Chapter One: Choosing Yourself Can Suck
PLEASE NOTE: I wrote this piece in spring of 2022. It is based on what I went through starting in September of 2018. All names have been changed. Everyone mentioned has their own side and part to this story that is completely valid.
LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING…
The night of my first meditation class, our instructor taught us how to climb into the center of our heads. This is less weird than it sounds. It’s just about getting into your sixth chakra, the energy center that sits in your head. And when I moved all of my energy there, I looked over and saw Micah, my partner, sleeping next to me. All of a sudden, I knew: he’s not the right person for me. There was no logic to this, just clarity. It was as if something I had forgotten had surfaced right in front of me, plain as day.
Like I said, there was no logic to this. I just knew, with every cell in my body, as I saw clearly the person in front of me, that he was not the person I would spend my life with. Because I had moved all of my energy into the center of my head, my heart didn’t break. My stomach didn’t drop. It was just like seeing furniture clearly after a night in the dark as the sun rises. Oh, it’s a lamp! Not a man trying to break in!
After finishing that first class, I was in a conundrum. My stomach did drop. My heart felt muddled. Micah isn’t the person, I thought.
He was just a man whom I loved very much, and whom I had spent the last two years dancing with, laughing with, talking with, and creating a life with. He was someone I thought would be the father of our future kids. It had seemed so easy before. And now, my eyes, or what felt like the eyes of my heart, were telling me otherwise. But these new eyes were in the center of my head. My heart still loved Micah very much. I was confused. How could I break up with someone without having any logical reason? Other than that I’m now psychic and something in me just KNOWS. It’s not a good argument. And let me tell you, it did not go over well with him.
Alas, it took us four months after that to actually break up. And it was the start of what would be four years of major transition for me, culminating in me realizing that I’m gay. I don’t enjoy having sex with men. I have enjoyed it, but I don’t ever want to do it again. I thought it was the only option for me, so I found ways to enjoy it. But, men don’t turn me on. Not the way women do. Men don’t at all, that’s the truth. (And, given my sexuality does feel fluid, I’m open to this changing. But this is my truth today, and has been for two years now. So, take that as you will.)
Let me pause here to clarify something. I loved Micah deeply. I adored who he was as a person, and I still do. I loved being with him. And with him, over time, as had happened with all of the other men I had dated, I felt something was missing. But there was never anything I could put my finger on. It never made logical sense, and I had strong feelings of love for each of them. So, why couldn’t I pick one and get married, which is what I want? I want a long-term, committed partnership. Why could I not choose one of these wonderful men?
I don’t think the answer is as simple as me just being gay. I think there were also incompatibilities. But I do know that I’m not sexually attracted to men. I had learned to perform my heteronormative role as a woman SO well that I believed I was attracted to men. I had seen what other women like in guys – their charm, humor, fitness, etc – and I had taught myself to like these things too. To admire them and want them in a partner. This indoctrination had started so young that I was unaware of it entirely. I just thought it was who I was: a straight woman. And then, I met Kayla. And if you’ve read my first essay, you know how that went. If you haven’t, here it is.
But going back to Micah. He’s still special to me. And I wish I had known then that I didn’t like men sexually. I wish I hadn’t hurt him the way I did, due to lack of knowing myself. But I did. And I own that.
The good news is that during that relationship, from 2016-18, Micah had created such a safe and accepting space for me that I was free to explore my Self. I knew he wouldn’t leave, and that he really loved me, so I could just be me. Through this, I realized that I needed to quit drinking. It had become a way to deal with intense work stress, perfectionism, and pressure I put on myself in all areas of life. And in turn, drinking was creating more anxiety for me. I would wake up on Sundays with visceral anxiety, my stomach in knots and my heart pounding. I wanted to crawl out of my skin every weekend. And I was becoming someone to Micah who I did not like.
I shared with him how I wanted to change, and then I got a lot of help. I read This Naked Mind: Control Alcohol by Annie Grace, I tried out 12-step meetings, I talked with my therapist, and I joined an online program called Hip Sobriety. There, I did 8-weeks of classes and support groups with other women (and a few men!) who were questioning their relationships with alcohol. Many of us quit together and then stayed in touch daily to help each other stay stopped, as we would say (to this day). It’s easier to stay stopped than to start and stop again! Truly.
