“How are the apps?”

“How are the apps?” I asked my ex husband over video chat. The call started so I could say goodnight to our son while he was over there but we often still chat as friends at this time.

He knew what I meant. He made a face by way of reply. He looked like a disgusted Elvis with his one lip pulled half way up to his eye.

I chuckled and he said they’re basically the same, if not worse, as the last time I was really on them (which he knew was before Asshole).

“I guess it depends what you’re looking for,” he sighed resolutely. The implications were clear.

“That would be great, but not without a bit more behind it,” I answered. With about a week until Valentine’s Day, I wasn’t looking for a fling.

He smiled then said they probably wouldn’t give me what I was looking for. I wondered briefly if all exes talk like this, but realized it didn’t matter. We do and it works for us. We’re still “best friends”.

I whined that the few people I had met more recently just going through life all seemed to start with such high hopes. I explained how things seem great and they seem super interested and then just…poof!

They’re gone.

Except not. I told him I can see them stalking my professional socials – the hits are easy to track.

He made a derogatory movement involving his hand, his hips and one very happy face.

I chuckled.

“Well I was standing right in front of them so that was dumb on their part.”

Then my ex heaved a big sigh and gave me one of the sweetest compliments ever. And yes, it was made especially sweet because it came from him.

“You’re smart, Varity. Not just like kinda smart. You’re really smart and you’ve got a lot going on.”

“So?” I asked, making sure to prove him wrong for a moment.

He grinned at me awkwardly for a moment before getting serious and almost angry on my behalf for me.

“And you speak up. You challenge men. Guys don’t want a dumb girl but they don’t want you to be smarter than them. They don’t want you to have more accomplishments than them.”

I sat in shocked silence. It was what I suspected in my bitter moments but I try to give people more credit than that. These self-professed liberal and evolved men still couldn’t get past my brain and accomplishments?

Precisely what level of accomplishment is sufficient to appease your cocktail party socialites but not so much as to make people a bit uncomfortable.

“They think I’m too good?!”

No really, where is that happy medium? Just so I know for reference.

“Basically.”

“Well then I fucking am. This isn’t a fucking contest!” I was getting angry and Pumpkin was in the other room getting ready for bed still. I didn’t want my bitter suspicions to be right. “It’s, ideally, supposed to be a mutually beneficial partnership. They can grow up and put their big boy pants on if me having a brain is such an issue.”

My ex chuckled at my momentary temper flare after making a semi-shocked face which I suspect was mostly just for show. He knows me well enough to know my reaction.

“Yup,” he said suddenly grinning.

I’m looking for reasons he would lie about that. It can’t be that simple and bitterly true. There must be men out there who can handle a woman who can handle herself and treat her with respect.

Honestly?

From a survivor’s viewpoint?

This is one of the ways they get in. This is how good women end up with bad men. We get lonely too. We want to be seen and recognized and cherished too. We know we aren’t bottom barrel but everybody else flees.

So love bombing feels like “FINALLY! Hallelujah!”.

Somebody who nitpicks some of our own foibles (because we’re actually not perfect, despite the conversation above) seems confident and on our level.

From there it goes downhill.

I’ve got stronger boundaries now but I have a lot of the same feelings I had when I first met Asshole. If I didn’t know better now, I could easily slip into that again. Easily.

I won’t blame the other men for doing their…I’m going to call it the “chicken dance”…but they don’t then also get to turn around and complain about wonderful women they know who date toxic losers. We each get to own our own decisions.

Well? Did you step to it? Did ya try? Or did you find some cockamamie reason not to even try while shielding your ego?

That’s what I thought.

Shut up.

My ex-husband is 100% my EX husband. We’ve mutually agreed we are not going back there again, but as dim as he can be and admits he is, he figured out early on never to let my intelligence and accomplishments be anything but something he was proud of me for. He would brag about me.

See, guys?

That smart woman could be a feather in your cap with the right attitude.

And ladies? Don’t settle for assholes.

I fill my bed

When I roll and stretch

In the middle of the night

Consuming the whole bed –

Not one side – left or right.

—

There’s no warm body

To stop my progression

Only my blankets grip

Requires any concession.

—

Sleep music, chosen by me,

Fills the dim room.

Purple bedding, my choice,

Features flowers in bloom.

—

When I wake in the morning

With my head in one corner

And my feet stretched to the other

I revel in the lack of any border.

—

This is mine – all mine-

And I don’t have to share.

I often forget the beauty

In solitude there.

—

When I wake, to no alarm,

Or to one or to five,

I perk my coffee, play my music,

Find my own way to life.

