Partnering

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better

-William Shakespeare
Twelfth night, Act 3 Scene 1

Part of my trauma in being the son of a narcissist is that my needs were never given priority or consideration.  Only my father’s desires mattered, even when they regarded basic needs.  If there wasn’t enough money for both food and beer, I would go hungry whilst he drank until he passed out.

We call this ‘not being seen.’  Being seen means that someone considers you a fully valid human being, that your needs and wants matter and have value, that you deserve the same consideration as the person doing the seeing.  I was not seen by my father and, as anyone who has ever struggled in any sort of relationship with a narcissist will tell you, this can have a devastating impact on your sense of self-esteem and self-worth.

As a young boy I internalised my father’s dismissal of my humanity and believed that I was intrinsically bad and unlovable.  I learned to hide behind many masks, all designed to obscure the real me hiding underneath.  I was trained to believe that if I ever showed that inner person, if I ever acknowledged my real thoughts or desires, I would be reviled and rejected by the people around me.

This carried heavily over into my romantic relationships.  I never felt that my partners could truly care for me if they knew the real me.  I woke up every day convinced they would shun and reject me if I didn’t play the right role at the right time.

I would show up in relationships wearing whatever mask I thought my partner wanted to see.  I would have to lie about who I was, inside and out.  I would give up any part of myself to please my partner and ensure she stuck around.

I was miserable.

I married a woman I didn’t like because I felt I couldn’t do any better.  When the marriage ended I immediately entered a relationship with a controlling and ofttimes cruel woman because I felt I was incapable of handling my own life and being a single parent.  Later I would declare my undying love for a woman half my age and become entirely co-dependent with her; my very worth as a human being became inextricably intertwined in that relationship.  When that ended, and my co-dependent supply of external validation dried up, I nearly killed myself.

Since then I’ve dated here and there but I’ve been deliberately single for the last several years.  I’ve not been in an actual, committed relationship since 2012 when the co-dependent one shattered like a plate thrown in anger.

Until now.  I’ve met someone, and this time everything feels entirely different.

“Different” feels like the understatement of the century, to be honest.  I have shown up to this woman in ways I never thought possible.

A couple months ago I was introduced to the idea of ‘conscious coupling,’ a practice in which the relationship takes a back seat to the ideas of growth and integrity.  This, of course, provides the opportunity for an amazingly strong and powerful connection.  The main tenets of this are-

1. The conscious couple is not attached to the outcome of the relationship – growth comes first.
2. Each person in the relationship is committed to owning their shit.
3. All feelings are welcome and no internal process is condemned.
4. The relationship is a place to practice love.[1]

These are concepts that would seem entirely foreign to the person I was not that long ago.  Yet, when I read this short list, I realised this was precisely what I was looking for.

I’ve learned the importance of boundaries, of not giving up the essential parts of myself in order to maintain a relationship.  My partner and I have talked about our boundaries, been clear and honest with each other, and are exactly on the same page.  We reserve space for our own needs and desires so that we can show up as healthy individuals for each other.

We’ve talked about our healing paths and the areas we want to work on.  We are committed to growing both as individuals and as a couple.

Number 1?  Check.

I’ve been honest, hiding nothing from her.  She already knows as much about me as my therapist does.  The past pattern of feeling ashamed of myself is gone and replaced with the sure knowledge that if she can’t accept me warts and all then this is not a healthy relationship.  I’ve thrown everything I have at her about my past: my wounds, and things I’ve done that I will never repeat in this blog, or anywhere else outside of the most trusted of relationships.

When something comes up for us, we talk about it.  When there is fear or reaction, we verbalise it and listen to the response.  We each own all of our shit.

Number 2?  Check.

People in relationships often don’t want to hear that their partner has reservations or fears, that even being in a couple is such a surprise to them that it’s giving rise to stress and nervousness.  We’ve each admitted that and more to each other.

We talk about our traumas, how they show up in our daily lives and in the relationship.  We’ve been open and honest when we weren’t comfortable with something and those shares have been met with compassion and understanding.

Number 3?  When this happens we’ve started saying “we’re number three-ing the shit out of this!” Check and check again.

And the relationship being a place to practice love?  We’re killing that one, too.  From the moment we met, and believe me we’ve analysed this to death because that’s what we both do, there has been a familiar comfort between us.  We fell in love quickly and without hesitation.  We respect and adore each other as equals, as partners who compliment our individual lives.  We are together not because we need one another, but because we want each other.

Number 4?  Yes, absolutely.

I’ve been shocked, fully aghast at times, at the levels of honesty and integrity I’ve shown up with to her.  When I’ve had old thought patterns arise surrounding the toxic masculinity/sexuality that my father modelled for me, I told her about them.  When I needed to admit things from my past to her in order to ensure she knows the whole story of me, so that the relationship can be built on the strongest foundation of honesty and full disclosure it can, I did so.  This is all new territory for me and it is amazing.

In my past life I acted from the premise that being truthful and authentic was the one sure way to ensure pain and loss.  The reality is that this was a prison created for me by my trauma.  As counterintuitive as would have seemed to the person I used to be, admitting my whole truth has been liberating.  I am free.  Free to be me, free to be the partner she deserves. 

Today I can finally claim the status of being a fully grown, hale and whole, man.

And to you, my love, who I know will be reading this.  Thank you for coming into my life at precisely the right moment, in precisely the right way, and being precisely the person I didn’t know I was looking for.  Thank you for allowing me to be me, for seeing me, for doing your part to provide this space in which we can grow together.  I love you.      

 

References

1. Bullard, S. (2016).  The four qualities of a conscious relationship. Retrieved from https://upliftconnect.com/conscious-relationship/