It's so easy to lump all people that remind you of something in your past into a category when you align your experiences and give a summary report. If you've met one man after another that made you feel more sorrow than joy, it's easy to assume this is all men.  I'm doing it here but I'm also throwing in some empathy.  I can't help it.  Empathy is a gift and a curse. I'm the kind of person that will cry for strangers while watching the news, so I don't watch the news. In thinking of my past relationships, I can can say him, and easily mean most (but not all) of the men I've dated. It's a pattern and for the most part, you won't be able to pick out one person I'm describing because most of my dating life blends into the same persona. 

I had the lyrics to an Alanis Morissette song playing in my head all day.  It was Sympathetic Character and I'm sharing her lyrics: 

I was afraid you'd hit me if I'd spoken up I was
Afraid of your physical strength I was afraid
You'd hit below the belt I was afraid of your
Sucker punch I was afraid of you reducing me
I was afraid of your alcohol breath I was afraid
Of your complete disregard for me I was afraid
Of your temper I was afraid of handles being
Flown off of I was afraid of holes being punched
Into walls I was afraid of your testosterone

I have as much rage as you have
I have as much pain as you do
I've lived as much hell as you have
And I've kept mine bubbling under for you

Chorus: 

You were my best friend
You were my lover
You were my mentor
You were my brother
You were my partner
You were my teacher
You were my very own sympathetic character

I was afraid of verbal daggers I was afraid of the
Calm before the storm I was afraid for my own
Bones I was afraid of your seduction I was afraid
Of your coercion I was afraid of your rejection
I was afraid of your intimidation I was afraid of
Your punishment I was afraid of your icy silences
I was afraid of your volume I was afraid of your
Manipulation I was afraid of your explosions

I have as much rage as you have
I have as much pain as you do
I've lived as much hell as you have
And I've kept mine bubbling under for you

You were my keeper
You were my anchor
You were my family
You were my savior
And therein lay the issue
And therein lay the problem

I've never been punched or slapped in a relationship.  I think that was always a limit for myself and I made it known I had no problem calling the police and pressing charges. In my head, that was a solid line.  That and actual physical cheating and I was done.  There's no coming back from that. 

But I forgave emotional affairs.  Over and over.  I accepted his confession when he admitted that he met her in person and she was fat and so I had nothing to worry about.  That confession never came with an apology.

I'm also sure my supportive family posed a big enough threat to anyone that would consider physically harming me.  I never  made the call to, "go get him." I'm too much of a lone wolf to rely on my family for that.

Then again, I put up with a lot that was just shy of physical violence and I was so convinced it was all in my head. It wasn't a big deal to him, so I had no right to make it a big deal. It was my obligation to take what I was given because if it was given to me, I earned it somehow.

Actual physical abuse is one of those black and white situations that I've always used as a reason to accept other things. If I'm not beaten, how could it be abuse? That's obvious, right? But what if sex is just a little rough? That line from pleasure to pain is a thin one and I was used to just gritting my teeth and waiting for it to be over.  The line between his pleasure and my pain blurred.  What if I wasn't in the mood, but this was a relationship, and I was supposed to share his mood to influence mine or at least help him. Or what if he's had a rough day and he's stressed and he needs to say what he just said to me because he can't handle his emotions and I need to help him? I can accept that apology later because my rage has some pretty mean things racing through my mind too.  I was his covering. I was his mother and his friend. I was his first choice to be a dumping ground because he knew I loved him enough to forgive him.  I was okay being taken for granted.  Granted, I was there. Granted, I gave more than I got. Granted, we should have just walked away because that's not love. It was all shades of the darkest gray. And I stayed. 

I've since learned about financial abuse, and emotional abuse.  I've learned about being isolated and gas lighted.  I've learned about being threatened with leaving. I've learned about ultimatums and threats of self-harm used as control.  I also know it's not always intentional.  I know that they use what has worked in the past because simply asking for what they want wasn't enough.  They don't see it as a control tactic but stating what they feel because they don't see other options to get what they're feeling to improve. My goal is to teach my boys that they matter enough to not have to resort to controlling behaviors.  They are loved enough that I would want to do what I can do within the limits of my abilities. It's not a matter of worth or earning, or deserving something. I give because that is part of how I love and I love simply because I choose to every single day. Because they are mine.  Because I have enough love in myself to love them and love myself and teach that there's enough love and no one can take all of it from them. 

Empathy is a gift and a curse.  It was easier to justify what I accepted.  It wouldn't last forever.  I felt pity for him and my thick skin wouldn't let his emotional abuse fully land because I could see it was from the broken parts within him.  I could see his pain even if he didn't care about mine, so I took it so he could release it.  There were good memories. It always started off passionately.  He may have been a jerk to the world, but he was kind to me.  At first.  I would remember how good it could be and that made me hold on through how bad it was because of the hope that it would be good again.  And then I realized that my black and white limit was making too much space for the gray areas.  The limit was mine to move and I did. 

