In the previous post, it was probably clear that part of the reason for my dissillusionment about sex is a direct result of choices I have made myself, especially my expectation about having just one sexual partner. If I dropped that expectation, many other potentially fulfilling options would be open to me. But there's another reason I have to accept blame for how things have worked out with H, and I thought it was worth writing about that as an addendum.
For many months after H told me she didn't want to be my wife, I thought of myself as being defrauded. When we married, I believed, and still believe, that a normal expectation of marriage is the mutual discovery of each others' sexuality and a shared joy in pleasing each other physically. I felt that in marrying me she was agreeing with that, and yet my expectation has not been fulfilled.
BUT, I have realised that these sexual expectations I have always held during our marriage have been unfounded. I accept – unhappily, but truly – that H had not considered the implications of marriage 20 years ago. She had not projected her imagination into that future, had not longed for a husband, nor children, nor making a new home, nor settling into one location. I assumed that by saying she wanted to marry me, she anticipated and wanted to explore and enjoy sex with me. But we got married so quickly that there was no time to check that assumption, and I didn’t even think to try. I should have, because if I’m honest with myself there were signs prior to marriage that the assumption was wrong.
(When I write that we got married quickly, I mean we knew each other for several months before "falling in love" one October, we were engaged two weeks later and married in January. That was a fundamental mistake that I could have avoided.)
From this vantage point, I can see that a very harmful effect of my unwarranted expectations has been an imposition on H from which she could see no escape. I regret that this is another consequence of us getting married before allowing time for us to get to know each other more deeply. There are really no justifications for my expectations that she would be interested in discovering our sexuality together or being interested in understanding my sexuality. And hence no justification for me blaming her for not fulfilling those expectations.
—Nat
Saturday 31 December 2011
Saturday 24 December 2011
Sexual frustration and the role of marriage
[This post has taken me a long time to write and perhaps it is too long, too raw and too personal. But I write honestly, in the hope that it also reflects others’ experience and that by me writing it down publically, others may feel some vicarious release.]
Sex has never delivered to me the promise it seems to offer.
In my youth I chose to be a follower of Jesus and inherited from the Christian tradition a commitment to sexual abstinence before marriage and absolute fidelity in marriage. The two go hand-in-hand: abstinence before marriage is really just one aspect of fidelity to a future partner. Monogamy – I mean lifelong monogamy, not what’s become known as “serial monogamy” – is not only unpopular these days, but for many it is a perplexing option. Indeed it is fast becoming unimaginable to many people.
Sex was once reserved as an expression of long-term commitment. Although that wasn’t always the reality, it was the ideal. It seems to me that two changes have happened to that ideal in my lifetime. In the 1960’s and 70’s the view took hold that sex was an expression of love rather than of commitment. If you were in love with someone, why would you not want to have sex with them, and why should it not be legitimate to do so? More recently, sex has become something exploratory prior to any declaration of love. I recall the stars of Sex in the City debating how many times one should have sex with a new “partner” before expecting one or other to say “I love you.”
Those two changes seem to me to constitute a radical reconceptualisation of both sex and marriage, and certainly show that I am way behind the times. I have always thought that the frustration inherent in the “constraint” of monogamy was worthwhile because it would lead to a deeper joy, though it is fair to say that I am disillusioned with that principle at the moment.
BC – Before Consummation :^)
In teenage years, with no useful role model, I simply repressed my growing sexual desires, thinking that they were somehow wrong. But I found that denying them is both impossible and self-destructive.
During my twenty’s I understood a lot more about sublimating sexuality by rechanneling the energy towards other endeavours. That was an extremely productive and rewarding period. Not only was I involved in (what I took to be) meaningful projects, but the self-training in restraint, the commitment to treat women as real subjects rather than objects, and the discipline of delaying gratification were all important in making me a man, and I think, preparing me for marriage. I think I did that in a healthy manner, though it did mean a lot of conscious turning away from “temptation” and unconsciously presenting an image to girls that said “I’m not available or interested.”
Although I didn’t actively seek marriage, or sex, I yearned deeply to find someone to whom I could give my self fully and without reserve. In marriage I sought someone with whom I could form a true partnership. A relationship in which both of us could feel not only the warmth of love but also the total security of lifelong commitment and the freedom to be ourselves without fear of rejection. And I hoped we would discover and explore the pleasures of sex together.
During Marriage
When I found the woman of my dreams and we were married, I mistakenly thought that the time to enjoy my sexuality had come. As I wrote previously, it seemed to me that my penis was at last doing what it was designed for. I experienced a sigh of contentment, a belief that my sexuality was at last able to be expressed in a wholesome giving to another. A sense that a longstanding longing had found it's true resting place. That my half had become a whole. That my sexuality could be the missing jigsaw piece in another's puzzle. That I could offer to H the ideal gift: one that comes from my heart (all good gifts are an offering of one's self) to nourish the joy in her heart.
But those feelings didn’t progress.
I remember an older friend saying that the problem with short-term sexual relationships was that there was not enough time to learn how to enjoy sex. He claimed that sex only became really satisfying after 15 years with the same person. Well that didn’t work for us! Sex didn’t provide any deep satisfaction – to either of us – at any point in our 19 years together. My yearning for intimacy banged up against the invisible wall of H’s passivity and self-protection. In sexuality, probably more than any in other area of our relationship, I have felt rejected to the core.
As is stereotypical of guys, I wished for more frequent sex that H did, and often felt the pain of my advances being rebuffed. She was the gatekeeper with total control over when we had sex. But that’s commonplace. In many cases she would wait until I was clearly desperate before throwing me a bone out of pity. I remember once, after three months with no sex, crying and begging H to understand what she was doing to me. There was no joint journey of discovery and our sexual repertoire was limited to two positions under the covers with the lights off.
But more important to me than the frequency or blandness of sex was her lack of any real interest in my sexuality. Rarely any discussion of sex. No response to my requests. There was no encouragement from H if I was doing anything right, or suggestions from her about what I could do better. There were very few times in the whole 19 years together when H would initiate either sex or even a romantic event. She never tried to seduce me and never even undressed for me. In short, I had H’s permission to have sex from time to time, but rarely her real assent or engagement.
