Chapter 2: #Triggered
{NOTE: As always, all names have been changed, as well as names of businesses and other identifying details.}
It’s the end of June in 2023. I’m 33 years old. And two weeks ago, my next door neighbor moved her son and his fiancee into their place. No big deal, right?
In anyone else’s life, SURE. No big deal. In mine, past Emily tried to date her adult son. Big sigh.
So much empathy for 31-year-old me. It was during my *last ditch effort* to date men. He was on a break from the Marines, and came home to visit his mom for Easter.
EASTER 2021
I was tanning outside on the deck when my neighbor, Cindy, called over from hers:
Emily! Are you seeing family today for the holiday, dear?
No, Cindy! They’re in Michigan. I couldn’t get home for it.
Oh, no! Come have it with us, Em!
And, that’s how I ended up on Cindy’s tiny sun porch with her two adult sons for my first southern Easter. I don’t drink, I don’t eat meat, and I definitely don’t eat microwaved veggies, but I did the latter two that day. Zach, Marines son, immediately started flirting with me. He was definitely cute, sounded smart, and had a nice smile. His brother had a boat. And I needed friends. I was listening.
Plus, post-Kayla, I was open to being attracted to men again. That would make my life SO much easier. I was also leaving for a solo trip to FL the next day to get over her. I had been packing all day.
Zach and his brother, Sammy, invited me out to karaoke that night. I politely declined.
The next morning, I walked out to my car to head to the dog sitter’s and then start on my way to Perdido Key, FL. On the hood of my car sat an Arizona Iced Tea and a note:
Drive safe! Great to meet you! - Zach
One week later, post- my spiritual awakening that was “The Lost Key” trip — bonfires with new AirBnb friends, hikes in a secluded state park forest, crying and texting my ex, journaling on a private beach, trying super hard to meditate, debating how afraid to be of gators, trying to at least breathe deep, etc etc — Zach asked me on a date.
I was back in Nashville and he drove us to get sushi. The entire way there, he talked about his dreams of owning land, traveling, and having a family. He was looking for a wife.
I could be her, he suggested. Gently at first. Floating the idea like we’re taught in therapy school, Float the balloon. See how they react.
I get it! I also want a wife, it turns out.
But ugh, I’m just not attracted to him. Sigh.
He came over to fix my blinds that night too. And the window. And God knows what else I asked him for help with. And again, I thought, We could hook up right now. But I didn’t want it.
BACK TO TODAY
In late January 2023, Cindy picks me up from the airport after one of my retreats. Zach has been stationed away from TN where we live for years now. But Cindy shares that he and his new fiancee are coming back to the States this spring, and they are going to live with her!!! YAY!!! She is pumped.
She has a big smile and she’s talking a teensy bit louder and faster. She’s right around 60 and has a calming, warm presence.
I am happy for her, I say! We share her joy. She tells me about Ava, the fiancee. Zach is wildly happy. I nod and smile.
Internally, I’m like: Well, fuck.
And here’s the thing: I realize Zach and Ava’s love is not about me! But at the same time, in my life, of COURSE they are moving in next door. After he and I had the World’s Weirdest Easter & an awkward first date & three weird text exchanges after where I tried super hard to not say, I LIKE GIRLS. But didn’t. But said No.
Ugh. Not my best work, but also…my sexuality journey is sacred & I was figuring it out.
So today, in June 2023 a week ago, I’m sitting on the couch and a moving van pulls in. As you can imagine, I recall this convo with Cindy immediately. I have a little * meltdown * that culminates in me sharing this story on Instagram (see Blog highlights for this…LOL smh).
We only went on one date! Why, Universe, why, do I care so much? I mean, sure he did imply I should be his wife, he was looking for one I matched what he wanted! Yay! That was his vibe. He was kind, and attractive, and I’m pretty sure he bought me sushi.
And so, that’s how I know I’m gay. (LOL). But seriously.
So this week, I’ve been thinking, Why am I triggered by him and his girl moving in next door?? Sure, I can see them on the patio when I take the dog out back in the yard or sit on my own deck. And sure, he put a note on my car two years ago before I went on that trip. Yes, it’s objectively uncomfortable.
BUT ALSO, my body is my body is like — NOT THIS AGAIN. Resigned, but with a wry laugh. SIGH. And that is where we enter the flashback: because clearly, I’m #triggered.
TRIGGERED (READ: with tongue in cheek)
That makes sense, I realized as I sat panicking on the couch. Movers were pulling Ava’s adorable furniture off the truck into Cindy’s two-bed.
It makes sense, I thought, because at age 23 my parents invited my ex to live with us.
Jamie (we will call him) and I broke up the winter of 2013, in early spring. I moved out of the apartment we had shared for 6 months. I left him our new puppy (long story for another time), Cece, who had bonded with his adult male dog, Angel.
