The Pleaser Speaks Up

I think I’m on these waves of depression and anxiety. Some days I’m up and doing just fine and then (mostly) right before that time of the month I get very low and emotional. Not that that is an excuse for all of the things that grip my heart, as I am still very real and affected by all the things that go on around me. I’m so frustrated and getting more so every day. I walk a fine line when it comes to berating the man I vowed to spend the rest of my life with. It’s a fine line there. I want to say so many things but find it hard to spray them here because all you will see is the bad and the ugly. You don’t see the guy who tells me I’m beautiful every day or that he loves me.

Now I’m starting to wonder if he just loves the parts of me that I can give to him and nothing else. What do I mean? He loves the mother in me, because that woman takes care of his kids and picks up all the slack that he does not do. He loves the bookkeeper in me that pays all our bills and plays chess with our money to make it happen. He loves the wife that cleans and cooks and gets the coffee ready almost every night.He loves the worker bee that earns her money and puts in his pot. He loves the party girl who gets tipsy and horny. He loves the workout queen who’s butt gets higher and libido swells.  He loves the sexpot that crawls in the bed and doesn’t put up a fuss when he initiates sex. He loves my parts and my heart when it gives to him. However, he doesn’t like the artist that spends all night painting (withholding sex.) He doesn’t like the friend part of me that takes time to listen and comfort my friends when they need it. He doesn’t like the animal rescuer/lover part of me that keeps and spends money on homeless animals that may infringe on part of his space in some way, or that I will stick up for a pet if they have an accident. He ignores the Bookkeeper in me that says we cant afford something or that I need help. He’s not so happy with the workout queen who is exhausted or doesn’t have time for sex, but needs to go run instead or the party girl who wants to go out with the girls instead.  He doesn’t like the worker bee as I work during times where he might have to take care of the kids or cook his own dinner. He doesn’t like the volunteer in me that keeps me away from him and might be too tired to have sex. He only likes the rebel in me if it’s going on an adventure safe enough for him.He only likes the lesbian in me if I let him be a part of it. In essence, taking who I am and making it about his pleasure.

I feel like I am once again objectified and pieced apart and not loved as a whole. I feel like each time he paws at me I give more of myself away than I want to, just to keep the peace. I feel like if I don’t feed him the parts of me that he likes, my world would be so volatile that I could not enjoy the other parts at all. (He’s not abusive, but very passive aggressive.) I guess it’s good that I can at least voice these things now. Two years ago I would never have written something like this. I painted my life as perfect except that I liked women. It was perfect only because I was still in character as the wife who put all her own shit aside to please her man. Even my coming out to him was a device for pleasure and not an awakening. I knew I was sad but I buried it so deep that it’s still digging. I want to be happy but I don’t want to force myself into a fake smile and a Facebook friendly version of myself that’s digestible for everyone. I want to be hard to swallow sometimes. I want to be dirty and scream with passion. (That can be taken a few ways.) I want a partner who gives a shit about the things I love. Who will stay awake and make me coffee while I paint or retire to bed without tucking themselves into a sleep full of resentment. I want someone who doesn’t fume at our children for small infractions because they were taught no other way. I want love to pour from their heart for not just me but for humanity. I want the world to matter, not just the microcosm we happen to inhabit. I want kisses with sex, kisses filled with so much passion that they themselves could explode. I need more, so much more and I’m wondering why I do not ask for it all.

Why do I feel like I don’t deserve it? Why do I keep myself from the things that I love? Because it displeases him? Because I’m too busy trying to please everyone that I forget about the one person I have to live with, myself. We all forget to listen to that inner voice. We all forget to stick up for ourselves. My mom basically told me when we were still dating that I wouldn’t get anyone better than this so I better hang on to him. She said that we were “lucky” to find men who would love curvy women like us. UGH!!!!  I wasn’t even very curvy then. I was a size 8! I knew then that I was going to marry him. It was in the cards, but I knew that there was more to me than being a wife. I did everything I said I didn’t want to do because I was so afraid to go against what was expected of me. I look back and wonder where that fierce feminist went. I was fiesty yet I never looked up from the playbook to see what it was that I wanted. I was brought up thinking that we could have friends who were gay, family members even, but that it wasn’t really acceptable. My mom wanted to be at my wedding and hold a grand-baby. I found a handsome man who was willing to help me make her happy. How could I say no? With every fiber of my being I was screaming “No” from the inside,albeit, it was buried and muffled. I wouldn’t even acknowledge it. But during my whole wedding I kept thinking about the “one thing” that I hadn’t given myself the permission to explore with the dignity it deserved and now I am lost in it’s reflection.

