On Burdock, Relationships and Apocolyptic Fog -L.
Sunday, June 25th, 2023:
It was freakily apocalyptically hazily reddishly smogged today in Montreal. An alien spaceship could have descended at Place des Arts and it would have blended right in.
The winds must have shifted.
I guess the Quebec forest fire smoke has finally made its way to Montreal…after stopping in NYC?!
Wind is weird.
A couple of weeks ago, everyone and their mother sent me texts asking if I was okay, and I was like, smog? What smog?
Meanwhile, my brothers’ family in Staten Island was quarantining and people everywhere were talking about NYC’s toxic glow.
On our way home from Bolton Spa last week, we could see this reddish glow to the north. It lit up the clouds all spooky-like.
You know, movies about the end times usually feature, um, hmm, let’s think about this? Pandemics, out of control forest fires, wars…
Ummm…
That’s kind of now.
But we’re all just like, “eew, smog,” and then go to our yoga class. At least, that’s what I did this morning, because if the end times are coming, what’s going to change, really?
I forgot how awful breakups feel. I felt like an elephant had sat on me yesterday. And no, it doesn’t matter that it might not be a breakup (though I think I’m mentally preparing myself for the worst. Or, the best, right? Because if we’re not meant to be together, we shouldn’t be together. I hope to have at least learned that in my continuous but never-ever-lasting string of relationships.)
Today I finally completed the Etienne and Me orbit page in my journal. I already did one for Gale, one for Mommy, one for Marijuana…I think maybe it’s telling that I hadn’t prioritized his.
It was kind of appalling, once I put the truth on the page.
The truth is, my relationship with Etienne has been full of fear. Full of it! Full of fear of being me; of him rejecting me; of him disappointing me. Fear that I’ll be bad at poly, that our relationship is just an illusion, that…So much fear. It’s awful, really.
What is a relationship, anyway?
Two kids in kindergarten say, “You’re my boyfriend. I’m your girlfriend.” (Or maybe they’re gender-fluid? Are little kids so validated these days that even the lesbians can come out of the closet when they’re little? I guess it depends on your postal code and what the Local Social Police have to say.)
Anyway, the point is, is that all it takes? Saying those words? I am, therefore I am your girlfriend?
A couple can sleep in separate beds for years, utter not a word, but still be married until the day they die.
Fuck, I keep forgetting, but hell, I’m still married to Gavin!
I thought, too, about what I do like about being with Etienne. I think I love the imagery of having a Nomad Boyfriend. I love the potential for travel, and French, and play, although we seem to not really do too much of it. I love his kindness, his empathy, his emotional awareness and his willingness to grow.
I love his eye crinkles.
I love how kind and gentle he is, although he does drive me crazy by always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. (Some people no longer need the benefit of the doubt, and should be condemned. Period.)
Two years ago, when he and I were just in our beginnings, I asked Mommy for advice on the difference between lust and love.
I wrote it down in my diary.
UGH NO MORE MAN ORBIT! I’ll find the diary entry later (but in a nutshell, what she said was that when you’re in lust…okay wait I’m gonna find the diary entry and THEN we’ll be done with the man orbit.)
Oh no.
Well, I found the diary. (It’s beautiful, clicks closed with a magnet, smooth blue binding, a fairy playing a flute on the cover.)
The universe, of course, had me open to this page:
La maudite sagesse d’Etienne (Etienne’s damned wisdom):
“It may be difficult, but having feelings is beautiful.”
“It means you’re alive
“…Learn to savor it.”
“If you never feel them, they stay with you. So let them out. Then they are free, you are free, and everyone is happy.”
On the next page, one final quote: “Don’t hesitate to have other nervous breakdowns with me.”
My cheeky retort, in purple, with a heart: Careful what you wish for!
Oh, my heart.
Okay, the Mommy advice.
Oh, shit, this diary.
I don’t think I remembered how much there was. Or maybe I did, and it’s why I hesitated to go look for it.
My poor self, two years ago…What a fucking roller coaster it has been.