These folks are kind, wise, and badass people who have gone on to do incredible things in their communities. I love each of them. And that program helped me save my own life. Because although I was only binge drinking on the weekends, I know that alcohol abuse is progressive in nature, meaning I would’ve been in rehab or treatment for SUD in 20 years, IF I were lucky. I would’ve been in jail or dead sooner if I were less lucky.
Alas, I quit drinking from 2016-17. It took from September to May 13, 2017 (my sobriety date) to stick. Anyone who has quit will tell you that it is VERY rare that you “get it on the first try,” meaning learning how to do this hard thing is a process…with ups and downs, successes and “failures,” although many of us will tell you there is no such thing as failing here, it’s all just learning. Learning how to stay with yourself even when you’re on fire.
So, I had quit drinking, and Micah and I went to Venice Beach for a trip in September 2017, when I was 4 months sober. We had gone to New Orleans for a long weekend in July, and it was the first time I had a sober trip that I loved. It was so much fun. We tried new foods, did tours, walked everywhere, and laughed and talked about everything. But for some reason, in Venice Beach, I was more anxious and triggered. At one point, Micah asked me if me quitting drinking was going to be the reason we eventually broke up. I’ll never forget it: we were standing on the beach near the Santa Monica pier, and he just asked me. He could feel it somehow, even though I couldn’t. I denied it outright, speaking from my current level of understanding. I thought we would be fine. I loved him so much, I said. I could see our future together. He could too.
We made the most of the trip, and did have some fun. Disney was awesome, as was seeing my roommate’s sister and staying with her for a few days. Even our Tiny House airbnb was fun. But I was still dysregulated and nervous.
A month later, in October, Micah ran his first marathon. We went to Milwaukee for it. The night before, he started crying in an Italian restaurant, telling me he didn’t think we were going to make it together. I felt awful, but by this point I had that meditation class just weeks before, and I knew deep down he was right. I told him that I was worried too. I told him that I felt far away from him and I didn’t know how to change it.
We talked it over and decided to spend more quality time together. We each agreed to try out things that the other person loved. Because here was the thing: we both had full, happy lives. We just weren’t living them together. And it’s not that you have to do everything with your partner, obviously, but it felt like we were growing apart. We wanted to do fewer and fewer things together.
On weekends, we had soccer games together. We had met by each joining this rec team called the Dragon Slayers. It’s co-ed, we wear pink, and we meet on Sundays for games. Both outdoor and indoor, so it’s year-round. Outside of soccer, since I had stopped drinking, we didn’t do as much together. Because here’s the thing: Micah loved to go out. He enjoyed drinking, socializing with friends, trying new bars and restaurants, and just the ALL of it. It was his whole life, including his work. So my interests, like cooking, writing poetry, and learning about spirituality, were just mine. Things I would do alone. That night over pasta, Micah agreed to try these things with me. We decided to try to grow together instead of apart.
And to his credit, he tried. And I did as well. We did that for two months or so, and then he had to go to England for the holidays to be with his family.
But back to Milwaukee. The next day after that awful dinner, he ran all 26.2 miles. I drove from location to location to cheer him on. And at the end, he sat with me in his aluminum blanket, dripping sweat, and told me that he had written me a poem while he ran. This touched me deeply. It showed he was really thinking about how to communicate with me in a way that I already loved and understood: poetry. He was trying his hand at something he didn’t like all that much, and it was coming from this deep dedication to our relationship and his love for me. It felt big. He said he would write it down for me later.
We took the train home in silence. And we began the work of trying to reconnect with each other. We cooked together, he let me do tarot readings for him and share about radical acceptance, and we talked about books we each loved. We really tried. But I still felt far away from him. Now, I would say that I was far away from myself. That feels more true. But at the time, I just felt separate from him, lonely, and like I had this new knowing from my meditation classes that he wasn’t the guy for me. I kept going to therapy to talk about it. I journaled and sat with myself every day. And my answer didn’t change: my body knew he wasn’t right for me.
So, by the time he returned from his trip, I knew I had to end it. And on January 6, 2019, I did. It broke both of us, and it was awful. It was awful for months and months. We even tried to get back together at one point, after he had moved out and we had been apart for a while. But, that didn’t work either, with Micah ending it this time. And I’m glad he did. Because my body was screaming at me: keep going. Go! Go! Have adventures! Be YOU! Live!
