So last night's conversation with Nigel continued with variations on the same basic themes. Why was I doing this? He thought we were happy. What had he done wrong? I must really hate him to do this. The interesting thing is that each time we've talked I've found myself being clearer and more articulate about what is going on.
Last night we finally hit upon the thought that maybe, just maybe, I'm not well-suited for that level of relationship. I know I got through on that one, because Nigel asked in response, "Are you saying that you don't think you want to be in a relationship with anyone?" When I responded that that observation might indeed be true, he was pretty incredulous. He could not believe that anyone would actually choose to be single. The other reason I know we finally hit on an idea central to the break-up is that my reaction to him was pretty strong as well. I found my voice going up a few decibels when I exclaimed (perhaps slightly ranted), "Why is that so hard to believe? Who says that we have to go through life paired off; that somehow being single is somehow abnormal -- that you can't have a fulfilled life if you're on your own. Maybe some people just aren't meant for relationships."
Now, the irony of all of this is that later in the conversation, Nigel shares that, as a result of our relationship ending, he doesn't think that he can possibly enter into another one because of the potential hurt. He also asked me how he will ever be able to trust someone again. I don't think I really had an adequate response for either comment. All I could say is that it was natural to feel that way now, but eventually that would change.
Now, another irony is that this is my first break-up ever and Nigel has had a few relationships that had ended before this one. True, none of them was for as long or as serious, but still, shouldn't he be the positions be reversed on this one? Shouldn't he be telling me that maybe one day I will feel differently about relationships? That may be true, but I think we're in the same boat on this one. I think it would take something extraordinary happening for me to find myself sharing a life to this extent with someone else.
In my case I don't think it's about being afraid of being hurt. I think I'm more concerned of losing my way, losing my sense of self in a relationship again. I let go of so many things that were central to my identity, all for the sake of preserving a relationship that at its core was very unhealthy. Not a good choice. The thing is people don't come with "completely dysfunctional, avoid intimate relationship with at all costs" stamped on their foreheads. Discovering that as with losing oneself (at least in my case) happens slowly over time, and, before you know it, you've gone from sailing away on the Love Boat to "is there a life preserver up in here?"
I've been in kind of a fog of sadness this morning, hence the reason I'm writing this blog entry. What also sparked this entry was something I read moments ago. The management team that I'm a part of is reading this book called Managing Transitions: Making the Most of Change by William Bridges to help us with the cultural shift we are attempting to make in our own area of work. So, in my gloom, I sit down and open up to today's chapter, which interestingly enough is entitled "How to Get People to Let Go." These are the first words I read:
Before you can begin something new, you have to end what used to be. Before you can learn a new way of doing things, you have to unlearn the old way. Before you can become a different kind of person, you must let go of your old identity. So beginnings depend on endings.
Then, in the margins on the next page is another interesting quote attributed to a French writer named Anatole France, which, by the way, seems like such an odd last name for someone who is French. Anyway, Msr. French states, "All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind is part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another."
Food for thought, even for someone like me, who, lately, hasn't had much of an appetite.
Last night we finally hit upon the thought that maybe, just maybe, I'm not well-suited for that level of relationship. I know I got through on that one, because Nigel asked in response, "Are you saying that you don't think you want to be in a relationship with anyone?" When I responded that that observation might indeed be true, he was pretty incredulous. He could not believe that anyone would actually choose to be single. The other reason I know we finally hit on an idea central to the break-up is that my reaction to him was pretty strong as well. I found my voice going up a few decibels when I exclaimed (perhaps slightly ranted), "Why is that so hard to believe? Who says that we have to go through life paired off; that somehow being single is somehow abnormal -- that you can't have a fulfilled life if you're on your own. Maybe some people just aren't meant for relationships."
Now, the irony of all of this is that later in the conversation, Nigel shares that, as a result of our relationship ending, he doesn't think that he can possibly enter into another one because of the potential hurt. He also asked me how he will ever be able to trust someone again. I don't think I really had an adequate response for either comment. All I could say is that it was natural to feel that way now, but eventually that would change.
Now, another irony is that this is my first break-up ever and Nigel has had a few relationships that had ended before this one. True, none of them was for as long or as serious, but still, shouldn't he be the positions be reversed on this one? Shouldn't he be telling me that maybe one day I will feel differently about relationships? That may be true, but I think we're in the same boat on this one. I think it would take something extraordinary happening for me to find myself sharing a life to this extent with someone else.
In my case I don't think it's about being afraid of being hurt. I think I'm more concerned of losing my way, losing my sense of self in a relationship again. I let go of so many things that were central to my identity, all for the sake of preserving a relationship that at its core was very unhealthy. Not a good choice. The thing is people don't come with "completely dysfunctional, avoid intimate relationship with at all costs" stamped on their foreheads. Discovering that as with losing oneself (at least in my case) happens slowly over time, and, before you know it, you've gone from sailing away on the Love Boat to "is there a life preserver up in here?"
I've been in kind of a fog of sadness this morning, hence the reason I'm writing this blog entry. What also sparked this entry was something I read moments ago. The management team that I'm a part of is reading this book called Managing Transitions: Making the Most of Change by William Bridges to help us with the cultural shift we are attempting to make in our own area of work. So, in my gloom, I sit down and open up to today's chapter, which interestingly enough is entitled "How to Get People to Let Go." These are the first words I read:
Before you can begin something new, you have to end what used to be. Before you can learn a new way of doing things, you have to unlearn the old way. Before you can become a different kind of person, you must let go of your old identity. So beginnings depend on endings.
Then, in the margins on the next page is another interesting quote attributed to a French writer named Anatole France, which, by the way, seems like such an odd last name for someone who is French. Anyway, Msr. French states, "All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind is part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another."
Food for thought, even for someone like me, who, lately, hasn't had much of an appetite.
