Why is it that when I look the prettiest, I don't dance as often? Why is it when I don't get all dolled up, I don't have any time to sit between dances? Why is it when I look my best, men shoot quick glances my way but never come to speak to me? And why is it, when I happen to go out with no makeup on, I can't seem to walk one block without a man stopping me to talk?
I don't know how to explain this. This has happened to my sister too. We just shake our heads and shrug our shoulders because we prefer to look our best, but it seems we would be dating more frequently if we dressed down more. Hmm... this is gonna be a hard habit to break. But is it worth it? Do I want to be with a man who is afraid to talk to me when I look my best? Or do I wait for one who can talk with me when I am at my prettiest? But then I ask, will he accept me when I'm without makeup or dressed down? I don't know the answer. We have only recently been able to track this phenomenon within our lives. More experimentation is needed. But don't worry, dear readers, I'm still planning to continue trying to look my best.
Monday, August 31, 2009
It's okay to touch, I will not break.
I need to be touched. I know this. I accept this. Everyday I need to have physical contact; it is essential to my survival. Sometimes it is satisfied while cuddling on the couch with my children as we watch our favorite television show or movie together. I wrap my arms around them and bring them close to my heart. There is a sense of peace and comfort that envelops all of us. Occasionally I will fall asleep while my kids remain awake. And sometimes, they drop off while encased in my arms. Whichever it is, it is good.
We kiss each other hello, goodbye and good night. It is just how we are and how we operate. In the morning, if we are rushing and don't get in that kiss goodbye, a frantic "I love you" is hollered as they run to catch to the school bus and a "I love you too!" hollered in return. I am comforted in knowing that if today were our last day together, the last words spoken were of love. Same at bed time, the last gesture towards each other no matter how stressful the day is one of love.
For the last several years, this contact with my children has sustained me. However, a few years ago, I began to realize that I needed more physical contact than my children are capable of giving. It really came to the surface when I began swing dancing. I found myself energized instead of exhausted after a night of swing dancing. I sought out more opportunities to dance, to experience that exchange of positive energy between me and my dance partner. I added Argentine Tango to my dance repertoire about a year later. I naively believed that I danced it because I loved the music and the dance. But I quickly began to understand that it was the touch, the embrace, the intimacy that I craved and that I loved in the dance. It became very important for me to find ways to satisfy the craving. A blissful week was when I could dance tango three to four times!
I'm not referring to this need to be touched as a sexual desire. Sure, I have those too, but this was more basic, more integral to my well-being than the occasional romp in the sack. It is the fulfillment of connecting with another human being without words - through movement and music. I am happy when wrapped in my lead's arms with my head resting on his; my soul fills with peace and calm. Energy is exchanged and I feel refreshed. But I also know that dancing tango is just one avenue for me to satisfy my need for touch.
Touch is very important to me in my romantic relationships as well. And this has been the most difficult need for me to reconcile. My experiences have consisted of wanting more touch than my partner either knows I want or is capable of giving. And again, I'm not talking about sex, necessarily, but rather, the small everyday touches: holding hands, light touch on the cheek, a caress of the arm, a hug that lasts 60 seconds or more, gently stroking the hair. These touches say to me that everything is okay. It is a subtle yet extremely powerful reassurance to me that I am loved and desired. And I find that I want to give those touches to my partner. I want to give him the assurance that he is loved and all is okay and there is a sense of peace between us.
Just like I cannot dance swing nor tango by myself, I know that I cannot be satisfied with being the only one to give the physical touches or assurances. I need it back. And I can't compromise on this - it is as vital to my well-being as oxygen. And until I have the lover who can give this to me, I will keep dancing.
We kiss each other hello, goodbye and good night. It is just how we are and how we operate. In the morning, if we are rushing and don't get in that kiss goodbye, a frantic "I love you" is hollered as they run to catch to the school bus and a "I love you too!" hollered in return. I am comforted in knowing that if today were our last day together, the last words spoken were of love. Same at bed time, the last gesture towards each other no matter how stressful the day is one of love.
For the last several years, this contact with my children has sustained me. However, a few years ago, I began to realize that I needed more physical contact than my children are capable of giving. It really came to the surface when I began swing dancing. I found myself energized instead of exhausted after a night of swing dancing. I sought out more opportunities to dance, to experience that exchange of positive energy between me and my dance partner. I added Argentine Tango to my dance repertoire about a year later. I naively believed that I danced it because I loved the music and the dance. But I quickly began to understand that it was the touch, the embrace, the intimacy that I craved and that I loved in the dance. It became very important for me to find ways to satisfy the craving. A blissful week was when I could dance tango three to four times!
I'm not referring to this need to be touched as a sexual desire. Sure, I have those too, but this was more basic, more integral to my well-being than the occasional romp in the sack. It is the fulfillment of connecting with another human being without words - through movement and music. I am happy when wrapped in my lead's arms with my head resting on his; my soul fills with peace and calm. Energy is exchanged and I feel refreshed. But I also know that dancing tango is just one avenue for me to satisfy my need for touch.
Touch is very important to me in my romantic relationships as well. And this has been the most difficult need for me to reconcile. My experiences have consisted of wanting more touch than my partner either knows I want or is capable of giving. And again, I'm not talking about sex, necessarily, but rather, the small everyday touches: holding hands, light touch on the cheek, a caress of the arm, a hug that lasts 60 seconds or more, gently stroking the hair. These touches say to me that everything is okay. It is a subtle yet extremely powerful reassurance to me that I am loved and desired. And I find that I want to give those touches to my partner. I want to give him the assurance that he is loved and all is okay and there is a sense of peace between us.
