Showing UP for Sophia: Fitting into Fantasies

You know how you know something, but you don’t know how you know it? 

That’s my life in a nutshell right now. A total shit show. I’m about to lose the only home I’ve known for the past four years. The longest I’ve lived with a man since my father. Ironic considering I began to see John as my father... secretive, aloof, unavailable.

Is it inevitable? Do we end up with people like our parents?

Maybe. Or maybe we settle for the stories they showed us.

“How are you ever going to keep a husband if you can’t cook?” my mother screamed while trying to teach me a recipe. My father, not taking his eyes away from his computer screen, defended, “As long as she can cook in another room, it won’t matter.”

Thanks, Dad.

No doubt that information contributed to decades of me needing to prove myself worthy of time and attention from men. After failed attempts in feeding bellies, I decided to get men naked quicker, often, and then left to wonder why I never felt satisfied. How was it that I fucked my way into relationships, only to be repeatedly fucked over? I was told men wanted sex. I was taught it was my duty to keep my man happy. But beyond being able to cook, I wasn’t taught how to make or keep anyone happy, especially myself.

So I focused on learning. For three years I stayed away from men, from sex, and found ways to have healthier relationships. As a survivor of violence, my life had taken twists and turns that eventually led me back to where my healing journey started. I became a SART (Sexual Assault Response Team) Advocate for the agency who once sent one my way at sixteen, after a night of blurred memories and bite marks. I wanted to give back in the way they once gave to me, by sending someone who didn’t judge my experience but only showed up to offer support. She was my shadow - present and seen, but not intrusive. She believed me.

After years of being a SART Advocate, Hotline Crisis Counselor, Shelter Residency Assistant, I finally landed my dream job within the agency as a Prevention Educator. I had the privilege of facilitating conversations at schools, juvenile detention centers, and organizations about the benefits of having healthy relationships. I learned through teaching, but didn’t practice what I preached. I knew what didn’t work, but wasn’t giving myself a chance to find out what did. Until fate intervened.

I didn’t ask enough questions in the beginning, middle, or ever. I feared rejection and ridicule for asking too many or striking a nerve. I did so often enough during my childhood that I assumed every adult was over my antics before meeting me. So I lost myself in the fantasy he found me in.

Shortly after meeting John, I received an award for being a courageous survivor. He sat proudly as I shared my story from victim to victory. He called me his hero. I had found mine too. But sadly we forgot our original mission, to save ourselves.

I tried to change him and he secretly wanted to fix me. While we noticed our differences, we also saw the potential and decided to stick it out. I tried to bend, he tried not to break, we both tried to be happy. Whenever we weren’t and problems surfaced, I’d communicate my feelings and ask for possible solutions while offering my own. He usually remained silent and promised to share later. A few of our problems seemed to circle. I feared I wasn’t making myself clear. He thought I wasn’t listening. Every attempt brought more resentment. We simply didn’t know how to communicate with one another. 

I felt like a fraud. I thought I knew better. As someone who is in the business of helping people have healthier relationships through equitable communication, I didn’t understand how I couldn’t maintain one with the person I built a home with. Especially because when my fears of our future were at their height, I asked if he was willing to use skills to strengthen our relationship. He said he was, even listened as I spoke about the benefits of knowing each other better, but days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months without improvement. Everyone was unhappy - me, he, and she. 

Not wanting to repeat patterns and recycle behaviors my parents taught me about their dysfunctional relationship, I made the choice to change and when I did, everything did. But not in the way I had hoped.

I got real and talked to John, feeling I had nothing to lose. He got real right back. Words were said, shouted, and sorted. Our confessions brought revelations of truth that were initially hard to hear, but once I gained awareness of my bullshit, I knew how to set boundaries that worked for my betterment, and became intentional about what I was consenting to, which was more than I wanted. I was putting up with and putting out too much. So was he.

Through knowing my ABCs (Awarness-Boundaries-Consent), I’m growing into the me I always wanted to be but was told wasn’t good enough. While this ending is the hardest, especially because he’s been my favorite, we never gave the other a chance to be ourselves. We simply weren’t aware of our own needs - our love languages - where we felt least loved during childhood. I desire quality time, the opportunity to spend time with someone who allows me to be seen and heard. He needs someone who speaks through physical touch - hugs, kisses, intimacy. We both thought we were giving the other what they wanted, me through sex and he through patience. We were, we weren’t, we didn’t know how.

While it may be too late for us now, it’s not too late for us ever. Our daughter is only three, and like her, we’re learning how to be ourselves - how to walk and talk in relationships. Neither of us want her to trip and fall or hurt, which is why our self-discovery about how we relate to others couldn’t be better timed. Now we can move forward either choosing to dream of what could be or creating it for ourselves and showing Sophia how she can show up for herself - first, foremost, and always.