Thinking back on the many men that shared the same behaviors, it was a pattern and I can see it now.  It's a pattern that I'm not alone in living. Just like Alanis, I was afraid of someone's anger.  I was afraid of being hit, and so careful to pretend I wasn't afraid.  I didn't react at the sound of things being broken. He may have been punching the door but he wasn't punching me. I accepted that things that held so much meaning to me were thrown away by him. Sentimental mementos I wanted to keep were things that brought me joy independent of him.

I was given jewelry and things I loved that I kept locked away because it felt like a betrayal to the shallow joy I had in my relationships. I felt like he (the many of them) would be jealous of my past because they weren't part of it.  They didn't create and control it. I realize that is more about me though.  My joy from the past couldn't show up in my present because being in a relationship that wasn't fulfilling was a disconnect I couldn't reconcile. 

I made myself small. I didn't raise my voice.  I kept carefully out of his reach as he raged, or as his sideways glances shot daggers my way.  Just in case.  If you were to get his side, he would tell you he would have never hit me and he didn't.  But no matter his intention, I can't shake the fear his intimidation made me feel. He can't tell you how I felt. That's my job. I learned to keep my emotions in check, crying so silently that he couldn't tell, even if he cared to because I wouldn't give him the satisfaction or the ammo. I kept my rage in check to the point he couldn't tell when I was angry.  I was often angry and it looked like sorrow, but in time, I realized I'm usually happy when I'm single, so maybe it's not me.

To this day, I can tell you what happened as a detached history of my existence, but it's really hard to tell you what I'm feeling through it all. It may wait until I'm no longer feeling it, and I know that when I speak up about something I feel, I'm being brave. I'm honoring the part of me that wants to be brave by giving myself that voice that was so severely silenced. It's saying I honor my thoughts enough to say them in complete vulnerability. I have fear.  I have anxiety. But my voice serves me more than my silence. It's okay to believe my version because it's mine, no matter what someone else tries to convince me. 

Because it's been a pattern for me to meet the same behaviors in different men, I'm not always sure of what is supposed to be normal. I may over react at acts of decency and kindness.  Take out my trash and I may cry. I pulled up to a full service gas station and I stood outside of my car because I didn't make the connection that sitting in the car was the whole point.  This also means I'm super careful with the parts of me that I don't trust to others.  Toward the end of my last relationship, my ex boyfriend asked why I kept hiding the kids from him. They went from school, to my mom, to me and I was no longer leaving them alone with him.  I wasn't worried he would physically harm them, but I was having a hard time trusting in general and my actions spoke louder than I did.   

You don’t always see what you think you see in every interaction because what we get is often a version and it’s usually one sided. When you decide you are right about anything, the universe will show you how wrong you are about everything. I try to hold on to my instincts when it comes to right and wrong, but nothing excites me more than someone that can teach me something new, or show me a different way to see things. For this reason, I've been known to give a second chance when my gut said to walk away.

I was convinced I knew what a narcissist was because there are memes all over Pinterest that will tell you what it means.  I had a therapist tell me it sounded like my ex-husband was a bit of a narcissist. He met her once and tried to convince her that I was a pathological liar, but a few sessions in and she could see the many ways he had been trying to gas light her into what she should think of me.  The way she saw me was very different from who he said I was and she saw me go through months of trying to convince her I was who he said I was, even if my actions couldn't back it.  She helped me understand gas lighting and the many ways I was manipulated into believing his perception mattered more than mine. I fit my own experiences with him into what I read about the experience of others with their narcissists (or narcs and narcopaths) and it seemed close enough.  It seemed like I was married to a narcissist. 

I allowed someone else into my life.  It's a bit of a wake up call when your autistic child is questioning a person's behaviors as abnormal. I read through a few psychology books, and not just memes this time.  I realized I knew a cerebral narcissist. (The difference between somatic and cerebral has to do with their feelings toward sex.) This person was a living example of what I saw in the books (or sections in these books) and this person, at their core was always in a defensive stance.  They needed to be in control and hated conflict, so texting was the usual way they would demean. They always needed to be right and mentally superior to everyone. They were arrogant and dismissive to anyone else's accomplishments. They were never open to any kind of advice. Conversations were always what this person wanted to talk about, and they were bored with input from others. This person was never able to establish solid and reciprocal relationships because this wasn't something they were taught as a child.  This person was incapable of being vulnerable because they felt no one was on their side and no one cared about their needs.  This person was incapable of feeling true empathy and had fleeting moments of guilt because they felt they knew it was wrong to feel the way they did.  Or they may have felt this is what others would think and how others saw them mattered. As much as this person would normally try to lash out to harm everyone in their life, I felt so much compassion and empathy for them.  These moments of rage always came when they felt vulnerable and insecure in their relationships. There was a constant push and pull.  I was pushed away so hard and pulled right back in. I was drugged by the idea of drawing out the good I saw. This person taught me so much about the many sides and stories attached to situations. This person taught me that my ex-husband wasn't a narcissist.  He was just selfish, and bad tempered, but aren't we all? Maybe it's just me. Either way, the best way to get out of those situations is to end all contact. And we have. 