Jamie was lovely, passionate, and driven. And mentally ill with bipolar disorder and addiction. At the time, I was not yet a mental health professional. I hadn’t gone to school for therapy. I was working at a publishing company doing software installation, traveling a lot.
Jamie and I met two years prior when I was doing a short summer internship at a Graphic Design company. Jamie was the Head of Sales and would sleep under his desk when he was hungover. In my eyes, a DREAM boyfriend.
He was 10 years older, smoked cigarettes, and had a mild Adderall addiction. Plus a secret cocaine addiction. He kicked that one in the first few months of us meeting. What a ride.
Before deciding to date Jamie, I first had sex with my fellow intern, Mason. The entire office went out dancing together one Friday night, and Mason and I hit it off.
I brought him home. We hooked up. My friend Melissa had been visiting that weekend and danced all night with a different dude from the Graphic Design company, Shawn.
After that night, Mason wanted to date and pursued me. I turned him down as politely as I could. He kept pursuing. And then I…dated his coworker, Jamie. Sigh.
Soon, Jamie and I were carpooling to work, smoking Parliaments and blasting Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes. With Jamie’s Peter Pan syndrome and my desire to run fast away from my most recent ex (not Mason…)— ahh complex trauma & blossoming addiction! — I was convinced we were in LOVE.
And at the time, you guys, we were. As far as we both understood it.
Jamie got words I wrote tattooed on his body. (I realize this sounds like a trauma bond NOW, but at age 23, what is the difference??)
I moved to Salamanca, Spain to study abroad for the summer, and Jamie did not let that stop us. He called me every day on my my little international cell phone. This cost him — and actually the Graphic Design company — over $2K after two months. Jamie and I laughed.
Our maturity levels were the same. I felt connected to him. This was True Love, right??
Flash forward to two years later: We have broken up (shocking to all, I know), it’s been months, and my parents are moving him into my house. My Dad and Jamie have a business together, DayBird Graphic Design. I had somewhat Okayed this but had said, Keep me out of it.
Jamie and I had broken up in April. It was October.
Let me walk you through it.
April: It’s a gorgeously sunny but frigid day. I move to a Craigslist For Rent house with two female grad students. I move by myself. I hire two movers…but ask no friends for help. My Family is out of town on spring break. I leave the dog Jamie and I adopted together just a few months before, with him (we had discussed this at length). It’s a tough day. I cry and light a bowl. I’m proud of myself.
Late April: Grandma’s cancer gets worse. I visit her and rub her feet. We have such a sweet moment. I love her. I wish I knew her better. I cry when I leave.
May: I’ve started seeing a guy at work. He’s taking me on his work trip for my birthday. It’s to the Bahamas. I freak out before it and go have sex with Jamie at our old apartment. I tell the new guy this on the plane to the Bahamas. I need to be honest, I think. My timing is terrible.
We proceed to have hate sex in our hotel room for 5 straight days, interspersed with rides down the Atlantis slide.
Fortunately I enjoy hate sex.
Late May: Bahamas Guy breaks up with me. I write him a letter trying to get him back. He stays strong. I’m upset. I cry at work in my cubicle. I struggle to eat.
June: Grandma passes (Dad’s Mom). Jamie comes to the funeral with me for support. I read a poem I wrote for her. People say nice things to me. I am in a fog, but I smile and nod and try to receive them.
July: 4th of July. I’ve barely eaten since April, so I feel like I look GREAT. I’m 108 lbs. I party all day in the sun with my friends and cousins on Lake Charlevoix. We jet ski, play Beer Pong, and pee in the lake all day.
August: My Ann Arbor lease ends, and I move back in with my parents. The basement is finished, so I set up my apartment furniture down there. I have my own little space. There’s a half wall and I put my bed on one side of it. The TV is on the other side. There’s a mini kitchen and my own bathroom. Big sigh of relief.
I’m sad about Bahamas Guy, and I’m sad about Jamie. And, I tell myself, I’m going to recover. I have weed! I have Netflix! I have therapy! I’m a runner! I’m hopeful!
September: The next guy I meet is also a runner. My Mom runs into a neighbor down the street who happens to be married to my 7th grade English teacher. Neighbor Man is hot and kind and has a coworker friend in his late 20s, he says. He and my Mom scheme to set us up. It works. Abe and I hit it off on our first date. Or, I was sad and he was kind. Still, it felt good. And then:
October: Jamie moves in. With his (our??) two dogs. On the other side of the half wall in the basement.
The next few months are a blur of me vaping in the basement, volunteering in Detroit, trying to avoid Jamie AND my parents, and applying to grad school to be a social worker. That last thing…the MSW thing…that was pulling me forward. My Purpose (I believe) was still there, shining deep down. And I was moving forward with it lighting the way. But my Self, my Mind and Heart were in pain. And the Pain felt like Who I Was. So, I medicated it each night (and some days) with weed.
