On truthiness and lies.
Warning: rambly. Makes sense in my head, but then again, my head can be a tad stream-of-consciousness at times. But then again again, this is just for me to process through my issues, so what do I care? 'Cept I do. Having an audience is a blessing and a curse: it helps me to choose my words with care, but also makes me over-explainy. I digress.
I was thinking on something I hear over and over again from all of my friends: "Christina, you're such a bad liar."
'Cause me? I'm a terrible liar. Usually, whatever I'm feeling is written plainly across my face. Really, if you know me, you can probably read me like a book. Like, half the office knew about me an J before I ever said a word. I fail at subterfuge. A lot. And that's something I'm a little proud of. I'm generally honest by default; at times embarrassingly so.
I have come to realize that when I'm feeling angst about something, it's generally got one of two causes: either I instinctively know that someone is lying to me (half-truths and omission count here), or I am lying to someone else (generally through omission). On my end, this generally manifests itself one very specific way.
The white lie of omission: common and insidious.
Now, we all have reasons for what we do. Mine come from systematically being belittled and punished as a child for being upset at various things-- from being picked on to having a crappy ballgame or what have you. My parents were very much diploma-waving graduates of the "Shut Up Or I'll Give You Something To Cry About" School of Terrible Parenting. These problems got reinforced in several of my relationships-- after all, people tend to seek familiar relationships even if those relationships include unhealthy elements. It's generally not a conscious decision, but it definitely happens. It then stands to reason that I was familiar with hiding my feelings, so I then went out and found myself partners I felt uncomfortable being honest with.
Mike, my first real formative love, would have big insecure freakouts when I was honest with him about certain aspects of my life-- particularly sexuality and religion. Skyler... well. Okay, he was bigtime failsauce when it came to dealing with these sorts of things. He often leveled the complaint about me that I was dishonest about my feelings, and to an extent, he was right. Of course, the fact that I felt the need to lie to him should have been a gigantic red flag for me, but I was scared and traumatized and insecure at the time, he was really manipulative and it was just really a bad situation for everyone involved. On the few occasions I did attempt to open up to him, it was immediately clear that it would be less about my needs and more about his control issues. I remember a distinct time when I was opening up about some fairly significant depression, and after he immediately called his mom to relate to her everything I'd told him in confidence, I was given an ultimatum about how soon I needed to find therapy if I wanted to stay together. All of this under the guise of caring for my safety, when I was clear that I was in no current immediate danger and needed my partner's support and understanding. So much for safe space-- I was stressed, I was scared, I felt betrayed, I felt shame, and I was angry.
These days, with the help of my awesome counselor, I've made a lot of progress with the honesty thing. First step was realizing the pattern in the partners I was choosing. Second step was realizing that any partner worth being with deserved my honesty at all times. But you know, as with most things, that's easier said than done, especially when historically, honesty has equaled my partners totally spazzing out on me, and a slow spiraling demise of the relationship. I've done my best to keep in mind that the hard things are worth saying and need to be said-- and for the most part, it's been okay. Dating Tex was a particularly good choice-- he's a good, kind soul who showed me that partners can be-- wait for it-- compassionate in the face of vulnerability. You ever need your faith restored in humanity? Hit up that guy. He's good people.
At any rate, I'm in a sort-of-relationship right now. I say that because though monogamy is entering the equation, and my friends like him, and he's said he's falling for me, and we've got Plans, and fer chrissakes, he keeps a toothbrush at my house, and oh god oh god, he's meeting my folks this weekend... it's still kind of recent. The terms are still really up in the air, and as with most things that are transitional and not-quite-solidified, I have been having a patented Christina SpazzAttack (tm).
The outside: Calm. Collected. The very portrait of an awesome Girlfriend-To-Be. I like comics. I like zombie flicks. I like cuddling. I'm a supa-cool bellydancer chick. I'm good in the sack. I'm understanding and compassionate and I'm a good listener. I've got a spine and self-confidence and sexy brains. See? This is gonna be awesome, right?
The inside: What if I like him more than he likes me? What if he's not really over his ex? What if he only appears to be a great guy and is infact a massive lying douchenozzle like my ex? OMG, WHAT IF HE'S LIVING A DOUBLE LIFE? Okay, probably not, but still. You have mere weeks-- nay, DAYS-- until he tells you that he's changed his mind on the way to the grocery store one random Saturday morning, and you're suddenly not good enough for reasons one through twenty-four, and all this giddy squeeing must END! WHYYYYY DIDN'T HE CALL ME TO SAY GOODNIGHT!?!