Oh shit. Okay, I just found this page, from 4/27/21, more than two years ago:
Etienne Orbit
(Tempting but not a good idea)
-Prioritizing his opinions (on body, covid, etc) over my own
-Greed with his words: Anticipation and anxiety, rushing through like a binge, deflation afterward, anxiety and feeling of not-enoughness
-I don’t believe in our trip this summer. It doesn’t feel real. I don’t trust us yet. I don’t remember the real-ness.
Shit…it’s still the same stuff.
I feel like my relationships are ALWAYS like this. Maybe everyone’s are?? You identify things at the beginning, you think, we can get past this, and instead you build a thousand layers of insecurity, projection and assumptions that just fucking ruin the magic.
Could this time be different?
I honestly don’t know.
Mommy thinks fervently that it can be. She says that we care about each other and we’re willing to admit to mistakes and talk, and that that’s all it takes.
She also says that if it doesn’t work, it means we’re better off without each other, so then that is still a happy ending.
Etienne said the same thing.
So did Mistress Me.
Rolls eyes.
Okay, just for the record, Baby Girl absolutely positively DOES NOT THINK that a Happy Ending happens without a Prince.
Okay, so we’ve identified that now. This is good. We’re making progress.
Aww this diary has other things that have nothing to do with boys. My reclaiming my creativity, for instance. My identification of things in my metaphorical garden that needed watering, for another. The little purple flowers in my stick drawing are cheerily alive in the “work” section, and wilting or dead in the “friends,” “creativity,” “health” and “trauma wounds” sections.
More in the diary…my remembering the things I love: handstands…good food…friends.
I’m still poisoned now, but two years ago, I was much, much worse.
But what a cute little thing I was, filling up my diary with wisdom and magic.
I bloomed. I bloomed out of the tar sands, with a lot of hard work, and the support of my friends. And of course, Mommy. And also, Etienne.
I’ve been downgrading the importance of our relationship while boastfully thinking I’m being a grownup about it: Look at me! I have a polyamourous nomad boyfriend and I’m too enlightened to have feelings about it!
Can I blame Gavin for this? Because he taught me that I should ignore my feelings and hide my true self?
I can, I think. But it would only be partially true.
Okay, I found it.
It was in a different diary.
This one has a pretty blah cover…it’s almost scratchy linen, and it randomly says Summer on the cover, with a symbol that might be Japanese but also might not be.
Inside, though, is gorgeous. Random splashes of paint are unique from one page to the next, so you’re writing on plumes of color. Faded turquoise, hints of purple.
This particular set of 2 pages is almost fully taken over by paint. At the top, where the absence of paint has left the pages white, I’ve titled in purple ink:
Rules for Emotional Sanity While (accidentally) Falling in Love.
Check-in:
- Infatuation v Love: You like what you see so far. You don’t know their flaws.
- Fantasy v Reality: Fantasy is what you think (or imagined) he has said. Reality is what he has actually said.
- Compare him not to another person, but to your ideals: Take your time and get to know him, instead of projecting who you want him to be.
— Mommy
I can remember exactly where I was sitting when I wrote this. On Mommy’s bed, at her apartment.
At the bottom it says, “Dating is not the same as living together, which is not the same as spending your lives together.”
But the quote I was looking for is this one.
Infatuation versus Love:
“For love, you have to know the person. You know their flaws. And you love them, not despite their flaws, but because of them.” -Mommy
(It’s possible Mommy will correct me, but I believe she also said something like, “Because that is who they are, the good and the bad, and it is what you want. They are your kind of human, good, bad, everything. You are glad that those are their flaws. You can live with them.”)
Gah gah.
This diary has a lot of other things in it. Like on a milky cloudy page set that is only half covered in paint, there’s a drawing of a baby girl and her prince. It’s titled,
Fear of rejection. Scared to trust.
Cloud bubbles float overhead: What if the love is unequal? What if I scare him away? What if my heart gets broken? What if I become addicted to him, or if I already am?
Mistress’s Dumb Advice:
Be a Princess to his Prince
Strong
Grounded
Stable
Fierce
Wise
Independant!