Just like I cannot dance swing nor tango by myself, I know that I cannot be satisfied with being the only one to give the physical touches or assurances. I need it back. And I can't compromise on this - it is as vital to my well-being as oxygen. And until I have the lover who can give this to me, I will keep dancing.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Congratulations! You've been promoted to ...
“No, no go on. I don’t need you.”
“Are you sure? You don’t need me to walk you to your classroom” I asked my youngest as we stood outside the school office. He waved me off and said “No, go. I’m good.” “Okay” I said and turned slowly and in shock towards the front door. I didn’t even watch him walk to his classroom. He had made it clear that he did not need me. With every step towards the door, I felt the air leaking out of my familiar mommy balloon. Should I be happy that he doesn’t need me at the same time that I’m sad he doesn’t need me? What does this say about me as a mother?
I slid into the driver’s seat of the minivan and thought how my role was changing relative to all my kids. My previous clearly-defined role as mother, provider, protector of my children was warping and changing. I didn’t know how to act. When you are younger and in school, you have to learn and to master certain aptitudes and then you get promoted to the next grade level. You know what is expected of you in the next grade; you hear from those who have gone before what to expect; your path and role as a student is clearly defined.
But it’s not as clear when you are a parent. I remember when my teenage daughter turned 1 year old. I marveled at her as she worked on walking from point A to point B; as she picked up toys and put them in her mouth; and as she giggled when the dog ran by her. I had done a pretty good job keeping her alive, I thought. Then it hit me, oh my god, I am responsible for her brain too! I had spent her first year keeping her fed, dry, happy and that was the easy part. I was comfortable with that role. But on that day I realized that her intellectual and her emotional development as well as her memories sit squarely on my shoulders. I looked around for my Parental Report Card to double check that I had been ‘promoted’ to the next level. I couldn’t find it but I knew it was there.
So I embraced that new role of the mother of a toddler and then a pre-schooler. Then along came her little brother. Ah ha, I thought – back to what I’m familiar with and have already proven capable in. I know this. I can do this.
This was normal, commonplace territory for me – a baby, a toddler, a pre-schooler. I even managed to navigate having an elementary school student. They still needed me to help them, guide them. Why did I think it would go on like this forever? When my youngest was born, his brother was a pre-schooler and his sister in elementary school. I knew how they needed me. I knew what to do. But now, I have no baby only school-agers and a teenager. I feel lost. A huge part of my life, what I did with my time for the last 14 years is over. Again, I looked around for my Parental Report Card to see just when, exactly, had I been promoted to the next level, and I couldn’t find it. But I knew that whether I liked it or not, my role, my involvement, my importance to my children was changing. They didn’t need me to hold their hands and walk them to their classrooms any longer. They didn’t consider though that perhaps I still needed it.
“Are you sure? You don’t need me to walk you to your classroom” I asked my youngest as we stood outside the school office. He waved me off and said “No, go. I’m good.” “Okay” I said and turned slowly and in shock towards the front door. I didn’t even watch him walk to his classroom. He had made it clear that he did not need me. With every step towards the door, I felt the air leaking out of my familiar mommy balloon. Should I be happy that he doesn’t need me at the same time that I’m sad he doesn’t need me? What does this say about me as a mother?
I slid into the driver’s seat of the minivan and thought how my role was changing relative to all my kids. My previous clearly-defined role as mother, provider, protector of my children was warping and changing. I didn’t know how to act. When you are younger and in school, you have to learn and to master certain aptitudes and then you get promoted to the next grade level. You know what is expected of you in the next grade; you hear from those who have gone before what to expect; your path and role as a student is clearly defined.
But it’s not as clear when you are a parent. I remember when my teenage daughter turned 1 year old. I marveled at her as she worked on walking from point A to point B; as she picked up toys and put them in her mouth; and as she giggled when the dog ran by her. I had done a pretty good job keeping her alive, I thought. Then it hit me, oh my god, I am responsible for her brain too! I had spent her first year keeping her fed, dry, happy and that was the easy part. I was comfortable with that role. But on that day I realized that her intellectual and her emotional development as well as her memories sit squarely on my shoulders. I looked around for my Parental Report Card to double check that I had been ‘promoted’ to the next level. I couldn’t find it but I knew it was there.
So I embraced that new role of the mother of a toddler and then a pre-schooler. Then along came her little brother. Ah ha, I thought – back to what I’m familiar with and have already proven capable in. I know this. I can do this.
This was normal, commonplace territory for me – a baby, a toddler, a pre-schooler. I even managed to navigate having an elementary school student. They still needed me to help them, guide them. Why did I think it would go on like this forever? When my youngest was born, his brother was a pre-schooler and his sister in elementary school. I knew how they needed me. I knew what to do. But now, I have no baby only school-agers and a teenager. I feel lost. A huge part of my life, what I did with my time for the last 14 years is over. Again, I looked around for my Parental Report Card to see just when, exactly, had I been promoted to the next level, and I couldn’t find it. But I knew that whether I liked it or not, my role, my involvement, my importance to my children was changing. They didn’t need me to hold their hands and walk them to their classrooms any longer. They didn’t consider though that perhaps I still needed it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)