Most of my sporting endeavors involve endurance and taking a long view, and as I’m focused on the distance, sometimes the details of my surroundings or of a moment become a blur, or I ignore them. I’m not a terribly detail-oriented person, unless I’m in hyperfocus mode, like for my work. It’s not like ball sports, where there’s in-the-moment agility and response all the time, a different mindset. From time to time I’ve spotted the migrating butterflies from the corner of my eye on rides in the last weeks, but I especially took note of them when going at a slower pace, paddling with a friend on an overnight kayak camping trip. On our way across Waldo Lake to the campsite, the tortoiseshell butterflies kept swooping past us, right over the middle of the water, and I finally got some pictures, like the above, after reaching the shore.
One thing my therapist said when I went in for a couple of sessions in late August that’s stayed with me is that relationships are all about the small things – that I might have, for example, emphatically lobbied for stopping for ice cream if it’s what I really wanted after I told her how elated I had been to finally get some for myself at the coast, rather than just going with the flow. Set micro-boundaries to maintain more of a sense of parity. On the other hand, I realize, it wasn’t feeling entirely safe to do so within the unfolding hot/cold; didn’t want to rock the boat.
Stepping back, and as some time and clarity and understanding have softened the sharp things slightly more, I now see that there were also small things, small comments, small butterflies landing, that I didn’t know what do with at the time, starting with “this feeling really high stakes now,” (it had always felt high stakes to me! And in fact it was, because of my more significant risk exposure from the start) followed maybe a day later by “wow, this is moving really fast,” and “long distance is hard and not everyone’s cut out for it,” during a nice meal overlooking the ocean, then “I experience your desire as really intense” and “maybe we’d be better as friends,” on our last day together at the beach, and “you don’t need a boy scout for that,” over text after parting, that showed her growing uncertainty and possible overwhelm, at the least. I didn’t really know how to respond, and listened for more, or leapt in with reassurance about my own certainty about thinking through the distance thing along the way, but also withdrew some internally, with some confusion and pricks of anxiety, from the other comments. Perhaps that also seemed like I was ignoring what she was trying to tell me. And maybe some part of me did want to ignore it, because – we were in it -I wanted us to enjoy ourselves and our time together, and didn’t want to let small things get in the way. I was taking the long view, and didn’t see those issues or understand their origin or sudden importance to her. That’s a way in which I think I kind of blew it, maybe a dismissive response. Maybe not taking a moment to quell my own discomfort and not acknowledging those small butterflies rather than instead taking a moment to see and hold them in some way when they came to land quietly on my arm created only more uncertainty or unsafety for her. One thing I learned is that sometimes her deeper emotions arrived in understated presentation, and it would have been smart to attune more to that frequency, to greet the butterflies and listen more carefully to them.
I think I assumed that if she wanted to say more, she’d tell me, but I think it might have helped had I acknowledged these comments reflecting doubt, and asked if she wanted to say more about it, or have a more detailed discussion about it later. I didn’t really come to the table for those more subtle, small things that in retrospect I can see mattered, or bring my own small things.
She did show up for lots of other small things that helped me feel cared for, like waiting for me outside of the shower, opening doors, finding sweet things to say or encouragement about what I was doing in my life, taking care of a number of behind-the-scenes details. I think I showed up for some small things too. Mostly, I think she heard me, maybe until the last days.
I think I simply believed if I/we endured, the path would smooth for us both. I don’t know how much it ultimately would have mattered if I had responded better (the more distance I get on our relationship, the more I see how even if both of us had been willing to show up for the high maintenance it would have required given all the factors, it was still structurally fucked to start with), but it’s still something to practice. It’s a little dangerous to go back and think about what one could do better and to adapt retroactively, because it can also give rise to hope that things could, eventually, in fact, one day work out. More micro-boundaries and attentiveness to the small things in my daily life can probably help me out, as much as I might want another chance at our success, but in a way which is less perilous and allows for a more genuine connection than the asymmetries allowed. I don’t think it serves me well to even go there in my thoughts as much as I might want to, have to look forward. I don’t really have a lot of regrets about getting involved to begin with, except for the very high price of loss of community and a recovery more complex than the usual heartbreak because of all of the layers and surprises. There’s been a lot of learning in it for me, maybe a few different relationships wrapped in one. Maybe I’m lucky about some of the reverberations that impacted at my broken-but-mended places, where the scar tissue is thicker, where I’ve already done some work. I’m sure I’ll find even more when I start to venture out again, I guess it will be tentative and slow going for awhile.