(Also be careful, because sometimes Prince Charming is an asshole in disguise.)
Gah gah.
That was on February 11th, 2021.
I didn’t see my Etienne garden wilting. GAH GAH! But but…it was a jungle, and he wasn’t watering it either! He’s always like blah blah blah, we’ll see what naturally develops, blah blah blah, we’ll organically let it…I mean, sometimes you have to water a garden! And weed it, a bit! There are fucking SNAKES in our garden, now!
Oh, my heart.
On pages splashed with light purple:
March 3rd, 2021:
“The time spent with you is…Magical.” -Etienne
“Smile just keeps climbing ear to ear all day. Also, we make a rather fearsome pair. :)” -Etienne
“You can stay here for as long as you want.” -Gale
“Ma petite bulle de joie.”-Etienne (My little ball of joy.)
On an all white page, except for two drops of light blue seeming to bounce down the page:
I will not APOLOGIZE for my tears. I will not be BULLIED for my laughter. I will not be AFRAID to be me.
What happened?
Okay. Man orbit. Leaving man orbit. He’s taking space, so should I.
And I have! I have, definitely.
I mean, apart from thinking about it absolutely non-stop since leaving him yesterday.
I couldn’t move. I mean it. I know I wrote a billion pages but I was like a zombie in a trance.
It hurt to move.
It hurt to think.
I cried. i think I managed an orgasm. I also lay numb on the bed for hours.
I forced myself to put food in my mouth.
Is this because I love him so much or because disappointment is hard and projected realities are heavy when they come crashing down?
Today I absolutely positively had to be a grownup. Luckily, it helped that I had fallen asleep at 8pm last night. And honestly it’s probably good that I had to be grownup or else I may never have made it out of bed.
I was up at 7am, eleven hours later.
I felt awake, and somewhat alive.
I checked my email and nothing had exploded.
Then I prepped for this afternoon’s seminar and took a yoga class in the City of Weirdass Scary Smog.
Then I directed the seminar, and only had one cranky woman at the end who I didn’t even take personally, at least not after the first stab to the belly before I realized she was just out of control upset for no reason.
I’ve been there.
I (mostly) calmly de-escalated.
I sent her on her way.
I smoked a joint in the spooky reddish haze of my terrace, and watered my definitely-not-organic plants.
Etienne and I have a lot of jungle to tame.
And he may not want to.
And maybe I don’t, either.
Maybe the fantasy of nomad-boyfriend never quite lined up with the reality of nomad-boyfriend. Or maybe it did, but our fears squashed it.
Oh goddamnit, my stomach just reminded me that I’ve been so stuck in the goddamn Man Orbit so long I’ve forgotten to feed it.
And there’s nothing in my fridge.
And if I think about my To Do list for the next two weeks before I can make my great escape, I might die of overwhelm.
Two more weeks. Two more weeks. Two. More Weeks.
(And in between, a two-day seminar. Round three for the hopefully final phase of Evil Tax Paperwork. Closing ALL my spring projects. And then…hosting Willow for a week. It’s happening! The cars are rented, the Cirque du Soleil tickets purchased…And of course, this morning I received a dictionary from my sister regarding what “Willow’s current diet” is. Really, Mindy? Really, it is “her” diet, and not, for example, yours?)(I’m sure my sister would retort that no, it is her diet, because my sister’s is different from everyone else’s in the house, because everyone eats according to different plans that she has drawn up and orchestrated.)
(Willow and I are going to discuss boundaries, taking time for ourselves, and speaking our truths while being kind when she arrives, because I think we’re both going to be triggered about a million times.)
Two more weeks.
Love,
Super Boss Bitch, Mistress Me and Baby Girl
PS I told Patrick I had multiple personalities. He said, “Are they all different people, or are they just different iterations of the same person?” And I said, “Yes.”
Tuesday, June 27th, 2023:
“I feel all the ickies, Mommy,” I said.
“Well, what happened with Etienne is new,” she said. “It’s like a storm cloud living in your head.”
“But how do I get rid of the storm cloud??” I asked.
“When you have all the thinkings, and then you put them together and tell them to him.”