Okay, so not all the time, but occasionally. And yes, I realize that makes me sound bugfuck nuts. My acceptance shadow, let me show you it. I don't consider myself to be generally neurotic or needy, but we all have our moments. I don't want to be That Girl, though, so I haven't really broached the subject that there's totally underground spazz happening. And it's certainly not helping that there's always a certain phrase right on the tip of my tongue that I also don't want to just blurt out for fear of seeming pushy.
So. Um. Angst. Angst I haven't figured out how to resolve quite yet, but knowing I'm me and I FAIL at lying, it's really only a matter of time until the internal spazz becomes noticeable and he asks what's up and I turn bright red and maybe start crying and babbling or something ridiculously embarrassing. I'm fairly certain that this guy doesn't have any control issues of Douchebaggian (or is it Napoleonic?) proportions, and he'll very likely be the cool, compassionate dude I know he is, but still-- there is a risk involved in being really vulnerable. Being unclothed is easy; being naked is hard. You will be subject to judgments over which you have no control and that can be hard to accept... hence the little white lies we tell every day. Most of which we may not even be consciously aware, 'cause they're just a part of our standard everyday warped survival tools. We all desire acceptance.
Well, baby steps. I've already started to talk about what I need when I'm feeling vulnerable-- mostly, hugs, pajamas, movies, kisses, an occasional pint of ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I'm not really much of a high-maintenance chick. I've also started to lay out the mines of my own emotional landscape-- what triggers I have, how I react in argumentative situations, what is okay and what is not. For instance: it's okay to say "I need some time to collect my thoughts. I'm going to go for a walk, but I'll be back, and we'll talk about this." It's not okay to storm out on me angrily. A sort of Cliff's Notes to dating me.
The rest of the angst I'm trying to handle in proper time and place, but as Jeff has a tendency to remind me, I have many wonderful qualities, but being patient is generally not one of them. I am trying to practice what I preach, though, and keep in mind that these are my issues to deal with, and it's my responsibility to do so. The only thing I can expect of him is honesty and compassion, and thus far I've seen nothing to suggest that he has any red flags in either of those particular areas. Again-- act on what I know, not on what I fear.
I was thinking on something I hear over and over again from all of my friends: "Christina, you're such a bad liar."
'Cause me? I'm a terrible liar. Usually, whatever I'm feeling is written plainly across my face. Really, if you know me, you can probably read me like a book. Like, half the office knew about me an J before I ever said a word. I fail at subterfuge. A lot. And that's something I'm a little proud of. I'm generally honest by default; at times embarrassingly so.
I have come to realize that when I'm feeling angst about something, it's generally got one of two causes: either I instinctively know that someone is lying to me (half-truths and omission count here), or I am lying to someone else (generally through omission). On my end, this generally manifests itself one very specific way.
Me: *angsts*
Them: Hey Chris, what's wrong?
Me: Oh, nothing.
The white lie of omission: common and insidious.
Now, we all have reasons for what we do. Mine come from systematically being belittled and punished as a child for being upset at various things-- from being picked on to having a crappy ballgame or what have you. My parents were very much diploma-waving graduates of the "Shut Up Or I'll Give You Something To Cry About" School of Terrible Parenting. These problems got reinforced in several of my relationships-- after all, people tend to seek familiar relationships even if those relationships include unhealthy elements. It's generally not a conscious decision, but it definitely happens. It then stands to reason that I was familiar with hiding my feelings, so I then went out and found myself partners I felt uncomfortable being honest with.
Mike, my first real formative love, would have big insecure freakouts when I was honest with him about certain aspects of my life-- particularly sexuality and religion. Skyler... well. Okay, he was bigtime failsauce when it came to dealing with these sorts of things. He often leveled the complaint about me that I was dishonest about my feelings, and to an extent, he was right. Of course, the fact that I felt the need to lie to him should have been a gigantic red flag for me, but I was scared and traumatized and insecure at the time, he was really manipulative and it was just really a bad situation for everyone involved. On the few occasions I did attempt to open up to him, it was immediately clear that it would be less about my needs and more about his control issues. I remember a distinct time when I was opening up about some fairly significant depression, and after he immediately called his mom to relate to her everything I'd told him in confidence, I was given an ultimatum about how soon I needed to find therapy if I wanted to stay together. All of this under the guise of caring for my safety, when I was clear that I was in no current immediate danger and needed my partner's support and understanding. So much for safe space-- I was stressed, I was scared, I felt betrayed, I felt shame, and I was angry.