It’s been so exhausting to go through this, although I’ve slowly recovered more of a sense of safety in general after it was shaken up, the world seems a little more certain now, and my productivity and my sports are only very slowly recovering after the double hit, to the extent that I’ve wondered if I even had a mild covid case in the mix for good measure. It was like my heart just couldn’t pump blood well in the first weeks, my body just couldn’t rally. It’s still not performing nearly as well as before, and I’ve had to really scale back my exercise volume and miss out on rides with friends I’d otherwise have loved. I need so many more naps than before, and don’t sleep well at night anymore. I need to remind myself to eat and need to talk myself into preparing meals.
I’m still processing the grief of losing important community, which spins on happily without me, centering my ex like some sort of high priest in the communications I’ve tried to mostly mute or send to a folder, but sometimes one comes in through a crack. Or the ludicrous joke of getting an invitation on Meetup (I unsubscribed from updates but still see my local group in my home screen anytime I administrate my bike group) flash by for a weekly workshop of hers which was retitled “Navigating Attachment in Dating,” the very topic she teased but never made time or space to discuss with me before ending our relationship, dangling in my face that instead, she was talking about it with the whole group from which I’m excluded. The title almost seemed intentionally different than all the others before (“Weekly workshop with X”) just to poke me – I checked the timing and indeed it was the same weekly event, just retitled. Another cry. It just takes so much time and energy to continue to try to ground and caretake myself. I’m now in a place where I again just don’t know who to trust anymore, and am really questioning my own judgement in choosing who’s trustworthy. I’m feeling so overwhelmed.
In the organization, I had finally found something that meant redemption to me, a place that finally repaired relational wounds from grad school, where I could feel safe belonging, connected and open and cared for in a learning space, and I have friends there. Losing that safety and belonging now – even if I may return to it – reopens the ache of what Iād worked so hard to heal, at a time when I needed that support most. It will never really be the same for me in terms of my ability to feel safe or trust there, at least as long as she’s around. At one point, she’d opened the option of both of us leaving the organization, or her stepping back some from her role, but I never felt this was seriously on the table or anything she’d actually ever really do, I think it was just words. I’m so angry at myself for trusting her ability to be trustworthy or ethical, because all of these losses are so unfair, I didn’t choose them, they resulted from her unilateral choices, and now again and again, I’m forced to pay the price. Familiar. And I feel so dumb for giving the organization free labor and trying to put things together for it when in return it takes my dignity as a human and I’m left without support. The organization wouldn’t do anything but encourage me to “work on my triggers,” effectively layering on another abandonment. This has been now my third big heartbreak in the last months.
I think of the Geefle and the Gonk video. They live on the planet Snoo, and the Geefle has really long arms that are locked in a raised position above their head, and the Gonk has short arms. Both are hungry. Video below. In retrospect those may have been fun nicknames, which I was still on the lookout for discovering before we ended. I would have much preferred a process called “Shirley” (see below video) if it would have worked, but with a lot less peril involved. Just the view into their world makes me happy and restores a little optimism about how relationships can work.
Now I have a new forum to practice in, though I’m still a bit uncertain about it. I found an in-person queer group therapy series all about attachment. I’ve never done group therapy and am still figuring out if I want to stick with it. About 11 people, meeting across town on Saturday mornings for 8 weeks. I’m trying to assess how much I really need some sort of “corrective container,” or whether group therapy is for me, but it can help me to reframe and think about the content in new ways. The group includes 2 couples, and 2 facilitators, and some poly people, and others. I’ve done one, and will miss a few for biking (unless it rains) and travel, but it’s a starting place to practice more with butterflies and boundaries, or at least to feel a little less alone with the ideas – no small thing.