dottedlines empathy journal

[dottedlines]

I like the idea of splitting into 3 journals, just to reach for one topic when I need it. One for puking out all the crap. One for self-care. One for empathy.

Philosophically and from a personal values POV, empathy is one of my highest callings, not just in my R with husband, but with anyone close or relevant in my life. Some of my thoughts here are me trying to put myself into my H's shoes, which softens my pain and allows me to approach him more easily.


When I was 14, my parents pulled me into the living room and said "we need to talk."

I remember the dread of that line. the gulp of air into my throat. My heart into my stomach, everything knotted up. No clue what I had 'done wrong' but knowing some s*(& was going to hit the fan. Remember this feeling, triggered by teh words "we need to talk" has inspired me to never approach an important conversation with that phrase again.

"Your mother's read your diary" my dad said. I backpeddled to semantics.

"Journal" I replied.

"Fine, journal, whatever."

I held my ground. "OK...." I said, giving nothing.

My father was sitting, me across from him. My mother standing, and although short, she was a tower over us that day.

"Brian Smith?!?!" she said, venom in her voice.

She knew brian smith. Was friends with his mother.

"Is it true?" she said to me.

I blinked. I knew exactly what was she talking about. An entry I had written about Brian Smith putting his hands up my shirt behind the big sign at the football field. "F&*#", I thought. Crap.

Here, I think quickly. The lie comes effortlessly. A lie of protection.

"I was just making up stories," I semi-whined. "It never happened."

Brian Smith wasn't the only story in there. And it wasn't the worst one.

My father's words still make me shudder today. He said, "that's a pretty sick imagination for a 14 year old."

My parents chose to believe me. If I put myself in their shoes, I imagine somewhere in their gut they may have known otherwise, but it was easier and more sane to believe me, their precious only child. How could I be the girl they loved, admired, and trusted, and engage in those kinds of behaviors? So yes, surely it was easier to believe me then.

So why did i lie? I lied for 2 critical reasons:

1. SHAME. Shame isn't a feeling usually attributed to females, but in this instance, I felt it tremendously. Especially with my father. We're talking parents, good parents in a 'conservative' household, and the issue of sex. It was made clear to me at a very young age that only kissing would be allowed until I was marriage. So much shame over my behavior, over how it would disappoint them if I said yes, it was true. And internal shame. Mixed up feelings over sex. Feeling I had whored myself out to get attention because it was the only way I was able to find love or friendship in school.

2. TROUBLE AVOIDANCE. I didn't want to be grounded, punished. Lying was easier than facing that kind of punishment.

A couple years later, I did something (not sxual) that really made the crap fly. It caused such disappointment in my parents, and such shame in me, that I became a recluse my final two years of high school, and did everything in my power to make it up to them and not let them down again. It was fear of their utter disappointment, and frankly of them abandoning me, as well as supreme love for all they'd done for me at that point, that caused me to fess up and totally shape up.

I've got a bit more to say, but running low on words here, and it works better for a separate reply. But it dovetails into thoughts about my H, and the denial of PA in general.

[dottedlines]

If the shame surrounding my activities being opened up/exposed by my parents was that great, I think it must be even greater for a spouse. I mean yeah, what teenager wants to discuss sx with their parents, especially in a conservative household.

But let's say you've got a wife. And though your marriage isn't perfect, she's been pretty good to you. She's kind, generous, lets you have freedom to do things with friends, tries not to nag too often.

And you're a 36-year-old man. You're beginning to really feel your age, which sounds silly to any 50+ year olds out there, but you are. It's bugging you. You question your manhood. You realize the friend in your netherregions isn't as alert in the mornings as he used to be. In the past, you've hurt your wife with things like P, chatrooms, etc. You know it hurts her. But comign to her about your issues down below, and your general fears and worries about sx and aging is MORTIFYING. No matter how loving an environment she creates, it makes you feel like a failure. Like you've failed her.

So some stuff (P) catches your eye. And suddenly, you're on a whirlwind.

You're so caught up in the whirlwind, and how it distracts you from your negative emotions, that there isn't time or space to really 'think' about how your wife would take it if she found out.

so you carry on.

When you're finally confronted, it's that morification again. You don't lie, and you own up to your insecurities and issues with your perceived ED. You tell your wife about it, and she tells you that (having an erection) doesn't matter to her, but she Doesn't. Get. It.

It matters to YOU. It's a part of your manhood. Not only your obligation to her, but a physical indication to yourself that you are OK, you are still a man.

So when she presses you to talk further, there's still the morification. You love her, you see her pain, but your self-protection mechanisms are so strong. talking about it feels like more failure. It feels like admitting weakness. You wish she'd just leave it be.

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(Now I'm going to return to the first person, musing in my own voice here instead of stepping into my H's shoes or thoughts)
And then you've got this issue.

Men who love their wives CHERISH them. In their minds, we are angels. We may not be perfect, but for some of them, there's a strong mythology related to archetypes like the virgin mary (particularly if one is a mother). We are precious to our husbands, those of us who have otehrwise good marriages.

so if we're precious to our husbands, imagine a man who was raised as a little boy with morality issues around sex (and most were). MB is bad. Sex is bad. Boys are bad. Women are evil (this isn't stated, but rather conditioned through cultural ques). All this subliminal messaging.

He marries a woman he loves. And now he's supposed to SLEEP with her? marriage is for somethign sacred. How can something sacred have sex?

And how can he possibly have the same fantasies about his cherished wife that he sees in P? In his mind, it's like devaluing her. He doesn't see her that way--as a slut/whore/tramp. But he longs for a more vivid sx life (i'd argue the P 'creates' that longing, and without it being so prevelant in our world, he'd long for more connective sx).

so sx with wife is connective. but if he's using P a lot, he's experiencing performance issues. He has no idea it's the P. doesn't occur to him. he gets increasingly frustrated, increasingly feeling like a failure, increasingly down on himself. Ashamed. addicted. caught in one hell of a catch-22.

That was a long ramble. I've got more, but that's some thoughts for now. Maybe a PA wants to come here and tell me I'm off my rocker, but in piecing together what I can of the male mind, it seems this may be, at least for my H, some of the conundrum around this whole mess.

[Charly22]

But he longs for a more vivid sx life (i'd argue the P 'creates' that longing, and without it being so prevelant in our world, he'd long for more connective sx).

This is exactly what I was trying to say in my angry rant yesterday. Thank you for putting it in such a well said manner.