The first year is the hardest

Posted on January 6, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

One year ago today, I told my husband that I wanted a divorce. I had countless people tell me how hard this first year would be, and they weren’t kidding. My heart has never hurt so much, and I think I could have raised the level of Lake Travis by a couple of inches with all the tears I have shed.

The tears just kept coming….

While I didn’t shy away from my pain and grief, I didn’t deliberately wallow in it either. There was just so, so much of it. I would cry when I woke up, run out of my office in the middle of the day to hug a giant oak tree behind my building and sob, curl up in bed with the cats and scream into my pillow, wake up in the middle of the night with tears rolling down my cheeks. I felt traumatized and vulnerable and withdrew from the world. After the first couple months, it let up a bit, but there were weeks when the tears and the sadness would return, and I would beat myself up all over again, wondering aloud to friends how I could have made such a poor decision, and trying to figure out why I waited so long to leave. Another friend who is splitting up with her husband calls these weeks contraction weeks, as the world shrinks into blackness and grief, but we are birthing new selves instead of babies.

My decision looked somewhat sudden, but I don’t think it was completely unexpected, though it seemed to take him off guard. (In retrospect, my timing could have been better, but I don’t think there’s ever a good time to break it off.) I had been unhappy with our marriage for quite a while. Things had come to a head when he had left town for a 2-month project the previous August, leaving me all the responsibilities of our shared life, an unfinished remodel and an extreme case of sexual frustration (he got distracted the night before he left and we didn’t have sex). We had been together for six years, married for four, and I was looking down the long road of together forever and wondering if the path was worth walking, or if I should take the off-ramp. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, and was making no effort to figure it out. He didn’t want to work, go to school or start a business. He didn’t want to take care of himself, and requests for action were met with…nothing. I realized that I was exhausted from taking care of my boss and keeping his life organized all day long, and then coming home and doing the same for my husband.

(And then there was the whole non-monogamy monkey wrench, but that is a story for another day.)

It started to feel like I was trying to walk down the road and dragging his unconscious body behind me. As I made an assessment of the issues that we had, I realized that a lot of the problems came from the fact that we wanted different things out of life, and that this was the source of many of our power struggles, or that the needs I felt were unfulfilled could not be met by him because of who he was at his core. Friends told me constantly that I couldn’t change him. I know that, I responded, and that’s not the problem. The problem is that he doesn’t want to change himself. He was stuck, unhappy with his own life, and this inertia was happening at my expense. In my mind, marriage is a partnership, and both people need to contribute to it. Without that, it becomes a gargantuan chore.

I’m not ready for my sex life to be over….

It’s entirely possible that I will be single for the rest of my life – there’s no shortage of single, independent middle-aged women out there that men seem to have no interest in. I am fortunate in that I had spent many years on my own, and enjoy my own company, so the shock of suddenly living alone wasn’t so shocking. (We had actually transitioned from living in separate houses to living together a couple of years before, and I was overjoyed to have my space back.) Saturday nights are the worst; I can usually find something to do during the week, but weekend nights, not so much. My world dwindled away to nothing but work and home, and it’s just now started to open up again. But being able to keep up with my busy life without having to take care of someone else is a godsend. I feel like I gave so much of myself away, and lost so much of myself in this relationship. It’s nice to be getting those parts of myself back, and regaining my energy, my center, my equilibrium and my essence.

I still see him or talk to him occasionally. He would like to remain friends, but I see little reason to keep him in my life. personal cloud . He moved in with his girlfriend before we were even divorced, and as near as I can tell, he has continued with the pattern of doing nothing. He would like me to keep him informed about the lives of people he knew through me, but it’s no longer my job to do so – if it’s important to him, he can keep up with them on his own. He has little to add to the conversation: no interests, no hobbies, no passions. What is there to talk about now that we don’t share a life? He’s a sweet man, with a huge heart, and I hope he finds his way in the world. But it’s no longer my job to help him do so, or to keep him entertained and amused while he sits around (they make TV’s for that).

Do I regret marrying? Some days, very much so. Like so many women, I wanted that walk down the aisle, and the beautiful dress and the big party. I had bought into the romantic fantasy of happily ever after. And so in the end, I just have to take the lessons I’ve learned, and write another fairy tale…one that doesn’t involve being rescued by a handsome prince.