One of the lies that marketers of sex propose is that good sex depends on physical beauty. That’s why we men all irrationally think that the glamorous models we see in the media would be the most satisfying sex partners. Through my relationship with H, I’ve come to believe that it is not good looks, but real desire that makes for the best sex. I enjoyed sex most when my wife seemed to actually want it. The converse, having sex with someone who doesn’t seem to want it, is disappointing and demoralising. Sex that is not mutually desired is empty. (I find the idea of rape not only obnoxious but very perplexing. How can there possibly be pleasure in forced sex? That is absolutely foreign to me. It would be like rubbing one’s penis against a brick.)
All of that is not to discount the pleasure I, and occasionally we, enjoyed. Sex with H has been the most pleasurable experience of my life. Nothing else comes close. It is the activity more than any other that I would wish to repeat.
My biggest frustration is that throughout our marriage there seems to have been the potential for so much more fun and deep joy, if only H had sought it. I lived with the hope of unlocking that potential for maybe 14 years before coming to the understanding that this was all H had to offer me; that she was not able to engage in any deeper intimacy.
AD (After Divorce)
But then H started to be more honest about her experience of our whole history together, and admitted that she had never wanted to marry me and had lived with the shame of doing so from day 1. She felt trapped and smothered. The lifelong commitment I took to be my most valuable gift to her, she saw as a chain. Instead of seeing the complete giving of myself as a blessing, she experienced it as an oppressive constraint that imposed on her an obligation she could not meet.
It is horrendous for me to hear from H that in the latter part of our marriage she would frequently want to cry after sex. I think something like that pain actually goes back a long time for her. When we used to have sex, the show would be over as soon as the first one of us climaxed. I was never told “Wow that was nice, let’s do some more”. She would turn her back to me and go to sleep. That was always disappointing to me, but now it sits like an accusation against me, and a judgement on my manhood, questioning the validity of the pleasures I once felt.
She has also spoken of how she too longs for a more intimate and sexually expression relationship. But I am not the man with whom she wants it.
H clearly enjoyed sex on some occasions, but for some reason I don’t understand, it was not the sort of pleasure she sought to repeat. I am angry that she didn’t perceive the potential joy that I so clearly see in sex, and angry that she has not understood my desire, my craving for it. And now as our marriage dies, I am angry that she has removed that pleasure from my reach.
It is true that I could probably find someone willing to have sex with me for pleasure or money, perhaps eventually even someone who wishes it out of love. But for now I continue the commitment to monogamy I have held for 35 years, a wasted fidelity to H that started well before we met. I grieve the fact that I cannot give myself to another in the way I gave myself to H. That is not just psychologically difficult, it is literally impossible. I cannot become a virgin again. I cannot say to another lover that I have saved myself for her. I cannot say that she is the only one.
Despite that, I still maintain a voluntary commitment to the constraint of monogamy and would recommend the same to my kids. The problem is that I can no longer justify that commitment by the belief that short-term restraint is made worthwhile by deeper future joy. The promise of that deeper joy is a fraud.
Since we stopped having sex, moved to separate bedrooms and then formally separated, my sexual options have become more limited, and the frustration has increased. After a few months of masturbation and porn at least daily, I hated the way that desire could control me. It is unrelenting, corrosive and demeaning.
So now I am trying to put my sexual desire aside. Sublimating that desire now, however, is a more difficult struggle than before I was married. That struggle takes two forms. One form relates to changing the way I respond to beautiful women. When I was married, I could transfer the desire created by that person over to my wife. But that strategy can no longer work. In time, I will re-enter the so-called “dating scene” and start building relationships with women that may lead to new intimacy and sex. I’m not there yet, but that doesn’t mean the natural appetite is dormant. In the meantime, is there a healthy and respectful outlet for such desire? (Perhaps “respectful” is not the best word, but I use it here as the opposite of “lustful”. Lust treats a woman as an object whose sole value is to satisfy – in reality or in our dreams – one’s desire. Lust demeans the woman and as a consequence demeans one’s self.)
The struggle to put sexual desire aside also takes a more purely physical form in the need for orgasm. I do not think it is possible for me to not have orgasms. But nor do I want to allow that inevitability to turn into an addiction, and I know that to be a real risk.
The trouble is that suspending the natural and God-given desire for sex means I am killing part of myself. I can turn the energy into other pursuits but when I’m not busy I am lost. I miss the touch of lips, the feel of the skin between her legs, the softness of her breasts. I ask God to fill the gap that H has left in my life but what could possibly replace that physical touch?
Is there no middle ground between killing this desire and letting it control me? Yes, of course there is – releasing the insistence of sexual energy is one of the primary purposes of marriage! A monogamous life-long marriage is precisely the societally beneficial and God-planned context in which the natural seed of sexual desire can blossom.
I am so freaking angry that the opportunity has been lost.
—Nat
Sex has never delivered to me the promise it seems to offer.
In my youth I chose to be a follower of Jesus and inherited from the Christian tradition a commitment to sexual abstinence before marriage and absolute fidelity in marriage. The two go hand-in-hand: abstinence before marriage is really just one aspect of fidelity to a future partner. Monogamy – I mean lifelong monogamy, not what’s become known as “serial monogamy” – is not only unpopular these days, but for many it is a perplexing option. Indeed it is fast becoming unimaginable to many people.
Sex was once reserved as an expression of long-term commitment. Although that wasn’t always the reality, it was the ideal. It seems to me that two changes have happened to that ideal in my lifetime. In the 1960’s and 70’s the view took hold that sex was an expression of love rather than of commitment. If you were in love with someone, why would you not want to have sex with them, and why should it not be legitimate to do so? More recently, sex has become something exploratory prior to any declaration of love. I recall the stars of Sex in the City debating how many times one should have sex with a new “partner” before expecting one or other to say “I love you.”
