You've just woken up from a deep sleep and then remember that you've been romping all night with the Sandman who may also happen to be your Ex. That's when the WTF moment kicks in. Sex dreams happen to everyone. Sometimes they are as pleasurable as riding white horses in the meadow with George Clooney or getting naughty with Mila Kunis' legs wrapped around your waist.
Being a good partner sometimes means renegotiating communication strategies so that the question "What's wrong?" isn't perpetually sloughed off. It sometimes means breathing through a bad few months and saying, "I accept this, I can do this, I don't have to fight it," even as you keep fighting for the relationship itself.
I was married two years ago. No one asked me to have or to hold my groom as per the traditional Anglican wedding vows at our wedding. I am half-Jewish and an atheist but growing up in Canada "to have and to hold" were the only marriage vows I heard. I think the author was talking about protecting a safe space no matter how heavy the abyss.
A word to the wise: one cannot scale the side of a mountain while sobbing uncontrollably. You need your breath for the exertion. You can climb or you can cry. Not both. I soon realized I didn't need to compose myself and carry on. What I needed to do was to stop and let myself have a big fat embarrassing breakdown.
Fourteen months. Fourteen months is the time I have in my head for how long I would try to save my marriage if things started to go south (hopefully it will never come to that). But once we limp past the one year mark, I think I would rationally assess whether something has shifted so irrevocably in our relationship that it was time to take it off life support.
You need to see that your partner has suffered too, not from your anger, but from the weight of his or her own actions. If you believe your partner deeply regrets his actions, knows he was wrong, and even feels he violated his own personal standards, you will feel more trusting and open to forgiveness.
He walks in, smiling. I like people that smile. I smile A LOT. Within minutes of the date, he shows me pictures of his cat. Don't be foiled by an eyebrow ring, ladies. Sometimes the edgy looking ones are big softies. He LOVES cats! He shows me many pictures of his kitty, including painted portraits.
I recently saw a man in my office who asked me why all the women he dated turned out to be "crazy." If all the women you date eventually go off the deep end, perhaps it's time to tune-up your relationship skills. To some extent, I had to agree -- there are some lipsticked loonies out there. Then again, the male gender has its share of jerks and mama's boys. Perhaps it's time to stop pointing fingers at the opposite sex and start engaging in a little self-reflection, especially if you're re-living the same dysfunctional relationship over and over again.
I can't believe I did it. I hit the heart button on a guy with KIDS in his profile picture. Not one, but TWO kids! How mature do I think I am? Still...(deep breath) he is attractive. And I am 34. I have to face the fact that guys in my age bracket might have offspring, whether it was on purpose, or they forgot to pull out.
A couple beers in, we're both yawning. The conversation starts to dry up. We're now talking the ceiling fixtures. Talking about lamps hanging from the ceiling is a sign we're both starting to space out. I'm also getting tweets from my comedian guy friends, who know I'm on a date. All of a sudden, I wish I was with them.
According to his three profile pics, (two of which I like -- the third is "meh,") he may or may not look like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. I walk into Bar Volo. It's a good spot for this hood. I'm definitely glad he didn't suggest the Duke of Gloucester. That place owes me a shitload in failed jukebox plays. I walk up to the bar, grab a beer and check-in on Foursquare.
I head to my date. I warn him I look like a dirtbag. Pink Jack Daniel's shirt, jeans and Toms. I'm wearing a padded bra, so boobs are not to scale. I notice he's getting texts from a phone number that doesn't have a contact name. They seem to be coming in quite rapidly. I call it out: "Haha! You're getting messages from another Tinder, aren't you?" He denies it. I'm not buying it.
"We're the same age, aren't we? You're 27?" He says. UH-OH! "Um... no, actually...I think I'm a little older," I spit out, along with a laugh that sounds like I might be choking. "Really? How old are you?" all of a sudden, I'm feeling a little cougary. So I suggest a place that's good to take a younger man.