Valley of the dolls

Posted on January 3, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

Last week, I went to a new friend’s house to discuss an idea I have for a website. I showed up at the appointed time, knocked but got no response. The door was unlocked, so I went in. I hollered a loud hello, and heard a “back here” coming from his office. When I walked in, he was sitting at his computer, naked. Since he was expecting me, this was clearly for my, um, benefit.

I was a bit shocked, not by the nudity (I’ve logged hundreds of hours sitting in hot tubs with naked people of all sorts of persuasions) but because of the context. He and I had met about a month before, and had only socialized on two occasions. I don’t know if we had even hugged, or had any other physical contact. I had enjoyed talking to him, there was an overlap of interests and social circles. I had no idea he was interested in me sexually, nor had I indicated any overt interest in him. The second time I saw him, he was flirting with every girl in the room, myself included. I certainly didn’t feel special or singled out.

Fortunately, he knew enough about me and my predilections to know that this wouldn’t offend me. I appreciate boldness, honesty and forthrightness in a man, but I would prefer to get them from a man wearing pants. I must have looked embarrassed, because he apologized, and started asking me about my project. I excused myself to use the bathroom, stayed in there for a few minutes, and when I came out, he had gone to get dressed. When he came back in, we had a productive time discussing our project over dinner, and nothing more was said about our initial encounter that afternoon.

While it’s true that men and women are turned on by different things, I believe his come-on followed a pattern of one of the most common male fantasies: the Valley of the Dolls Syndrome.

Trust me, it will take a lot more than Valium to get me naked in five minutes flat.

This term, coined by polyamory blogger Pep-o-mint, refers to the lightning speed with which men can get women into bed without any effort, and it goes a little bit like this: “Oh! You’re the plumber! Let’s fuck!” Works like a charm, every damn time, and takes nothing more than a knock on the door and a stiff dick. There’s no need to chat a woman up, ascertain that she’s interested in him, or spend any time getting to know her. She’s merely an object, a prop in his fantasy, ready to fuck, anytime, any place. While men claim that they know that porn isn’t real, I’m constantly surprised how many men seem to have bought into this illusion. (Actually, this is a fantasy for women as well; Erica Jong famously wrote about it in Fear of Flying in 1973, but it is much more common for men.)

I have a friend who has been trying to sleep with me for years. He stopped by one night and met a friend of mine who was visiting. When I turned him down yet again, he told me that he was considering going next door to ask my friend if she wanted to have sex. He had talked to her for less than a minute. Did he really think that would work, or was he just lonely and desperate? Another time, I posted an ad on Craigslist Casual Encounters and specified that it would take much longer than 5 minutes to get me into bed, because it was important that I be comfortable with a man before sleeping with him. One guy wrote back that was fine, but that he expected we would be fucking within the hour.

His response was immediately deleted, and that was the last ad I ran. I just don’t have much interest in casual sex these days. Or porn, or romance novels. My libido is high, and getting higher by the day as I start working out again. I crave sex, but not of the sort that is nothing more than a quick fuck with no intimacy, or one that includes no actual touching or kissing. Wait, I take that back – I love quick fucks, but they have to be with someone I already have a connection with. And I like casual sex as well when I’m in a relationship; I fall much closer to that end of the non-monogamy scale than full-blown polyamory. But right now? Not so much. My heart is still tender from the divorce, my confidence in my capacity for intimacy is shaken and I grew tired of being the girl you’d hook up with but have no interest in dating years ago.

Is it possible to have sex with someone five minutes after you’ve met them? Sure. I’ve seen it happen at swingers clubs and play parties, but more often than not, people who play with each other in those situations have already established a friendship, either at other events or in real life. I have no problem with casual sex; I’ve had more than most men and women I know. But even if a relationship goes no further than the bedroom, it’s still a relationship and I expect to be treated with respect. I want the men I sleep with to have integrity and good communication skills, because quite frankly, a liaison that’s based primarily on a sex requires a lot of maturity.

There is only one way I know to get a woman into bed within five minutes of meeting her: hire an escort and pay her to have sex with you. Short of doing that, establishing a connection the good old-fashioned way of talking and building a rapport is still the best way to go.