“But I’m not ready to, yet,” I said sadly. “So is the cloud going to be there this whole time??”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “It’s gonna be hanging out. But what you do is, when it starts to really poke at you, you think, is now the time to meditate and gain perspective? And if it is, then you do that. And if it’s not, then you…”
“SEND IT TO THE MOON!” I said triumphantly.
So that’s what I’m trying to do. Send it to the moon, that is. It needs to percolate. We just did two years’ worth of relationship unpacking, me and Etienne. We can’t just resolve it all in one day.
Meanwhile, I messaged Gale on our sensitive thread:
Hi. I love you. I’ve had an earthquake of a month. I think I’m going to spend most of July hiding from the patriarchy. I rented a tiny home and I have some nature trips planned. I don’t think I’m ready to have The Conversation yet. Is it okay if we wait a moment? If you need anything, message me here. Please know that I love you and that one day we’ll heal all the things. I hate that everything feels fractured, but I guess that’s life outside the garden of Eden.
She waited a day, and then responded:
Hi. Thanks for your message. I love you too. I feel really torn up. Of course take all the time you need.
And that’s that.
So Etienne and Gale are on the moon right now, and I’m trying to remember that the voice inside myself that says, nah nah nah, your boyfriend can’t handle you…is a mean, lonely voice that just needs a bit of love.
“I’m broken, Mommy!” I insist.
“You absolutely are most certainly not,” she replies firmly. “You are a traumatized Baby Girl, for now, and you won’t always feel this way. You’re already much much better and happier, and everything is going to be just fine.”
I’ve seen Mommy a million and a half times in the last two weeks. The best thing is that they were all happy surprises. The dreaded anticipation and potential disappointment of the Mommy Orbit is no longer quite so fierce. All the conversations, all the reassurances, all the honesty and the adaptations to accommodate our unique boundaries…all our hard work is paying off.
Thank god. I couldn’t handle any more Relationship Destabilizers right about now.
Wednesday, June 28th, 2023:
My second to last day of being a grownup (unless you count when Willow comes to visit next week. I guess I’ll have to adult a tiny bit then.)
Those sneaky, cheeky basil plants! I caught them trying to send up flowers. Oh no you don’t!
I released, today.
I think the three orgasms helped. It only took Mommy and me 72 hours of intermittent foreplay…
I let go of all my self-flagellating with Etienne. Well, “all” is probably extremes thinking, but I physically feel like I’ve let go.
I was askin’ Mommy what I should do, and if I should send him a message or not, because sometimes I just think of nice things I want to say.
And she said, “I don’t know. I guess you have to ask him!”
Oh. What a novel concept.
So I sent him a Messenger message. I told him I loved him and I was grateful for him breaking the ice, and had insight to share when the time was right. Then I asked him if he still wants to hear random things from time to time or if that’s too much for his space.
He hasn’t seen it yet. I know he hasn’t because once he has, the checkmarks will turn blue.
He has seen the Whatsapp message, though, where I said all the heart-to-hearts on Sunday. A few of them, anyway.
So that means he’s heard my thoughts.
And now we’ll take care of ourselves and see what happens, so either way we win.
I’ve declared war on the burdock in the backyard.
It will likely win.
It has all summer to send up its evil little shoots and spew its burry seed all over everything.
That’s kind of why I’m okay with the war. I know it’s a worthy opponent. Also, the world has enough of its burrs. It is very good at reproducing.
Did you know that burdock burrs were the inspiration for velcro?
You can eat burdock root (although not after it flowers, so…) I did, when I was a kid. I used to be fascinated by wild edible plants.
I kind of still am.
Anyway. I don’t feel so horribly depressed anymore. Honestly, I’m glad Etienne said something.
I can’t believe how scared I’ve been feeling when I see him.
And the fucked up thing is, he’s really not scary.
The fucked up fucked up thing is that things still felt so much better comparatively, that I was like, hmm, this is weird and awkward and I can’t relax in his presence but god this is the best relationship ever!!
I still don’t know what it will take, but I’m kind of assuming we’re going to have to correct our orbits for a little while. Like maybe not talk.