For now I am contemplative. Wondering where I go from here. How can I unstick myself from this apathy and what will happen when I do?

Marriage, is this where I get off?

What was I thinking when I married this man? Was I that desperate for love that I decided to ignore all our differences just so I could paint a perfect life. An image that never stood up to the reality. We are so opposite in so many ways I wonder how it is that we are even amicable at best. We get along rather well for two people who have polar views on almost everything. I sat in disgust as he watched a hunting show. At first it wasn’t too bad, as they were planning on eating the animal but then they proceed to “accidentally” run over a mother sow and then dispatch her with a knife. I could no longer watch. We talk about politics like we are at the pulpit on opposing debate teams. He sits to center right and I center left, rarely meeting in the middle.

I have had a few husbands stop by here and make comments, usually loving and supportive about their wives who have come out to them. I have also come out to my husband and have tiptoed into exploring who I am at a snails pace.  I find thier remarks so comforting and loving. I wish for any woman who is going through this, have a man like that by her side. I know from experience that it makes it harder to figure stuff out but at least you have a best friend to help you hash it out. My husband has been an amazing listener and friend when I’ve really needed him to be. My family is a bit much and he’s very much an anchor for me.

But I have a confession to make, my husband is addicted to sex. (If you’ve read my blog, you probably already figured that out.) I have seen it over the years wax and wane with his proclivity for porn. I no longer buy it for him, so my guess is that he gets online and surfs the assortment of free goodies from time to time. I only confess this as it deeply affects me when he is bingeing on these images. He tries not to do this often but when he does, he will act like each sex act has done nothing more than fan the flames of his desire. Fortunately, one time is enough to satiate him for an evening, but he comes at me each evening acting as if I was withholding his drug and that he hadn’t had it in forever. He doesn’t get mean, he just pouts and turns over after much unsuccessful prodding.

I had never resented having sex with him until he made me feel like it was my duty. Now, I understand the whole “We are married, and you’re my only source for sex, so please hook me up once in a while.” But there has to be some give on each side. I gave in to the fact that I wanted to be with a woman when I married him, but thats on me, not on him. I gave him lots of fun for many years before we had kids and then many after we had them. My libido has wand moderately but my passion has all but fizzled out. His, on the other hand,his is on fire and burning me out. He stays up way too late every night in hopes to get a piece and when I fail to deliver he grumbles into his pillow and falls asleep only to wake up tired and full of resentment. He carries that with him all day and then when he gets home his attitude dips again with the din of children and a frazzled wife attempting to throw together a dinner as he attempts to cop a feel. Dismissed, he waits till she finally retires to bed where he tries yet again. His efforts go into getting her unclothed and not much more. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great lover, but the thing that makes lovemaking beautiful is lost in the his fever to get his fix. He thinks that I too need a fix and not much else.

I have explained to him how objectified I have felt in the past and he has tried to be less grabby and more respectful but the 22 year old that laid the foundation for our sex life (me) unknowingly built it on sex and the objectification of women. I was young and thought my body was something I gave, not shared. I did not understand the implications of giving away so much that it spoiled the man I loved. I did not understand that I ignored so deeply a part of myself that never wanted to be given away or even shared with a man. I hold all of this on my shoulders and do not blame him for a foundation we built together. He didn’t know about his addiction to sex, as most of us call that being a 20 something. My guess is that he traded in his addiction for alcohol for it. He was smack dab in the middle of going down that rabbit hole when we got together. I didn’t mind being his drug either.

Now, years later, I am older, sometimes wiser, and know what I want more than ever. Being someone’s drug is not it. I don’t want to be the only thing in anyones life. That’s not fair to me and currently that is what’s happening. I am his only thing. That is what is so maddening and scary and sad. I want more for him than that. I want more for myself too. I have given up so much of who I am and when I let that part of myself out, it flourishes. It also scares the shit out of my husband. His drug may not be there for him, even though his wife ALWAYS is. My physical body is gone on a trip or at an event ad when I’m done it may be too tired to give him a dose. That is why I rarely paint. That is why I feel torn when I do my own thing. I am very loyal and yet I yearn for women and have staved that part of myself with precision.  I don’t know how much longer till that line is blurred and my words and worries will fall like autumn leaves to be devoured by a cold chill of change. I hope that he would forgive me. I know that eventually spring will come and we warm to each other as changed people. But first I have to write my heart down and hope that he doesn’t tear my thoughts up. I have to. Where can I find this strength? I have been so depressed that I am sapped of it. I shy from my blog as it screams my words back to me that I don’t want to hear.

