Saturday, February 16, 2013

Shedding skin

So, what do you do when you don't count on the people you used to count on?

It's not a dire emergency. It's not a massive split. There is no tectonic movement, no plates slipping, no shock wave.

It's more like glacial melting. Constant. Almost undetectable. Inexorable.

John and I are going through a period of redefining. We have spent much of our marriage in an imbalance of power. We shift, we slide, we trade places, but generally one of us has carried the other for the majority of our 6 year marriage and 7 years together. Since having Bea, we're much more balanced. We share parenting, cleaning, and shop responsibilities. We are more in tune than at any other point in our relationship. The way we relate to each other is often full of poking, snarking, and good natured bickering. We do it in private, in public, and online.

Recently, John has been experiencing some social upheaval. The group of guys he has been gaming with for years is splintering. Well, that's not accurate. One of the guys decided he didn't like John or me, and so did his girlfriend. Some of it has to do with the way John and I interact online. This recently was brought to our attention again. The original disturbance started a passive aggressive tug of war for months, that we came out on the losing end of, despite refusing to ask our friends to choose between us. Our response was at first to try to keep lines of communication open, to let our friends know how we felt about the situation, and to keep invitations open to the people who were snubbing us even though we knew they wouldn't accept. That strategy didn't work. Distance continued to grow, as did discomfort and resentment. When it finally came to a head and John was shoved out of his gaming group, our final response was to let go of that rope, to step back, to focus on family instead of our most important friendships. We continued to interact in the way that works best for us. We snark. We are snarky people. We make fun of each other and of ourselves. We laugh a good deal, especially about the jokes we make at our own (and each others') expense online. We have Facebook wars while in the same room. That's just who we are. We are blunt with each other, often pretty forthrightly so. Our relationship functions much better with a base level of personal and shared humility. John feels (and I agree) that for people who know us to judge us through our online interaction and then use that as a basis for their thoughts on our marriage, while still saying they're not judging us, is pretty much crap. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and in my opinion, you can't refuse to interact with me and then tell me you're not judging me. John feels the same.

This recent bout of shakeups has meant we've spent a good deal of time talking about the fallout and about what our friendships mean to us while we're driving, while we're drinking beer on the couch, or while we're sitting around with Bea. The end result is both of us feeling heart sore and wary of interaction, and when we do have interaction, the initiation of such feels a little forced and awkward until we're in the swing of it.

Maybe we're just in a different place than we were. Although we realize that with our daughter's arrival our priorities would change, we still enjoy almost all of the activities we enjoyed prior to being parents. Our focus is different, but from our perspective, we still engage in much the same conversation with our non-kid having friends. I know that things are often not what they appear from just one side, but honestly we haven't been offered a perspective from the other position.

Personally, I know that I need more lessons from life about the ebb and flow of friendships. I have had to learn this lesson with other friends, and I don't know why my broken brain won't just apply the concept across the board. I now have friends that I consider to be part of my intimate circle that I just don't talk to as often as I used to, but there isn't a loss of love or growing distance perceived to be at the heart of that space. I have ladies I love who have their own lives that are just as demanding as mine (and sometimes, much more demanding.) When we don't talk for weeks, I know it's because they have husbands, boyfriends, school, home ownership, teenagers, babies, demanding jobs, and busy volunteer schedules to coordinate. I know they're thinking of me and that I'm thinking of them, and that when we talk it will be like no time or distance has separated our last conversation. When I think back on the comfort of that security, however, I do realize that I had some painful growing to do in each separate friendship to get to that point of feeling the security inherent in their love for me. I don't know what chemical or emotional peculiarity of my own biological makeup means that I have to learn this lesson over and over over again.

I don't know if John never learned this lesson or if he doesn't think it applies in this instance. It's hard to watch. It's even harder to know that I'm doing all I can and it's not enough. It's hardest to know that I'm doing all I can and it's not enough for John and that I'm feeling the same things.

We're both trying to branch out and explore new friendships, trying to cultivate relationships with people who have similar communication styles, similar interests, and are in similar places in their lives. Being people who are by nature kind of overshar-y (I just made that word up) and awkward, it's not easy to do. As much as we are social people, we both dread new social situations. We're trying really hard, but that fear combined with the sting of what it feels like we've lost is almost stonewalling level difficult. Even if we haven't really lost those other connections, that whole group goes on without us, seemingly uncaring about our absence. John pointed out that it's really discouraging to feel like a group of people he's been gaming with for a decade just doesn't care that he's not there anymore, that they don't at all miss him. I know what that feels like, and I don't have a response. I wish I had some words of wisdom for him besides that he really should be seeking some kind of professional to talk to, as this is bringing up a thread for him of personal worthlessness that has existed for a long time and that he needs to address.

We have been spending a good deal of time alone at home playing board games, reading books, and playing with our daughter. It's nice, but we're not often home at the same time with our schedules at the shop, so on any given night we're together for about 3 hours before one of us has to go to sleep to open in the morning.

My goal for this next month is to really spend time doing some self evaluation, and to honestly and truly let go of my grip on things that just aren't working right now. I need to realize (again) that I can't force someone to love me back, and I can't talk people who don't see my worth into suddenly liking me. It's sad that I have to learn this lesson over and over again while all the other 30 somethings I know seemed to learn it in high school, but I'll just chalk that up to my broken brain. Part of that self evaluation is forcing myself to write it out, even when the inspiration isn't there, nor the desire to write. Trying to write it down outside of my mania is part of my work this year, to really be honest with myself about who I am becoming.

This is the year of the snake, as someone recently reminded me. Snakes don't move backward. The past is just that. Past relationships, pains, and people who fall away are old skin that needs to be shed. New skin is tender and uncomfortable until it toughens up. Feeling naked is in the cards. But I can do this. I have the ability to free myself.

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