justifiably she has a huge following. Let me join them. Another one is a room of mama's own. She struggles with her husband's infidelity, and a child with Autism, and comes through with such dignity, strength and compassion, I can only look on in awe. And Vic, I stole your picture too :)

Have me and hold me some more!

Oh I just need to say some more about my Jaeger Suit, it seems I am not alone in my admiration for it. Admiration which borders on obsession.

So comforting to hear a Guardian editor opine that you could probably be buried in a jaeger suit and it would survive your coffin. She's right of course, I fully expect to pre-decease my Jaeger suit.

She was actually commenting on the re-birth of Jaeger from the slightly stuffy don't-frighten-the-horses style (the spirit of which lives on in my suit) to new hip style for the over 40s.

But wait, there's more, it would appear that donning of a Jaeger suit is an important mother-daughter sacrament, a rite of passage which remains aflame in the hearts of many powerful and successful women...

Angela Patterson 37 year old recruitment hot shot "borrowed" her mother's Jaeger suit and nikked off to London to launch her enviable career at the age of 19.

Frances Lynn accomplished author, doubtless writes from experience when she tells the story of a young girl whose mother gave her a "nice Jaeger suit" for her birthday.

and my favourite Stacey Tasker whose mother sent her off for her first interview after university in a Jaeger suit exclaiming "Don't be silly, how can anyone turn you down in that beautiful Jaeger suit?' " She went on to be the first women governor of wealston prison at the age of 39.

Oh Jaeger suit! you are, for me, the embodiment of a life well lived.

To have and to hold

I've just been over at Proper Prophet
who seems to have come up with seven reasons not to clear out your wardrobe, which gave me an idea for a new post. My Jaeger suit. It fits all of her seven reasons...

It was very expensive, it has sentimental value, my mother gave it to me (for my 21st birthday), I'm sure I'll fit it again one day..

And some of my own

• I think it may very well have come back into fashion,
• it is a classic (oh you can see past those 80s shoulder pads),
• it is pure new wool (although that lamb popped its cork many years ago) ,
• it was Made in Great Britain - Look see the label, can you beleive that whichever designer shops get their stuff made in "Great" Britain these days???
• and my favorite, it outlasted my marriage

Now come on girls I know some of you have wardrobe issues, and hold onto things longer than you should, but this suit has been with me since I was 21 which is nearly half my life. It deserves a medal.

Second adolecence

Here I am, nearing 40 in a relationship I can't feel sure about, behaving like a teenager

...and not in a good way either... not in a reckless, in love, knickerless through a cornfield kind of way...

No it seems at the moment, I am totally incapable of knowing what is best for me, so I either behave impulsively or rely on other people to make decisions for me.

Where have my frontal lobes gone???

I continue to try to have a baby to try to make Neil happy, just like a teenager has unprotected sex because her boyfriend pressures her to.

And like a teenager I wonder about how he will react. Not if I get pregnant, but if I don't. A teenager would worry that her boyfriend wouldn't stick by her if she got up the duff, I wonder how he will react if I don't. Will he take his sperm elsewhere????

I will be relieved when the whole pregnancy thing is off the agenda.

In My Shoes

I am finding the handovers on Simon's weekends are a bit easier these days, and perhaps more so the being apart. I used to feel physical pain at being separated from my wee boy when he was only 2 but now I can stand it.

One feature of handovers that still makes me sick to the core is seeing my ex's shoes laid out near the door with his new girlfriends' and my childs'. I have always had a low grade foot fetish (how else to describe it) and because of this, the line of shoes is a domestic metaphor that I just cannot handle.

I remember in my uni days coming back from a trip taking trains around Europe to find my long term college boyfriend had not only left me, but moved in with someone else and negleted to tell me ( a very bad moment in my life). I went round to catch up with him, saw the evidence, but because I loved him, and needed to be near him, agreed to stay for coffee (she was not there). Man that coffee stung my throat, but it was the line of shoes that brought on a wave a nausea. I had never met the woman, but her shoes were like small birds, all tiny intricate and brightly coloured. There was no ignoring her presence in is life. I fled and cried for two years.