I don’t know anymore. I am lost.

A new friend

She is flirting with me and I can feel it tickle my soul. I’m not one for falling for people or looking for “friend” who will one day be my soulmate. This woman is my muse I think. Her half cocked smile and overt flirtation is screwing with my senses. Usually I am very centered but right now I am picturing moments with her like snapshots to savour. I fight the sexual side of myself, holding back a bit because my fear of devouring her will leave me nothing in the end.
I don’t want her to feel as if she were an object because she is a beam of radiant light that shines with ferocity and to ignore her beauty within is to only snuff a candle before you see what light it brings. She doesn’t even know her own beauty yet she wears it with such grace. I think I was brought to her to show her what I see and she is to show me what I have hidden
within myself.
There are no rules right now. We are good friends who talk deeply and share ourselves with each other. Our secrets held out like gems and tarnished antiques as the other treasures each one and keeps it just as safe. She is safe. She needs someone who is safe too.


It sneaks up on me, that yearning and desire. Most of the time I can kind of push it aside and it’s just a quiet scream but lately I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I find myself flirting with every woman I meet, hoping that I would somehow figure out if she is attracted to me at all in the span of an hour in a Zumba class before it ends and she parts ways with smiling eyes and a good bye. Or the impish woman with big eyes and tangles if brown bohemian hair… Or the workout partner whom I once had an incredible night of fun and now she runs in front me and I run after her… Both literally and figuratively. I’m a mess.
My husband pours it on and I feel worse and worse. But sometimes I just want to be loved and he gives that in spades… Ugh… So then I feel so fake. I am pretty honest about my attraction to women but I don’t know if I’m even being totally honest with myself…

The King and I

I’m running on Auto Pilot. Asleep while speeding ahead. That’s kinda what it feels like. I have been working out like crazy, fitting it in where I can. I have been taking so many odd jobs that my “real job” is looking like something I no longer recognize. I have my husband pouring affection on me like honey, hoping it will stick. I respond and play alot of the times. I’m not in-human. I love to be adored. I love to play and he’s great when it comes to that. But then when he starts objectifying me or having far-reaching expectations in the bedroom, I feel crushed. We have deep debates and it breaks my heart because he always so far right while I lean to the left. I create events that are Peace related, community based or Art driven, all things in which he has little interest in. It boggles my mind how we ever even connected, being so very different. Was Paula Abdul right? Do opposites really attract? Or is that they go there to defend their side? I feel like I’m defending my side more and more. Then after we vehemently disagree, he grabs my ass. The discussion is over and now it’s on to sex…

I run and exercise with the woman I had a one night romp with a few years ago. (Let’s call her Tori) My husband knows about it. He hides his jealousy well but it comes out in glimmers from time to time. The funny thing is that it has been pretty platonic even though as she runs in front of me I fight my brain to concentrate on running and not to deviate to fantasy-land. We hav really been motivating eachother. It’s probably the only time where I feel free from work and home.

I struggle with all my responsibilities. I am a pretty good mom but I feel like I’m neglecting my kids during the week. I have no energy to make decent meals as I am the only one who even attempts to clean house on a regular basis or clean up AFTER a meal. My bedroom looks like an episode of Hoarders. I have blankets, papers  and clothes piled high and it has no effect on my husband. My list of shit-to-do is so long that it will be forever before I get to straighten out our bedroom again. He is not affected one iota by its disheveled appearance. I however, am mortified. Our house was just like that too until recently. I paid a friend to help me clean up. In the end my husband vacuumed and threw out the trash. He did put some elbow grease into what he was doing, so I’m not gonna dog him on it, but I have been in that situation before where my best friend came over before a birthday party and the two of us spent a day and a half cleaning while he sat and watched TV. My children have seen this and think it’s soley my job to keep after EVERYBODY despite my best efforts to teach them otherwise. The sad part is, he throws his hands up and says “They will never do it,” almost immediately. This frustrates me more than anything.