Those two changes seem to me to constitute a radical reconceptualisation of both sex and marriage, and certainly show that I am way behind the times. I have always thought that the frustration inherent in the “constraint” of monogamy was worthwhile because it would lead to a deeper joy, though it is fair to say that I am disillusioned with that principle at the moment.
BC – Before Consummation :^)
In teenage years, with no useful role model, I simply repressed my growing sexual desires, thinking that they were somehow wrong. But I found that denying them is both impossible and self-destructive.
During my twenty’s I understood a lot more about sublimating sexuality by rechanneling the energy towards other endeavours. That was an extremely productive and rewarding period. Not only was I involved in (what I took to be) meaningful projects, but the self-training in restraint, the commitment to treat women as real subjects rather than objects, and the discipline of delaying gratification were all important in making me a man, and I think, preparing me for marriage. I think I did that in a healthy manner, though it did mean a lot of conscious turning away from “temptation” and unconsciously presenting an image to girls that said “I’m not available or interested.”
Although I didn’t actively seek marriage, or sex, I yearned deeply to find someone to whom I could give my self fully and without reserve. In marriage I sought someone with whom I could form a true partnership. A relationship in which both of us could feel not only the warmth of love but also the total security of lifelong commitment and the freedom to be ourselves without fear of rejection. And I hoped we would discover and explore the pleasures of sex together.
During Marriage
When I found the woman of my dreams and we were married, I mistakenly thought that the time to enjoy my sexuality had come. As I wrote previously, it seemed to me that my penis was at last doing what it was designed for. I experienced a sigh of contentment, a belief that my sexuality was at last able to be expressed in a wholesome giving to another. A sense that a longstanding longing had found it's true resting place. That my half had become a whole. That my sexuality could be the missing jigsaw piece in another's puzzle. That I could offer to H the ideal gift: one that comes from my heart (all good gifts are an offering of one's self) to nourish the joy in her heart.
But those feelings didn’t progress.
I remember an older friend saying that the problem with short-term sexual relationships was that there was not enough time to learn how to enjoy sex. He claimed that sex only became really satisfying after 15 years with the same person. Well that didn’t work for us! Sex didn’t provide any deep satisfaction – to either of us – at any point in our 19 years together. My yearning for intimacy banged up against the invisible wall of H’s passivity and self-protection. In sexuality, probably more than any in other area of our relationship, I have felt rejected to the core.
As is stereotypical of guys, I wished for more frequent sex that H did, and often felt the pain of my advances being rebuffed. She was the gatekeeper with total control over when we had sex. But that’s commonplace. In many cases she would wait until I was clearly desperate before throwing me a bone out of pity. I remember once, after three months with no sex, crying and begging H to understand what she was doing to me. There was no joint journey of discovery and our sexual repertoire was limited to two positions under the covers with the lights off.
But more important to me than the frequency or blandness of sex was her lack of any real interest in my sexuality. Rarely any discussion of sex. No response to my requests. There was no encouragement from H if I was doing anything right, or suggestions from her about what I could do better. There were very few times in the whole 19 years together when H would initiate either sex or even a romantic event. She never tried to seduce me and never even undressed for me. In short, I had H’s permission to have sex from time to time, but rarely her real assent or engagement.
One of the lies that marketers of sex propose is that good sex depends on physical beauty. That’s why we men all irrationally think that the glamorous models we see in the media would be the most satisfying sex partners. Through my relationship with H, I’ve come to believe that it is not good looks, but real desire that makes for the best sex. I enjoyed sex most when my wife seemed to actually want it. The converse, having sex with someone who doesn’t seem to want it, is disappointing and demoralising. Sex that is not mutually desired is empty. (I find the idea of rape not only obnoxious but very perplexing. How can there possibly be pleasure in forced sex? That is absolutely foreign to me. It would be like rubbing one’s penis against a brick.)
All of that is not to discount the pleasure I, and occasionally we, enjoyed. Sex with H has been the most pleasurable experience of my life. Nothing else comes close. It is the activity more than any other that I would wish to repeat.
My biggest frustration is that throughout our marriage there seems to have been the potential for so much more fun and deep joy, if only H had sought it. I lived with the hope of unlocking that potential for maybe 14 years before coming to the understanding that this was all H had to offer me; that she was not able to engage in any deeper intimacy.
AD (After Divorce)
But then H started to be more honest about her experience of our whole history together, and admitted that she had never wanted to marry me and had lived with the shame of doing so from day 1. She felt trapped and smothered. The lifelong commitment I took to be my most valuable gift to her, she saw as a chain. Instead of seeing the complete giving of myself as a blessing, she experienced it as an oppressive constraint that imposed on her an obligation she could not meet.
It is horrendous for me to hear from H that in the latter part of our marriage she would frequently want to cry after sex. I think something like that pain actually goes back a long time for her. When we used to have sex, the show would be over as soon as the first one of us climaxed. I was never told “Wow that was nice, let’s do some more”. She would turn her back to me and go to sleep. That was always disappointing to me, but now it sits like an accusation against me, and a judgement on my manhood, questioning the validity of the pleasures I once felt.
She has also spoken of how she too longs for a more intimate and sexually expression relationship. But I am not the man with whom she wants it.
H clearly enjoyed sex on some occasions, but for some reason I don’t understand, it was not the sort of pleasure she sought to repeat. I am angry that she didn’t perceive the potential joy that I so clearly see in sex, and angry that she has not understood my desire, my craving for it. And now as our marriage dies, I am angry that she has removed that pleasure from my reach.
It is true that I could probably find someone willing to have sex with me for pleasure or money, perhaps eventually even someone who wishes it out of love. But for now I continue the commitment to monogamy I have held for 35 years, a wasted fidelity to H that started well before we met. I grieve the fact that I cannot give myself to another in the way I gave myself to H. That is not just psychologically difficult, it is literally impossible. I cannot become a virgin again. I cannot say to another lover that I have saved myself for her. I cannot say that she is the only one.