I need to work out all these patterns I have with men. Like making them prove themselves. Like constantly feeling like I need to hide my true self to win them over. Like feeling like I’m not enough.
Mommy says girls are taught, from the beginning, that men have to earn themselves with us. I think she’s right. I also think that we’re taught that we’re a thing to be earned.
I think the truth is, love is a thing that we cultivate, together.
Brené Brown agrees with me.
The good news is, I’m learning how to do it. So no matter what happens with Etienne, good things lie ahead.
When I was out in Oregon, Patrick kept talking about what his type was.
For a moment, I thought it might possibly be me. Because he was all, “I’m attracted to women who are smart, and older, and hot, and hispanic or in that world…”
Which I am all of those things, if I do say so myself!
But then he was like, “You know, you should date my brother! He’s single and your age.”
Ouch.
Okay, so the little brother vibes were real.
But then a few days later at the party, I got some kind of less little brother vibes. Like, I was probably the first person to lean my head on his shoulder casually, but he definitely reciprocated.
He also spent the entire night checking in with me and making sure I was okay. I was pretty self-sufficient, and told him so. I also insisted he keep partying when I caught an Uber home at midnight — just in time, too. I was exhausted from presenting all day and had a little more to drink than I’d anticipated. Then Sunday I was to spend all day on an airplane.
Anyway, the point is, once I leaned my head on his shoulder, he reciprocated, and then he was all,
“Why haven’t we been touching this whole time?”
And I was like, “Well, I mean, I didn’t think you wanted to!”
And he was like, “Why wouldn’t I?”
And I was like, “Um, because you’ve kind of made it clear that I’m not your type, which is fine, but then I’ve kept my distance, and plus I didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and also, you’re kind of giving me mixed messages and I’m not sure what to do, because you are a cute boy after all, and…”
That’s when he said he wanted to be friends.
“I don’t have a lot of guy friends,” I admitted. “But…friends with snuggling benefits?” I thought about it. “Okay. I’m cool with that.”
He’s going to make some woman so happy one day.
I think.
I’m not sure, actually.
I flat out asked him about it. I was like, “All these stories you’re telling me, about how you’re doing all this emotional work and getting yourself ready financially to pour your love and provide comfort and family for a woman…and all the meals you’re cooking and just…you make yourself out to be pretty damn perfect. So what are you not showing me?”
It was true. He cooked me all the things, and picked me up at the airport, and I’m supposedly just a friend, although I wonder if that’s really true. (My mom says there’s no such thing as being friends with the opposite sex. For heterosexuals, anyway.) But yeah, I was like damn, I could consider monogamy if I got this kind of treatment.
Anyway, he thought about my question, and said that he could be very controlling. He said that when he was with his ex (who he was with for eleven years. And he’s only 26. So at the time, that was literally half his life) he didn’t even want her to work during the pandemic. She wanted to do things and he wouldn’t let her.
Hmm. Okay. Thanks for your honesty.
Anyway, that’s not even the point. I started writing about him because he was going on about his stupid type, and he said that he preferred women who are confident in their sexuality.
“I’m a tall, white man. So I don’t like to make the first move, because…I’m a tall, white man.”
“Thank you,” I said, “On behalf of victimized women everywhere. We appreciate it!”
But we also like it when they make the first move.
I get why he doesn’t, though, and I appreciate the thought behind it.
Etienne also likes women who are sex goddesses. He told me when we started out that he liked a tigress. (I told him I couldn’t be a tigress for longer than 30 seconds, but could definitely be a tiger cub, which he appreciated.) I guess most men will (Gavin didn’t, but that’s because he had no morals or backbone).
The fucked up thing is, it’s so hard for us to be sex goddesses.
It’s hard for me, anyway. It’s hard for most women. We learn to hate our bodies, to be scared of our sexuality, to hide our power…we don’t learn how to channel it for good.
But I will. One day, I won’t be quite so traumatized anymore. One day, the barriers to Goddessdom will come crashing to the floor.
And the world will hear my Tigress Roar.
Love,
Lorelai