I don't want to say that the #metoo movement went to far.  I won't say that all should be forgotten. There are true monsters out there and there are people that could learn about solid boundaries and until the art of getting consent is part of who we are, this movement will keep finding new boundaries.  There are also amazing people out there, just trying to navigate dating.  Continue to speak on this narrative because in sharing our stories, others find connection and healing.  I need to say we all matter. We all hurt. We can all love.

Before we were taught what malice was, we never imagined being capable of hurting others. I didn’t know I could hurt someone until I felt that pain inflicted on me. It was through my pain that I wanted to hurt others. Once upon a time, I could never dream of harming someone else. Now those thoughts occur frequently when I'm cut off dangerously in traffic. 

I'm not saying to choose to be a victim. Trust your gut and protect yourself, even if it means walking away or crossing the street or saying no to the creepy man in the grocery store that wants your number.  I'm not saying victims are to blame for what has happened to them.  I am saying that it's really easy to lump every person into the same boat. I'm saying we shouldn't. 

Post break up, I've decided I'm not online dating.  I'm open to dating, just not online.  There is so much about connecting that is removed in online dating.  You swipe for the next best set of pictures.  You try to find chemistry through a keyboard.  You get unsolicited dick pics and because there is another swipe waiting in your phone, people feel an entitlement that you would never express if this was a genuine connection made offline. It's instant gratification and no real work is put in. Besides, single life suits me. 

In spite of my fears and experiences, I still say there are incredible men out there.  There are really amazing men out there. I've seen it at a friend's house where she was setting the table and her husband was just as engaged with making dinner and caring for their children. I've seen it at work with husbands that speak kindly of their wives and treat their co-workers with kindness and respect. I've seen it in my family with a brother in law that shows up for our family when my sister can't.  There are amazing men out there.  One day I'll find mine.  In the mean time, I get to take really great care of myself. 

I don't get to judge what others felt in their experiences.  I don't get to jump on a side every single time someone leaves a date in tears.   Every situation can be interpreted differently, depending on the situation itself and our histories that tell us what is normal and what is not. There are too many shades of humanity to treat every situation with a blanketed response. That is bigotry.

Most people know when they are hurting others. Stop it. Stop tolerating it. Stand up for others. Stand up for yourself. But don't be quick to judge. 

I've felt unsafe enough to never want to have drinks on a first date. And I won't go anywhere where I can't drive myself home.  I've been cornered and pushed into wanting more, and this is why I'm super careful in going out. I drive my own car, we arrive separately, we meet publicly and I don't drink.  If I'm sipping water, I see the waiter bring it over and it stays in my sight at all times. (This is why conversation is so important on a first date with me.) It's rare that I'm out and drinking and if I am, it's never more than one drink.  It's rare that I'll invite someone home. I don't drink at friend's homes.  It's rare that I'll drink at home if I'm not alone.  My past experiences tell me that is not safe. I trust my instincts, and it's not like I need alcohol to get me to dance and sing or loosen up. Just the right group of people. 

I've felt afraid enough to not have the courage to say stop or walk away. I've looked at his height and how much larger than me he was and every fear of what he could do made me think of the safe thing to do because the reality all over the world is if you say no, it could mean your life. If he felt safe enough to treat me as badly as he was, what was to stop him from doing worse. I waited it out, often playing over in my mind what a roundhouse kick felt like, praying I still owned that muscle memory and wondering if I could hit his knee hard enough to get away. 

I have sons and they're learning boundaries and what is appropriate. I get to teach them transparently and honestly.  We had another one of our talks about porn.  I asked if they would ever want to be treated like the women in porn.  Clearly, their answer was no.  I let them know that porn is fake and if you treat a person like that in real life, you could end up in jail. I explain that getting excited about porn would make it really hard to get excited about a real person and that would set them up for a lot of disappointment later in life.  I tell them that it's normal (in my experience) for a man to love his penis so much that he expects everyone else to appreciate it too.  Just like they wouldn't want an eyeful of their naked mom, assume others wouldn't want to see them naked either. Not all naked is good naked. And if someone does want to see it, they'll ask nicely and usually in person.  I'm very open and honest with my sons but most people learn by trial and error and the lessons we get on tv are often rapey and inaccurate. We watch entertaining things because we wouldn't see them in our lives.  This is very intentional and why as a mom, there are no topics that are off limits or dismissed. 

In short, there are good people out there, but we're all people.  We carry our love and our fears and our pain.  We come with what we know based on what we've lived and sometimes we need help in reinterpreting that, but the point is to keep talking about it so we can keep growing from it.