Despite that, I still maintain a voluntary commitment to the constraint of monogamy and would recommend the same to my kids. The problem is that I can no longer justify that commitment by the belief that short-term restraint is made worthwhile by deeper future joy. The promise of that deeper joy is a fraud.
Since we stopped having sex, moved to separate bedrooms and then formally separated, my sexual options have become more limited, and the frustration has increased. After a few months of masturbation and porn at least daily, I hated the way that desire could control me. It is unrelenting, corrosive and demeaning.
So now I am trying to put my sexual desire aside. Sublimating that desire now, however, is a more difficult struggle than before I was married. That struggle takes two forms. One form relates to changing the way I respond to beautiful women. When I was married, I could transfer the desire created by that person over to my wife. But that strategy can no longer work. In time, I will re-enter the so-called “dating scene” and start building relationships with women that may lead to new intimacy and sex. I’m not there yet, but that doesn’t mean the natural appetite is dormant. In the meantime, is there a healthy and respectful outlet for such desire? (Perhaps “respectful” is not the best word, but I use it here as the opposite of “lustful”. Lust treats a woman as an object whose sole value is to satisfy – in reality or in our dreams – one’s desire. Lust demeans the woman and as a consequence demeans one’s self.)
The struggle to put sexual desire aside also takes a more purely physical form in the need for orgasm. I do not think it is possible for me to not have orgasms. But nor do I want to allow that inevitability to turn into an addiction, and I know that to be a real risk.
The trouble is that suspending the natural and God-given desire for sex means I am killing part of myself. I can turn the energy into other pursuits but when I’m not busy I am lost. I miss the touch of lips, the feel of the skin between her legs, the softness of her breasts. I ask God to fill the gap that H has left in my life but what could possibly replace that physical touch?
Is there no middle ground between killing this desire and letting it control me? Yes, of course there is – releasing the insistence of sexual energy is one of the primary purposes of marriage! A monogamous life-long marriage is precisely the societally beneficial and God-planned context in which the natural seed of sexual desire can blossom.
I am so freaking angry that the opportunity has been lost.
—Nat
Thursday 8 December 2011
"As you wish" doesn't work
In my relationship with H, an early commitment was to be her servant. But my intention was never for that to be one-sided. I did not want a relationship where she felt indebted, nor one where I was trampled on. In my mind this was clear from the first, traumatic year of our marriage: I would serve H in the hope that when she felt loved and secure she would also serve me. (Is there any difference between mutual servanthood and mutual love?) But instead, she has experienced my service as oppressive – perhaps as a debt she cannot repay – and built a wall of protection around herself, founded on a mistrust of my best intentions, that prevented any mutuality at all.
I’ve always called it servanthood, but as she rejects that core element of my self-image, my self confidence is shattered. Is it just she who has misunderstood, or do others share the same perception that I am arrogant and judgemental? Have I built my life on a bad idea?
Perhaps generosity is a more helpful image of essentially the same desire. I love being generous: generous with my money, with my time, and in the way I interpret other’s motives. I love the giving of myself to others, and never more than to H.
The whole of our marriage has been made hollow by a lack of intimacy, which makes me wonder what it is that I have lost by now being separated. It’s not as though past intimacy has suddenly been taken away. What’s different now? Even though H didn’t allow herself to be intimate with me, I embedded myself in a sort of one-way intimacy. Always generous to her. Always hoping she would one day see and appreciate it: like Wesley’s repeated “As you wish”. Always serving in the hope that she would one day reciprocate. But my Buttercup never came to that life-changing moment when her eyes opened to the realisation of what mutual love could mean.
What’s different is not any change in what I can expect from H, but that I can no longer express my generosity, my intimacy, with her.
No, that’s rubbish; unhelpful rationalisation. What’s different is that I can no longer feel her warmth next to me in bed, can no longer feel her softness under my hand, no longer exchange a kiss, a cuddle. No longer delude myself that she wishes those things from me.
I knew that she was taking advantage of my generosity, though I mostly chose not to know it. She would never engage in a discussion of it and I drifted in a quicksand of optimism, dreaming that one day she would understand. I should have listened to a counsellor who, very early in our marriage, warned that servanthood [I assume he meant servanthood that is not mutual] is not a good basis for a relationship.
— Nat
I’ve always called it servanthood, but as she rejects that core element of my self-image, my self confidence is shattered. Is it just she who has misunderstood, or do others share the same perception that I am arrogant and judgemental? Have I built my life on a bad idea?
Perhaps generosity is a more helpful image of essentially the same desire. I love being generous: generous with my money, with my time, and in the way I interpret other’s motives. I love the giving of myself to others, and never more than to H.
The whole of our marriage has been made hollow by a lack of intimacy, which makes me wonder what it is that I have lost by now being separated. It’s not as though past intimacy has suddenly been taken away. What’s different now? Even though H didn’t allow herself to be intimate with me, I embedded myself in a sort of one-way intimacy. Always generous to her. Always hoping she would one day see and appreciate it: like Wesley’s repeated “As you wish”. Always serving in the hope that she would one day reciprocate. But my Buttercup never came to that life-changing moment when her eyes opened to the realisation of what mutual love could mean.
What’s different is not any change in what I can expect from H, but that I can no longer express my generosity, my intimacy, with her.
No, that’s rubbish; unhelpful rationalisation. What’s different is that I can no longer feel her warmth next to me in bed, can no longer feel her softness under my hand, no longer exchange a kiss, a cuddle. No longer delude myself that she wishes those things from me.
I knew that she was taking advantage of my generosity, though I mostly chose not to know it. She would never engage in a discussion of it and I drifted in a quicksand of optimism, dreaming that one day she would understand. I should have listened to a counsellor who, very early in our marriage, warned that servanthood [I assume he meant servanthood that is not mutual] is not a good basis for a relationship.
— Nat
Sunday 20 November 2011
I must be a complete idiot
H. says that her friends think I am amazing in the way I have given her the freedom she needs and patiently coped with her. But what sort of crazy man continues to live with the woman who has broken his heart?
