It’s Called Emotional Distance
I never had a name for this nebulous feeling of being in the emotional wasteland. This place looks rusty, dark, dank, industrial, and raggedy. It’s a place that nobody loved enough to ever maintain or fix up.
Why did I keep revisiting this grungy place? I got here by mistake, not by design. When I felt that I was at the mercy of his attention or lack thereof, I felt helpless and trapped. I was committed to a less than satisfying relationship. Full of self-doubt and not knowing what to do, I turned within. By applying mindfulness and other meditative techniques, I developed a rich inner world.
That’s great to make lemonade out of my sour lot in life, but could it be better? I mean in the outside world. It has to be, because now I’ve heard that there’s a name for what I’m living. There’s a shared experience that other people grew up with, as well. When I told my sister, when we were kids, “Being hit would be better than this,” we didn’t have names for it either.
People tend to marry other people who will push those same emotional buttons, thus giving us a chance to resolve this dynamic forever. I married a perfect match.
Dang! It’s taken all the 34 years of marriage and all that misery of growing up to learn the name of it.
You better believe I’m all about solutions. But I have to be patient.
That still, quiet voice tells me to sit back and let the Great Unknown lead the way. So far, that’s the only way to describe how this hope of an emotionally close marriage found me. It’s knocking on my door. Is it for real or an illusory promise never to be fulfilled?