I would oscillate from total acceptance of this body-wisdom to full on hatred of it: WHY? Why? He loves me so much, and he’s so great! He is kind and smart and hilarious and interesting. Fuck. Why??
But the knowing is strong. My body-wisdom is strong. And I had begun dancing in the mornings again. In fact, the day after I broke up with him, on the way to work – at a job I detested by this point – I felt a new part of me wake up: it was a little girl, around 7 or 8 years old, standing behind my heartspace, dancing.
She was so wild and free. She knew her worth, and she was fierce in her confidence and self-assurance. She was Me. Just earlier. And freer. Me without the emotional neglect from Dad. Me the way my Grandpa saw me.
The one thing my Dad is good at is crises. The problem is that he tries to solve emotional issues with material things. It’s not his fault – he was traumatized growing up as well – but it DOES impact me. Because all I want when I call crying is for him to tell me how amazing I am, for him to listen and empathize, and for him to maybe visit. But what he says is, “What do you need? Where should we go? Let’s go on a trip.”
He gets off the phone quickly. He goes into Hero Mode. I feel alone.
This is the pattern.
So, in a series of events that I started, my Dad and I bought a condo together in Chicago. The space was incredible, and I could NOT believe I got to live there. It was a 2-bed 2-bath sun-filled oak and honey colored heaven…with a fireplace in the living room, a hightop bar to sit at in the kitchen, a small back deck off my room, and a huge bathtub. I paid my Dad rent instead of a landlord. He wanted me to feel safe in Chicago and did everything he could to that end. I was grateful and told him this all the time.
I paid the property taxes, HOA fees, and other bills, and got a roommate to help with the rent.
To be completely honest, as I walked through the buying process with Dad, I could feel in my gut it was not a good idea. But I didn’t feel like I had other options. My heart was broken, I was confused as to why I could not be with the person I did feel like I loved, and my body was telling me we were on a new adventure. I called Dad to discuss renting versus buying with him, and he was excited about it and willing to help, and I got excited too.
There were great parts of that process. And…the point is that it was complex. There was no way to know in 2018 what I know now: that I had been performing heterosexuality for 28 years. That I was just starting to know my Real Self in an intimate way. That I was still Becoming, and that is normal.
I had been shamed by Mom for every misstep (read: not Country Club approved) I had made since age 19.
Now, at 28, buying a condo and creating a home base for myself made sense. I had the privilege to do that with Dad’s support.
Flash forward to one month in, April 2018. I had been on five dates with this ripped, redheaded sober dude named Joel. I decided it was time to have sex with him. We went to his place and did so. Listen, I love sex.
This guy was 8 years sober, had paid for a beautiful sushi dinner, and had a gorgeous smile.
He worked out, ate well, and made me laugh.
I was ready.
We went towards the lakefront in Lakeview, Chicago. He took me up to his apartment in a high rise about 3 blocks from the water. It was a clean 1-bed with lots of shiny surfaces and an open floorplan. We started making out immediately. He threw me on the bed, took off his shirt, and ripped mine open in one fell swoop. That should’ve been the first red flag. I was impressed, but you guys, it was REALLY fast.
He asked if I wanted to use toys.
I laughed, thinking he was kidding. I didn’t know his last name yet.
We started getting into it, and…he started choking me. My life flashed before my eyes, even though I could very much still breathe. This was a just a sex move, it was light choking. Still, a little check-in (CONSENT, anyone??) first would’ve been great.
I went home and texted my friends about it,
This feels weird! Lol. Not sure I’m into him!
We all laughed. Thank God he didn’t murder me! LOL. He’s 8 years sober though, so we’re sure he’s fine!
That was the logic.
Women, man. We have learned to put up with SO much.
By my 28th birthday that May, I was downright depressed. My girlfriends and I went to dinner at a dessert bar in Wicker Park.
I cried right there at the table. All five girls looked at me with love and empathy.
Your person is on his way to you, Em. As fast as they can. I promise.
Shannon said this to me. And she was right.
Of course, I was convinced I could make that person be the man who I met next, Damien.