—

Then a friend calls

Or a loved one rings,

And they’ve got all these stresses

From partner things.

—

They pity me, I think, in my bed alone

But do they remember,

What it’s like to wake up 

Stretch across the whole bed and tremble?

—

Not with fear? But also not joy?

Just that deep, deep broad stretch,

Allowing yourself to take space

Knowing there’s no catch.

—

I forget, sometimes, when lonely

To still be grateful for this.

This is my space and, maybe,

it’s not worth an intrusion just for a kiss.

—

I can bend to my own whims,

No part in any joy but my own,

And when so many have cared so little

And called my pain overblown…

—

I’ll take this space, in bed and elsewhere,

And keep it just for me.

It’s a prize to enter my haven, my warmth,

So you’ll have to adore me.

———————————————————-

This was cross-posted on the Pesky Muses blog already, but it seemed equally relevant here. Part of regaining my strength is not feeling an emotional need to be with somebody, especially if they haven’t earned it and that also means finding joy in the small things like not having to share a bed. I’m sorry to my future partner already, but we might need seperate bedrooms. Honestly, I’m loving this and I’m cool with visits, but I want my own space to retreat to. Still, the bed is just a metaphor in this poem. The ways that being with somebody, especially somebody abusive, requires you to make a million tiny concessions in your day-to-day life? At this point, somebody is going to have to be amazing to get that space from me.

He says “I’m here” (video)

---

I call his name,

He says calmly “I’m here”.

I say it again,

He’s listening to hear.

---

He sees me go dark,

Pricked my memories’ thorn

He waits.

I pick up the pieces another has torn.

---

He finds me and meets me

Where I am at.

He’s never pushing, always steady,

Roll out the welcome mat.

---

Can’t freeze, life is short.

Bright colours, vibrant jokes.

Spinning stories and

Wraps me in his loving cloak.

---

I ask, he answers,

It’s the truth. I’m pretty certain.

He smiles and he shares,

I’m his giggle-box. I’m flirtin’.

---

Can I trust it?

I don’t know.

It’s not his fault.

He’s patient though.

Doubts and dichotomies

There’s somebody who is only like Asshole in the handful of ways I would keep. They are the polar opposite in the ways I need them to be.

There’s somebody I want to trust; somebody who is good to me.

There’s somebody who is patient and kind and seems to never lie.

There’s somebody who is enthralled with me and tells me instead of others.

There’s somebody who’s hands would only seek to bring me pleasure or comfort.

There’s somebody who maintains responsibilities, works on what he sees as weaknesses and owns his truth with every 30,000 daily steps.

And I’m trying to be the me I was before Asshole turned me into a me I never wanted to be.

I’m trying to trust not only their words and deeds but their intentions.

I’m trying to not apologise when I don’t need to and to believe I deserve such kindness.

I’m trying to remember that patience is a gift, not a threat of future guilty obligations, and that most people extend that to those they profess to care about.

I’m trying to convince my body that touch can still be one of the simplest and most pure pleasures without her freezing up.

I’m trying to expect that another adult who wants to enter a major roll in my life can and should maintain a job – a real one – and have mastered the general principles of ‘adulting’ and humility, at least in such sufficient quantities as to not hurt those around them.

Asshole showed me repeatedly what I was worth to him when he already thought he was in control. Actions speak louder than words and even some of his words were particularly harmful.

But he did also say he loved me. He said he wanted all these wonderful things for me.

I know he was wrong to do what he did because I wouldn’t do those same things to anybody, regardless of how important they were to me. I simply wouldn’t treat another human that way.

If he can do it though – if somebody I thought I had reason to love and trust and cherish in my life can hurt me like that, what stops anybody else? Maybe my thoughts about how we should treat one another in general are wrong?

Maybe my judgement really is that bad if I let somebody so dangerous get so close. How can I trust anybody if I don’t feel I can trust my own instincts and perceptions?

So I’m still not sure I deserve this somebody special I’m blessed to know now. The patience they will need to have for me as I ask uncomfortable questions and become occasionally guarded is a lot to ask. The understanding and confidence they’ll need to withstand my trauma-triggered reactions and know that it has absolutely nothing to do with them is a lot. It’s all a lot.

I feel guilty asking, but I don’t know how not to either. I need this. To rebuild the me I want to be, I need somebody willing to give me more kindness and patience and trust than I can give them to start and I know that is a mighty big ask. 

I know. 

I’m still asking. I keep asking, because I also like making them smile. I like knowing they feel more hopeful and curious about new things. I beam when they tell me they feel seen and appreciated.

I’m giving what I can, and asking for what I can’t.