Putting aside my wish that it could be so, there is no reason to think that she will treat me any differently in the future. No reason to think that she will want intimacy with me. No reason for her to suddenly become more sexually expressive. No reason she will not continue to see me as a threat and need to protect herself against me. No reason to think that she will become interested in me qua me.
So why do I persist?
Well it is almost certainly the best situation for our wonderful children. This isn’t an explosive conflict situation and they aren’t seeing us at each other’s throats. So being able to avoid the logistical and emotional nightmare of shuffling them between two houses has been very good. Neither of us want to hurt them and the practical challenges of any alternative are a bit daunting. If I lived elsewhere and we took turns looking after the kids, how could I maintain a full-time job and still do all the transporting etc that they need? (How does any single parent manage?)
I understand that although my situation, like everyone's, is unique, it is certainly no more difficult or tragic than the hardships faced by millions of others. I am still well off in terms of money and caring friends and family and health, with all the unfair advantages of being born a white, English-speaking male. But it continues to hurt almost beyond bearing. And I must be a complete idiot to continue trying to bear it.
— Nat.
Putting aside my wish that it could be so, there is no reason to think that she will treat me any differently in the future. No reason to think that she will want intimacy with me. No reason for her to suddenly become more sexually expressive. No reason she will not continue to see me as a threat and need to protect herself against me. No reason to think that she will become interested in me qua me.
So why do I persist?
Well it is almost certainly the best situation for our wonderful children. This isn’t an explosive conflict situation and they aren’t seeing us at each other’s throats. So being able to avoid the logistical and emotional nightmare of shuffling them between two houses has been very good. Neither of us want to hurt them and the practical challenges of any alternative are a bit daunting. If I lived elsewhere and we took turns looking after the kids, how could I maintain a full-time job and still do all the transporting etc that they need? (How does any single parent manage?)
I understand that although my situation, like everyone's, is unique, it is certainly no more difficult or tragic than the hardships faced by millions of others. I am still well off in terms of money and caring friends and family and health, with all the unfair advantages of being born a white, English-speaking male. But it continues to hurt almost beyond bearing. And I must be a complete idiot to continue trying to bear it.
— Nat.
Emancipation and Emasculation
H has cut off my balls. No, that’s too clean. She has crushed them. More accurately, she has slipped a rubber ring onto me, like onto a sheep, and watched for years as the restricted bloodflow killed my manhood. Why have I let her do it?
Why does she act as though her emancipation requires my emasculation? That is a central mystery to me. Why has she seen us as enemies? Why weren’t we able to work together towards a solution?
— Nat.
Why does she act as though her emancipation requires my emasculation? That is a central mystery to me. Why has she seen us as enemies? Why weren’t we able to work together towards a solution?
— Nat.
Sunday 9 October 2011
Carrion Comfort
Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;I studied those words of Gerard Manley Hopkins in high school and wonder now what sense I could have made of them then. How, protected from any of life’s arrows, I could have grasped anything of the anguish and triumph in those words.
Not untwist – slack they may be – these last strands of man
In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
Will you indulge me in a little paraphrasing …?
To give in to despair is an empty comfort, like feasting on a rotting corpse. I will not accept that option. Even though I am hanging on to whatever it means to be human by no more than an unravelling thread, I WILL NOT let go. I will not say “I can’t go on”. I can go on. I can at least take one more step forward. I can last the night and hope for a better day ahead. I will not give up.Even though my marriage has ended as roadkill, the fly-blown carcass of my dreams will not define who I am or dictate what I will do next.
The concept of Despair has captured my interest ever since reading the words of Stephen Donaldson, in a commentary on his own “Chronicles of Thomas Covenant” novels – “In reality as in dreams, what matters is the answer we find in our hearts to the test of Despite.” I wish I could write a book that expounds on that brief sentence, but in the end it would be a dry discourse that did no more than point to the astounding insights in the parable Donaldson has already written. In the series of novels, virtually every character faces Despite – despair personified – in their own way, whether it be giving up, maintaining an allegiance to some law or vow, fighting to the death, or sacrificing themselves. I am forced to ask myself how I will deal with Despite.
“Despair”, said someone to me, “is a Western luxury.” Can’t recall if they were African or perhaps South American, but the point was that in their context, there is no option but to struggle, to live, to continue. One cannot collapse in self-pity because it would achieve nothing. In a Xhosa song I wish I had the lyrics for, the guiding theme is that no matter what befalls us, we will walk, we will walk, and we will keep walking.
— Nat
Friday 7 October 2011
The desire to be known
I have a ridiculous, never-ending whining in my ear, constantly reminding me that something is not right. It cannot be shared with anyone else and no-one but my doctor would want to know about it anyway. The doctor says there is no apparent cause and no remedy.
Whenever I am not active, the wish for someone to hug, like the incessant whining in my ear, invades my consciousness. I am alone in both maddening experiences.
I love so much the feeling of being known. Of not needing to hide. But who wants to know me? Maybe just my mum and God. Why did I marry someone who is the opposite, who wishes for privacy and felt the constant need to protect herself from me rather than open herself to me? And now she’s off on her own journey, no longer even wanting the façade of travelling together.
Regardless of supportive friends, I am totally alone in the ways that are most important to me. Not least of which is the wish that someone was interested in me sexually. I don’t mean someone interested in having sex with me – though that is also an ever-present wish. I mean someone who would actually like to understand how I experience and express sexuality in the broader sense. A female who enjoys my masculinity and who appreciates my converse interest. Someone with whom to discuss desire and with whom to explore passion and pleasure.
At the moment I am neutered sexually, forcing myself to be celibate. Forcing myself to endure alone-ness, hidden-ness, and this ridiculous, never-ending whining in my ear, constantly reminding me that something is not right.
— Nat
Whenever I am not active, the wish for someone to hug, like the incessant whining in my ear, invades my consciousness. I am alone in both maddening experiences.
