While on my solo birthday trip to Thailand I had a lot of time to reflect and just process some things. One of those things being an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. While I’m certainly not devoid of meaningful and fulfilling friendships, there is still a desire for romantic love that is left unfulfilled. I have been reflecting on my dating experiences over the past year and why they have ranged from completely awful and rage inducing to lukewarm and eventually fizzle out. The obvious trash experiences I wrote about for Feminista Jones blog on online dating were not my only experiences, they just happened to be the most egregious and off-putting. I have actually had a handful of decent interactions with potential suitors that fizzled out. And I’m accepting that it is my fault that they did so.
After going through one of my most painful breakups well over a year ago and trying to get a grasp on life as a single 30 something-year-old woman, I pushed off how much damage the actual relationship had done to me. I honestly wasn’t this closed off from affection even after another relationship turned into less subtle abuse, I ended up needing a restraining order, and was then diagnosed with PTSD. I realize now that it is because I hadn’t become as vulnerable as I was with my recent ex. He took up a home in my heart and proceeded to gut it from the inside.
There were the overreactions to what could be seen as pet peeves (taking up too much space on the bed). The withholding of affection (going days without speaking to me and not responding to my attempts at contact.) The gaslighting. The twisting of my words. Weaponizing my attempts at empathy and understanding. Playful teasing and poking fun at that was never allowed to be reciprocated because I was then deemed abusive. And the coldness of the Arctic to my display of obvious emotional pain. I was walking on eggshells, scared that I would say or do something that would cause him to cut me off or tell me why I just wasn’t good enough and what I was doing wrong. Although he never raised his voice or touched me in an aggressive manner, I was scared of the man I loved because he knew just what to say and do to crush my soul and he did it often.
I’ve internalized so much of these emotional abuses and have been trapped by fear. I don’t ever want to become that vulnerable again because I don’t want to risk the chance that I will be hurt in the same way. It’s why the men that I have tried dating who actually had potential didn’t work out. I couldn’t come out my fortress because of this fear. I remained aloof and carried an air of disinterest that I just couldn’t shake. I didn’t want to have another story of having my love turned against me.
I’m tired of bonding over pain with my femme friends because our past relationships mirror each other almost identically. I don’t want to be the dumping ground for unresolved mommy issues or the target of poor emotional intelligence and detachment. I don’t want to fall for the wolf that can articulate feminist and social justice talking points but refuses to hold themselves to the standards they hold others. I don’t want to have to fight a socialized hatred of women. I don’t want to be a safe space for someone who is a minefield for me. All and all, I’m scared.
As a society, we tend to put types of abuse on a scale from least harmful to most harmful. Then use that scale to tell people how fast they need to get over their trauma. I realized I’ve done this to myself as well. I devalued my own experiences, which has only lead to guilt and shame around “not being over it.” I put the needs of other abuse survivors over my own because I believe they somehow deserve it more.
I’m not sure how or where to start to heal from this type of trauma, but I am determined to try. My one hope is that on my journey to be able to love again, I don’t end up hurting anyone in the way I was hurt.