I’m sorry,. I don’t like to dis him. I don’t like airing all of my dirty laundry and I probably won’t keep this post up very long because it’s not fair to him. He cant defend himself. But for right now, this is my side and this is how I feel. I’m tired of bottling this shit up.

He loves on me and I feel like I’m pretending. I know that I’ve built a wall between us, so it’s not entirely his fault, but at the same time he has done some things that just disappoint me to the core. Things you don’t tell people because you don’t want them to look at him as a bad guy or a lousy dad, cause over all, he’s a good guy trying to do the right thing.  A good guy who makes mistakes. No he doesn’t abuse me or my children, in case you’re trying to guess. I think it has mostly to do with his anger, his lack of sleep and his list of priorities. He stays up too damn late hoping for sex. He gets upset if its a no, but if he gets it,  it fuels his need for more. He then doesn’t sleep much cause he has to wake up early, he works with an angry man, and then comes home expecting me to play happy housewife with dinner ready, which happens about %50 of the time). He has little interest in playing with or reprimanding the kids, he would only yell from the couch, until he gets mad that they are ignoring him (like he has been doing to them all evening.) I see all this and it turns me off . The screaming, the bad attitudes and the escalations. It makes me less of a mother. It hurts my heart. And then he loves on me… I feel the wrenching of my heart. I turn away as he holds me tight, seemingly pulling my love from me…

I steal moments where I surf the web for stupid ads I’ll never answer. I meet women that I wish I knew if I could come out to and ones I have but haven’t had anything go anywhere. I glance at women at the gym, hoping I might find a smile back. I reach for another world that I know is there yet I have no guts to travel to. As one friend heard from a group of lesbians “I want to be a lesbian so bad I can taste it…” Maybe it’s being a lesbian or maybe it’s as simple as being free. Being free to be who I am without all this shit attached. Maybe I need to just not be married. If I get out, loud and proud, that would be fucking awesome… but it doesn’t HAVE to happen. I just have to be happy and not so damn lonely all the time.

I feel like I’m some Queen in a castle I didn’t build in land thats not really mine. While I have the adoration of the King and frivolous material things that one might align with happiness, I sit alone in all it’s splendor, waiting for something real to fill the void. The closest thing I have now are my kids, but that is a different kind of love and fulfillment. My friends all live in lands far away. When I was young I would have parties and dinners where everyone would come. I would go hang out with my best friend and have dinner. Now I am at home working, working out or with my husband. My free time is spent running and drinking because I need to escape. But all I do is run around outside my castle and drink with my king, getting nowhere.

I’m sorry. I know this isn’t entertaining and I must be griping in just about all my posts about the same damn thing, but I ned to get it off my chest. Yes, I know, it’s insanity… doing the same thing over and expecting different results. Please just tell me how you tell a man who tells you everyday that you are beautiful and that he loves you, that You have fallen out of love with him and better yet, you think you’re a lesbian? How does one do it without  breaking both your hearts and wreaking havoc on your home? I don’t know if I could handle that. I don’t know if I want to crease this picture perfect family, let alone tear it in half.

I took a stupid test on facebook that called me a rebel, yet I am so damn safe it’s scary. Yes, I will stand up for the little guy and call out a bigot with a single swear, but mar the image that I have created of this happily married woman? Not on your life!  It’s so stupid but it’s true. I’m so damn scared of myself and what I really want and how I will look that I am frozen with fear. I learned from my mom that you just don’t really make waves, you just stick it out. That’s what married people are supposed to do. Or at least that’s what they pretend to do. I don’t know anymore. I’m supposed to love this man, flaws and all but it’s not just his flaws that I don’t like, I don’t like his views on a lot of things. our opinions are so night and day, they don’t even share the same zipcode. His commitment and love for animals is wavering at best. I am an animal lover and rescuer. I will spend money and go into debt for pets… he will not. It seems that the only things we share are our high sex drive and humor. (And my drive has been waning, due to age and/or attraction, I’m not sure.) I’m not sure there’s much else that we really have in common. He’s even afraid to dream small. That has eroded many of my dreams into nubs of their former selves. I’m tired of living so small and hoping for so little. I expect more from life and from people. I want to do big things and not feel ashamed when I make plans for such things.

I want to travel and be allowed to dream big. Open my own art gallery. Have adventures, sometimes with my kids and sometime alone. I want to be free. Why does freedom sound so beautiful yet it’s so scary to get there? Why does this have to be so hard?