I’m not sure if my parents knew at the time. I was 23, almost 24, and taking what people would now call a Gap Year. My Dad did refer to it as that. Living at home did help me see my parents as Adults finally. And after about 6-9 months of it, I did try to rebuild the relationship with my Mom. It had been damaged when I got a DUI at age 19. She had been so, so hurt by me doing that — and I now I realize I was sick and scared and needed help — and was holding on to that, still.
So, the way the year with Jamie went was this: I would avoid him and my parents as much as I could, and they me (it felt like). We had dinners sometimes. My Mom and Dad might say we had them all the time. We had them a few times per week. But other than that, I slept at Abe’s as often as I could. And at the time, I barely knew why. I just knew my Heart and Nervous System felt better there.
Jamie and my Mom had lunches every few weeks. DayBird kept going with my Dad at a distance. The second summer, my little sister interned there. Meaning she and Jamie hung out all day together. I was jealous and weirded out but outwardly supportive. My parents gave Jamie a car. One of their old ones. Jamie appeared to be working very hard.
I will never know all of the details of how the day to day went at DayBird, and I’m glad I don’t. Like I said to them at the start, The Business was not Mine. I am not involved.
Over time though, my sister and my cousin, Noah, figured out that Jamie was terrible with the bookkeeping. Noah stepped in that second summer to help, at my Dad’s request. Noah is a trained accountant. By then, he told Dad, it was too late. My Dad was upset. Jamie was more upset. I got calls from both of them. I listened and had empathy. DayBird folded.
So, why is this coming up for me now? In 2023, post Coming Out?
A few reasons: 1) I can see the Cracks in my Straight Identity in hindsight. I’ll share one in a minute.
2) Zach and Ava moving in means…I have freedom to do what I want. I fled back then, and I can now. Or I can stay. I can set boundaries. I can avoid. I can numb. I have freedom to manage my internal and external space. Big sigh of relief.
3) That year, living at home, keeps popping up for me. See, I tried to talk with Mom before I moved. I cried during that conversation. I told her it felt like she was deeply mad at me. She admitted she was still hurt from the DUI and the MIP I had gotten when I was younger (early signs of my alcoholism). I heard her. I agreed that it was awful and I was so sorry I put her through that, I said.
She listened.
We hugged. We healed. I thought! I thought we healed. Or were starting on that path then.
But here is what I’m stuck on: her supporting Jamie over me. Like she does later with Damien. And that is where my work is. Like, is that internalized misogyny?? Fear of me making the Wrong Decisions?? Control coming from that Fear?
But it’s not just her. My Dad started DayBird with him…as an “investment opportunity.” My Dad came to therapy with me one time, right when I quit my Ann Arbor job in September. And he encouraged me to do my MSW — because he could see how successful MY therapist was. He could see that path for me then. Even though he disparaged social workers one year prior. He was trying.
Mom, though, had lunches with Jamie. They both gave him the car.
I’m exhausted from sorting through it, to be honest. Who did what and when. But my brain keeps reminding me. And my Heart. It keeps saying, Em, you know who they are to you. Don’t waver. You are precious. Keep shining.
Because the truth is that people who support me ask, Are you Okay?? When I’m drinking too much. Or when I went through a hard breakup.
The people who Love Me ask how I am and they really listen. None of them do it perfectly, but they do it.
At this point, it’s been 10 years.
And tonight, I went over and met Zach and his fiancee, who we are calling Ava here. She is lovely. And now, I’m hoping us three will be friends all summer.
He’s not my ex boyfriend.
And I don’t need my Mother’s protection the way I did as a child. I realize that.
But…at 23, fresh off a bad breakup, I did need her emotional presence. Her checking in. Her trying to connect with me and to see if I was all right, which I was not. Thankfully, so many others did this for me. And I learned to re-love myself. And to stay the heck away from Jamie.
LET’S END WITH A LIL GAY MOMENT
I loved Jamie. So much. But in the first year of us dating, after I returned home from Salamanca, Jamie and I were taking a trip alone to Lake Charlevoix with his dog. Jamie bought me an expensive dress he gave me when I got home…at 23, this felt Adult and Sexy. I was into it.
But, as I was packing for the trip, my friend Ally sat with me on my bed…as we both knew, I love lingerie. I started picking out undergarments for the trip. I picked out my most favorite ones — really sexy, red and black corset shit. I look at Ally and go,
“Ugh, I am just NOT excited to use these with Jamie,” Confused.
“Yeah??” She said, curious.
“Yeah.”
“UGH, that’s terrible!” She said, with a sad face but half laughing about it, “MEN!” She implied that they demand so much from us.
I laughed hard. “YES,” I said. And we laughed it off.
In hindsight, at 33, I was already disconnecting sexually from him. I didn’t know how I would perform it…even the lingerie wouldn’t work for me on this trip. I was nervous about it.
And this isn’t on him because he IS and WAS a beautiful man. But I just wasn’t straight. And I thought I could perform it. I thought all of us women were performing it.
And at that moment, there was a crack. I didn’t know how I would perform it.