I love so much the feeling of being known. Of not needing to hide. But who wants to know me? Maybe just my mum and God. Why did I marry someone who is the opposite, who wishes for privacy and felt the constant need to protect herself from me rather than open herself to me? And now she’s off on her own journey, no longer even wanting the façade of travelling together.
Regardless of supportive friends, I am totally alone in the ways that are most important to me. Not least of which is the wish that someone was interested in me sexually. I don’t mean someone interested in having sex with me – though that is also an ever-present wish. I mean someone who would actually like to understand how I experience and express sexuality in the broader sense. A female who enjoys my masculinity and who appreciates my converse interest. Someone with whom to discuss desire and with whom to explore passion and pleasure.
At the moment I am neutered sexually, forcing myself to be celibate. Forcing myself to endure alone-ness, hidden-ness, and this ridiculous, never-ending whining in my ear, constantly reminding me that something is not right.
— Nat
Wednesday 28 September 2011
"Can you still be my friend?"
H hopes that
we can continue to be close friends. In fact she said once that she has
probably thought of me more as a friend than as a husband the whole time. She
says that losing me as a friend would bring more grief to her than losing me as
a husband. She can't understand why I find that difficult and although I have
said I am not able to engage in that sort of relationship, she continues to
want it to be that way.
A while ago I showed her the lyrics to Lobo's "Don't Expect Me To Be Your Friend" and later asked her to watch a YouTube clip from the movie "Starship Troopers" (from about 6:21 to 8:30). She replied "I don't understand how men can't be friends". At least Kate Miller-Heidke understands, so it's not just a male-female difference.
There is no confusion in my mind about the possibility of being friends; no thought that maybe it might work. I simply will not do it and think it is unreasonable for H to expect it. I am angry about her believing that a transition out of marriage into a friendship could be so easy.
H doesn't like how I use the word betrayed, but that is how I feel. Betrayed, defrauded, discarded and crushed. Even if she doesn't understand why I feel that way, I wish she could accept that this is really how I feel. I am not exaggerating or being overly melodramatic or figurative. If you can imagine being treated that way by a person you have given your all to, would you want to be that person's friend?
Do you guys have similar experiences? Anyone on the other side -- i.e. who want to be friends with an ex-wife but she doesn't?
— Nat
A while ago I showed her the lyrics to Lobo's "Don't Expect Me To Be Your Friend" and later asked her to watch a YouTube clip from the movie "Starship Troopers" (from about 6:21 to 8:30). She replied "I don't understand how men can't be friends". At least Kate Miller-Heidke understands, so it's not just a male-female difference.
There is no confusion in my mind about the possibility of being friends; no thought that maybe it might work. I simply will not do it and think it is unreasonable for H to expect it. I am angry about her believing that a transition out of marriage into a friendship could be so easy.
H doesn't like how I use the word betrayed, but that is how I feel. Betrayed, defrauded, discarded and crushed. Even if she doesn't understand why I feel that way, I wish she could accept that this is really how I feel. I am not exaggerating or being overly melodramatic or figurative. If you can imagine being treated that way by a person you have given your all to, would you want to be that person's friend?
Do you guys have similar experiences? Anyone on the other side -- i.e. who want to be friends with an ex-wife but she doesn't?
— Nat
Saturday 24 September 2011
Another N.W.Clerk on marriage vows
I can't believe that there's another N.W.Clerk writing a blog! Well, he was for a short time back in 2007 anyway. What he wrote on marriage vows is quite insightful, and since his blog has faded out and these words may be lost forever, I quote them here (mis-spellings and all) ...
When I promised myself to my wife, I merely articulated reality, that I was hers. I don't think it would have been possible to be otherwise. I be ready to make a vow of marriage, is to be already married, is to already have given yourself to that person. That commitment is always already present. Thus, I haven't yet kept my marriage vow, they've been descriptive rather than prescriptive.
One cay i may find myself in a place where my vows aren't descriptive, where I dont long to/want to be hers. At that point, and only at that point, does my marriage become living and active. Neverthelss not my will, but my word be done.
I was talking to my brother about a friend who has walked out on his wife. "You can live with a girl and no one cares, but if you're gonna marry her then you're in for the long hall" he said. Precisely. When men walk out on their wives (and vice versa) because they "don't feel in love" or "don't love her like I did" they have missed that magical moment where a farce can become a vow. Where a description can become a promise, where easy words become hard promises. Men who walk out when it becomes hard, when it requires sacrifice, or forgiveness, or change have only proved that they were never really married, that they spoke too soon, that they were tested and found wanting.
Marriage is an uncessecary promise made for when it will become necessary. It creates a void that will be filled with suffering rather than desertion, but that suffereing will produce hope and perfect faith.
No wonder the apostle Paul couldn't talk about marriage without talking about Christ and the church.
No wonder James told people suffering for Christ to rejoice.
One day when the gloss has worn off my marriage and life offers me a shinier, prettier, new, exciting other way and I turn aside and say "I can't I'm married" a little bit of me will rejoice, because for the first time I will know for certain I am.
Tuesday 20 September 2011
Help make this a group effort
I am pleased to see the pageviews counter pass 200. On the other hand, I wish there were more comments. Since it is not my intention to simply record my journey through grief, can I encourage you to make this more of a dialog?
I believe there is great value in sharing pain, because through that we can also share joy. I’m not saying that sometimes we can share our pain and that in other, happier, times we can share our joy. Rather, the sharing of pain can itself enable a deeper kind of joy. The joy of releasing rather than suppressing. The relief at finding others who understand. The joy of giving and receiving comfort.
You don’t need to sign up and comments can be completely anonymous.
Please also feel free to contact me via email if you’d like some off-the-record conversation.
— Nat
I believe there is great value in sharing pain, because through that we can also share joy. I’m not saying that sometimes we can share our pain and that in other, happier, times we can share our joy. Rather, the sharing of pain can itself enable a deeper kind of joy. The joy of releasing rather than suppressing. The relief at finding others who understand. The joy of giving and receiving comfort.