I look in my mirror at my reflection
but my reflection won’t look back at me
She’s sorting through dreams
deciding which ones to keep
and then she  wipes her hands
brushing them clean

Courage to think big

3c6f2dfcdaf960c07be6d227cf2daf55I have been battling depression a lot lately. Mostly in silence. My blog has been ignored as my life whizzes by at a breakneck speed. I fill every waking hour with something to do trying to maintain some sort of purpose. I take on an ungodly amount of projects yet feel completely lost in them, like I wading in to too deep water and then getting pulled even further out by the riptide. The shore slips further from my view as I frantically swim harder towards it.

I work and work and work. I learned that from my dad. He was always working and had no time for us. My mom too, was a workaholic creating two latch-key kids. It was a free life without much supervision. I was always involved in some after school activity while my sister stirred up trouble. (Not to say she was always stirring up trouble, but it did seem like it.) I never liked having an authority figure in my life. My parents readily gave me my reigns at an early age and never looked back. I can see that in my eldest daughter. I guess being married has always made me feel like I handed over the reigns to someone who has no idea where they are going. So in lieu of sitting up there watching us pass the same mistakes and cross the same bridges I make myself busy. I hide and prepare. For what, I don’t know. The day I get off the wagon? The day I steal back the reigns? I still don’t like to have someone feel as if they have to be “the Man” in the house. If that entails taking out the trash and fixing the cars, then, by all means, you are “the Man.” But if it means that I am below you or who I am, how I feel, or what I’ve done has less value then you most certainly are not “the Man.” And neither am I.

I have been struggling with my weight ever since I graduated from college. I am currently the biggest I have ever been with the exception of my pregnancies. (That was really hard to type.) I have been brought up to believe that this “imperfection” makes me worth less as a woman. I have been feeding my depression as if it were some raging furnace, trying to satiate something inside. It doesn’t take much for me to gain weight, either. Honestly, I have a fat gene that snickers every time I put anything even remotely unhealthy into my body. The sad part is that my goal was to have my ring be able to slip off my fat finger and then I would deserve to be free. How fucked up is that? Like being skinny would give me a pass. That in that event I would now be ready for someone to like me or that I would be worthy of my own attractions towards women because now I looked the part? Cause you know, you can’t be anything but a hot femme, right? It’s the only acceptable alternative to a perfect housewife. Ugh. I disgust myself sometimes. Why do we put ourselves into these boxes that just shut us in?

My mom once went on a tangent about how “lucky we are” because our husbands somehow found us attractive, apparently overlooking our gigantic waistlines. That was sarcasm, cause I’m not huge by any means, but man it sure felt like it when she said that. At one point when I was a vegetarian and at a size 4, I commented on my own “thinness” and she retorted that I would never be thin, but I was skinnier than I used to be. That stuck to me too. I lost my appetite to try and gained one to not care that day. I’m trying to teach myself how much I deserve to be happy at whatever size I am. I can be unhappy with how I feel in the body that I have, but I must accept and love it as a friend and not bully myself. They all say you have to love yourself, and I thought I did. What I’ve realized that I’m loving the future me way more than who I am at this moment. I keep looking at what I might look like if I lost weight, or if I was single, or if I did everything my way. The problem is that tomorrow is over there and we are and will always be living in today. So now I gotta figure out how to love myself as i stand today, fat fingers and all. I have to come to terms with what I deserve, because it’s a lot more than what I was giving to myself. I don’t want to wait the rest of my life to begin because I’m not quite ready yet. We will never be ready, we just have to be present when it happens.

So here I am, finally trying to kill the fat gene with punctuated bouts of Yoga,  Zumba, and juicing. Once in a while I’ll try to run a 5k but my motivation had waned so much it recently didn’t happen. Who cares, I’ll still try to run. I want to feel good and excercise does help. I try not to bully myself in the mirror. I desperately yearn to accept how I look at the moment. It is a struggle. I reassure myself that this is a loveable body. If someone doesn’t love it, it’s on them and not on me. I hope to one day find kindness in my heart and give myself a break. I want to be healthy and will always want to feel fit, but I don’t want to hold myself back for what I am not. We all need to find love for who we are in this very moment. Life is so fleeting and today will never be here again. So when we move from it, we all must move towards healing and acceptance. Courage is beauty in its purest form.