These days, with the help of my awesome counselor, I've made a lot of progress with the honesty thing. First step was realizing the pattern in the partners I was choosing. Second step was realizing that any partner worth being with deserved my honesty at all times. But you know, as with most things, that's easier said than done, especially when historically, honesty has equaled my partners totally spazzing out on me, and a slow spiraling demise of the relationship. I've done my best to keep in mind that the hard things are worth saying and need to be said-- and for the most part, it's been okay. Dating Tex was a particularly good choice-- he's a good, kind soul who showed me that partners can be-- wait for it-- compassionate in the face of vulnerability. You ever need your faith restored in humanity? Hit up that guy. He's good people.
At any rate, I'm in a sort-of-relationship right now. I say that because though monogamy is entering the equation, and my friends like him, and he's said he's falling for me, and we've got Plans, and fer chrissakes, he keeps a toothbrush at my house, and oh god oh god, he's meeting my folks this weekend... it's still kind of recent. The terms are still really up in the air, and as with most things that are transitional and not-quite-solidified, I have been having a patented Christina SpazzAttack (tm).
The outside: Calm. Collected. The very portrait of an awesome Girlfriend-To-Be. I like comics. I like zombie flicks. I like cuddling. I'm a supa-cool bellydancer chick. I'm good in the sack. I'm understanding and compassionate and I'm a good listener. I've got a spine and self-confidence and sexy brains. See? This is gonna be awesome, right?
The inside: What if I like him more than he likes me? What if he's not really over his ex? What if he only appears to be a great guy and is infact a massive lying douchenozzle like my ex? OMG, WHAT IF HE'S LIVING A DOUBLE LIFE? Okay, probably not, but still. You have mere weeks-- nay, DAYS-- until he tells you that he's changed his mind on the way to the grocery store one random Saturday morning, and you're suddenly not good enough for reasons one through twenty-four, and all this giddy squeeing must END! WHYYYYY DIDN'T HE CALL ME TO SAY GOODNIGHT!?!
Okay, so not all the time, but occasionally. And yes, I realize that makes me sound bugfuck nuts. My acceptance shadow, let me show you it. I don't consider myself to be generally neurotic or needy, but we all have our moments. I don't want to be That Girl, though, so I haven't really broached the subject that there's totally underground spazz happening. And it's certainly not helping that there's always a certain phrase right on the tip of my tongue that I also don't want to just blurt out for fear of seeming pushy.
So. Um. Angst. Angst I haven't figured out how to resolve quite yet, but knowing I'm me and I FAIL at lying, it's really only a matter of time until the internal spazz becomes noticeable and he asks what's up and I turn bright red and maybe start crying and babbling or something ridiculously embarrassing. I'm fairly certain that this guy doesn't have any control issues of Douchebaggian (or is it Napoleonic?) proportions, and he'll very likely be the cool, compassionate dude I know he is, but still-- there is a risk involved in being really vulnerable. Being unclothed is easy; being naked is hard. You will be subject to judgments over which you have no control and that can be hard to accept... hence the little white lies we tell every day. Most of which we may not even be consciously aware, 'cause they're just a part of our standard everyday warped survival tools. We all desire acceptance.
Well, baby steps. I've already started to talk about what I need when I'm feeling vulnerable-- mostly, hugs, pajamas, movies, kisses, an occasional pint of ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I'm not really much of a high-maintenance chick. I've also started to lay out the mines of my own emotional landscape-- what triggers I have, how I react in argumentative situations, what is okay and what is not. For instance: it's okay to say "I need some time to collect my thoughts. I'm going to go for a walk, but I'll be back, and we'll talk about this." It's not okay to storm out on me angrily. A sort of Cliff's Notes to dating me.
The rest of the angst I'm trying to handle in proper time and place, but as Jeff has a tendency to remind me, I have many wonderful qualities, but being patient is generally not one of them. I am trying to practice what I preach, though, and keep in mind that these are my issues to deal with, and it's my responsibility to do so. The only thing I can expect of him is honesty and compassion, and thus far I've seen nothing to suggest that he has any red flags in either of those particular areas. Again-- act on what I know, not on what I fear.