You don’t need to sign up and comments can be completely anonymous.
Please also feel free to contact me via email if you’d like some off-the-record conversation.
— Nat
Monday 19 September 2011
The role of the penis
[Explicit Content Warning. Kiddies stay away.]
When we were first
married and started enjoying sex it seemed to me that my penis was at last
doing what it was designed for. I
experienced a deep deep joy, a sigh of contentment, a belief that my sexuality
was at last able to be expressed in a wholesome giving to another. A sense that
a longstanding longing had found it's true resting place. That my half had
become a whole. That my sexuality could be the missing jigsaw piece in
another's puzzle. That I could offer to H the ideal gift: one that comes from
my heart (all good gifts are an offering of one's self) to nourish the joy in
her heart.
Now it's back to
pissing and wanking.
The very essence of
sexuality is dialogue. But now my sexuality is restricted to a solo act
performed in secret and shame.
My poor imagination
leads to H continuing to be the focus of my sex life. But unsatisfiable
fantasies are hardly satisfying! And rather than provide any real release this
just reinforces my loneliness and loss.
— Nat.
Tuesday 13 September 2011
Documenting my anger
I probably have never been so angry as this. I feel so mis-used and betrayed. But who am I angry at? And where do I direct that anger?
I thought it would help -- and it did -- to write down what I am angry about. I listed 30 or so things where the anger was directed at H. Another half-dozen directed at God. And two directed at myself. (I wonder what that balance says about me, and I wonder how that balance might change over time?) The ones about H are the juicy one's that I'm sure you'd love to know. But it seems to me that the other categories are the more interesting ones.
Here are the two things I am angry with myself about...
—Nat.
I thought it would help -- and it did -- to write down what I am angry about. I listed 30 or so things where the anger was directed at H. Another half-dozen directed at God. And two directed at myself. (I wonder what that balance says about me, and I wonder how that balance might change over time?) The ones about H are the juicy one's that I'm sure you'd love to know. But it seems to me that the other categories are the more interesting ones.
Here are the two things I am angry with myself about...
- How is it that I have deceived myself about my own character? It seems that some attributes I held to be my highest virtues are actually failings that have damaged H and our relationship. What pride has preventing me from seeing that before?
- How could I not have seen that H was not ready for marriage? Although we've been married 19 years, our problems go all the way back to the beginning. We were married too quickly and she did not yet have a solid enough self-identity to make a real comitment to me. I can't blame her for leading me on without also thinking that my own wishful thinking and my excitement at finding my "dream come true" was another example of self-deceit.
—Nat.
Friday 9 September 2011
Ground Rules
When H first said that she wanted to go her own way, many emotions demanded attention simultaneously and I was very confused about how to act towards her. But from early on, I set myself three ground rules: no begging, no impositions, no criticism. That resolve was mostly motivated by the well known aphorism: "If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours; if it doesn't, it never was." It looks like she never was.
Later, as we discussed how to navigate the separation, we agreed that even though the marriage had failed, we would at least try to fail with grace. We would continue to be generous to each other. Continue to work together in caring for the kids. Continue to care for each other's well-being, accepting with patience that it was a hard time for both.
I have heard of rare cases where a couple can split "amicably", when both are happy to go their own ways. That's not us. I am shattered to the core and angrier than I have ever been. But neither my pain nor anger nor wishes nor love will bring H back and in reality my only option is to release her. Release her from any obligation to me, so that she can not be bound artificially to me by guilt. And release her from my heart -- much harder -- so that I too can move onwards.
—Nat.
Later, as we discussed how to navigate the separation, we agreed that even though the marriage had failed, we would at least try to fail with grace. We would continue to be generous to each other. Continue to work together in caring for the kids. Continue to care for each other's well-being, accepting with patience that it was a hard time for both.
I have heard of rare cases where a couple can split "amicably", when both are happy to go their own ways. That's not us. I am shattered to the core and angrier than I have ever been. But neither my pain nor anger nor wishes nor love will bring H back and in reality my only option is to release her. Release her from any obligation to me, so that she can not be bound artificially to me by guilt. And release her from my heart -- much harder -- so that I too can move onwards.
—Nat.
Tuesday 6 September 2011
Last thing at night
For me, the end of the day is normally the worst time. The quiet after my kids are asleep emphasises my aloneness and emptiness. I put off going to bed as long as I can in the hope of being so exhausted that I'll be able to fall asleep straight away. A friend of mine, divorced many years ago and still single, is a share trader. He said to me a few weeks ago that there are lots of lonely men up late at night watching foreign markets, trying to keep their sadness at bay.
The sadness of lying in bed alone makes me recall other times and reminds me what I am missing. With nothing else to do, my brain focuses on my loss, and I either cry or get angry. I haven't cried myself to sleep for 35 years! On a few occasions I have taken sleeping pills, with limited success. Last night I watched a movie on SBS purely because the introduction claimed it had a sex scene. (It didn't.) What I find more useful is some deliberate relaxation exercises, and a firm resolve not to end the day negatively.
Is it a tough time for you too? Any good strategies you can share?
— Nat.
The sadness of lying in bed alone makes me recall other times and reminds me what I am missing. With nothing else to do, my brain focuses on my loss, and I either cry or get angry. I haven't cried myself to sleep for 35 years! On a few occasions I have taken sleeping pills, with limited success. Last night I watched a movie on SBS purely because the introduction claimed it had a sex scene. (It didn't.) What I find more useful is some deliberate relaxation exercises, and a firm resolve not to end the day negatively.
Is it a tough time for you too? Any good strategies you can share?
— Nat.
Saturday 3 September 2011
A good day
Not every day is as bad as the others, and today was a good one. The sunshine while kayaking with my son, helping run a barbecue at a fundraiser for SIDS, an afternoon nap -- these help to push the pain of loss away for a while.
One of my strategies is certainly to keep busy. And the last few months have been unusually creative for me. Having been shocked out of my normal life and habits, I am trying to reclaim some interests that have been lost along the way, and find new opportunities.
Busy-ness is an interesting thing. It can be productive, meaningful and helpful for both ourselves and others. But we can also use it to avoid doing things or thinking about something uncomfortable. For myself at the moment, I think it's about sublimating the frustration and pain and sexuality towards something positive. Turning that inner energy outwards, rather than letting it consume me.
I hope you'll be able to do the same, because it can create the possibility of a good day amidst all the hard ones.
— Nat.
One of my strategies is certainly to keep busy. And the last few months have been unusually creative for me. Having been shocked out of my normal life and habits, I am trying to reclaim some interests that have been lost along the way, and find new opportunities.
Busy-ness is an interesting thing. It can be productive, meaningful and helpful for both ourselves and others. But we can also use it to avoid doing things or thinking about something uncomfortable. For myself at the moment, I think it's about sublimating the frustration and pain and sexuality towards something positive. Turning that inner energy outwards, rather than letting it consume me.
I hope you'll be able to do the same, because it can create the possibility of a good day amidst all the hard ones.
— Nat.
Thursday 1 September 2011
All options are dead ends
At the moment, my future looks bleak. I know, I know ... I'll work through the grief process and get to a point of acceptance, ... and some new opportunities will open up, ... and God will bring some good out of it. But in the midst of it, they is all useless platitudes. Knowing about the grief process is virtually no use at all when you're in the middle of it. Don't ever tell a grieving person that it will be alright -- we know with a great sense of immediacy that IT IS NOT ALRIGHT.
I can see three equally difficult and unappealing options: work through all the difficult issues to
re-establish a relationship with H, take the risk of starting a new relationship
with someone else, or becoming a lonely old man. The first doesn't seem at all likely and is out of my control. Could I trust her again anyway? A dead end. The second is almost (but not quite) inconceivable. I have given my heart fully to H. Even if that beaten and broken heart can be repaired, how could I possibly give it again to someone else? I don't want to. I want H. She is irreplaceable. A dead end. The third seems more likely, but unbearable. Can I actually survive without a partner? Without intimacy? Without sex? Another dead end.
— Nat
Thursday 25 August 2011
The back story
Everyone's story is unique and would require a lifetime to retell. But I guess I need to fill you in on how I got to this point.
I fell in love with H twenty years ago. In a whirlwind, we were engaged after a week or two and married three months later. It was a dream come true. H was 21 and I 30.
Our honeymoon was strained, and the ensuing year nothing less than traumatic. The details can wait for another time, but it has been hard work ever since. There have been good times, of course, but although we get on fine and seem pretty successful at raising a couple of kids, our marriage has been unsatisfying to both of us. H has never been a real partner. Rather than allowing herself to relax into real intimacy, she has built barriers to protect herself from me.
At 40, H has reconsidered the whole situation and informed me that she regrets that we got married. This is not a case of having lost the spark, but rather an admission that from the very beginning she didn't want to be married. She knew before we were married that it was the wrong thing, but too unsure of herself, maybe too ashamed, to call it off. She has tried to cope with the consequences of that, and tried to avoid the hurt that she knows being honest would have caused me.
I have loved and cherished and adored H above all else for almost 20 years, and now find that she doesn't want me. Never did want me.
We have been separated for 6 months and I am heart-broken. Not as tearful as I was a couple of months ago, though that keeps returning in uncontrollable cycles. We still live in the same house, which works well financially and for the kids, but it's no great fun seeing the one you love and constantly being reminded that she is not yours.
— Nat.
I fell in love with H twenty years ago. In a whirlwind, we were engaged after a week or two and married three months later. It was a dream come true. H was 21 and I 30.
Our honeymoon was strained, and the ensuing year nothing less than traumatic. The details can wait for another time, but it has been hard work ever since. There have been good times, of course, but although we get on fine and seem pretty successful at raising a couple of kids, our marriage has been unsatisfying to both of us. H has never been a real partner. Rather than allowing herself to relax into real intimacy, she has built barriers to protect herself from me.
At 40, H has reconsidered the whole situation and informed me that she regrets that we got married. This is not a case of having lost the spark, but rather an admission that from the very beginning she didn't want to be married. She knew before we were married that it was the wrong thing, but too unsure of herself, maybe too ashamed, to call it off. She has tried to cope with the consequences of that, and tried to avoid the hurt that she knows being honest would have caused me.
I have loved and cherished and adored H above all else for almost 20 years, and now find that she doesn't want me. Never did want me.
We have been separated for 6 months and I am heart-broken. Not as tearful as I was a couple of months ago, though that keeps returning in uncontrollable cycles. We still live in the same house, which works well financially and for the kids, but it's no great fun seeing the one you love and constantly being reminded that she is not yours.
— Nat.
Wednesday 24 August 2011
Saying goodbye
I have discovered that the real pain of saying goodbye is not the leaving but the sad expectation of returning to nothing.
At times in our marriage I have bemoaned H's lack of excitement when I come home. She normally did not see me off in the morning nor throw herself at me when I returned. But at least she was there and whenever I was away I could look forward to being home again. On business trips, the evenings were always the worst. Being alone. Now home has become merely a house and every departure is a reminder that there is no wife to return to. I return but am still alone.
Juliet was right to say "Parting is such sweet sorrow". For lovers, the sorrow of parting is the seed that promises their re-embrace. Without the parting there can be no joy of returning. The parting creates a delicious glow of anticipation. But for me, goodbyes are now empty of any sweetness.
— Nat.
— Nat.
Friday 19 August 2011
The beginning, or perhaps the end
I went to the doctor with two symptoms: trouble getting to sleep and a constant high-pitched whine in my ears. So he asked about what's going on in my life and I gave him a brief background to my wife leaving me. Over time you'll get a more complete story from me and understand that it's a bit more complex than that, but the doctor could see from my tears that stress was as good a diagnosis for my symptoms as any.
Have you been there too? I think there are plenty of us -- middle aged men who have given their lives to wives they treasure, only to be abandoned.
— Nat.
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