Jun. 8th, 2018 11:49 am
Tilting at windmills
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mizarchivistOnce upon a time, there was a little girl. She was an only child. She was mostly OK with this-- she made do. She knew it wasn't ever going to be otherwise. She felt special and loved by her parents, extended family, friends, and teachers. She wanted for nothing, but she still got lonely sometimes. She wanted someone more to love. In that way that small people have no filters or limits, she wanted someone to love who loved her back: someone who was kind, and thoughtful and intense, and weird and funny and imaginative- someone who was in it with her the same way she was.
The first love was the girl across the street. And for a while, it was pretty great, but always a little off balance. Eventually there was a parental divorce, and the girl across the street moved away, a world away, one town over- and it broke the girl's heart a bit. It was never entirely the same, but our little Don Quixote tried to keep things going, through teen years. But it always hurt that the girl no longer across the street just couldn't love Quixote back like that. She kept thinking.... if only she could try a little harder- do one more thing, the girl not across the street would love Quixote back like before. Aw, honey.
High school was hard. So many people to fall in love with, but this time, not the puppy-ish child-version. This was the adolescent flavor, with all the hormones and raw, unfilteredness that entailed- gods help us all. She'd tilt and tilt - and the windmills got big eyes and backed away slowly citing not wanting to ruin the friendship. Her take-away, was to try harder, be better. That she clearly was doing something wrong, so she should write a poem. Make a mix-tape. Pine. A lot. It'd work out eventually. But high school came and high school went. And then in the twilight before graduation, in the shadow of prom, she landed a windmill. After a year or so of hard campaigning, the windmill agreed to be her boyfriend. HUZZAH!! Cue victorious music and possibly a walk towards a sunset. But the now 18 year old Quixote had already spent over half her life tilting and failing.... it meant it was hard to say no when opportunity showed up. Even if it was a shitty idea: the wrong person, a bad match, maybe she wasn't really into them but they were into her. She'd best make the best of it because who knew when there'd be another chance. Even though she was in an assumed monogamous relationship, saying no was unthinkable. And in the meantime, the landed windmill had his own problems, lots of demons. Great sex, great moments... but still so much to figure out. So much to explore. Adventures to have and mistakes to make. So a small eternity of three years later, it ends in a crumbling, flaming heap of bad. A small chance of improvement out of all this -- Quixote abandons monogamy as a bad deal. It was a good start.
It never got as disastrous as the adolescent era, but the pattern stayed: keep trying. Give another chance. Don't say no to affection, even if it feels off. Even if it chafes a bit. Modifications and self-preservation would kick in here and there, learned through hard lessons. Some self-awareness of her own part in her pain and suffering, the damage she ended up inflicted because of it. Parenthood, partnerhood, marriage, friendship, career, therapy.... new lessons, new layers- poly & kink, oh my. Partner transition, and partner sobriety.... And finally- in sobriety and recovery can maybe Quixote figure her shit out. Because goodness! How much of her own misery came from her own choices. An addict's partner's recovery is less straight forward, but just as critical as the addict's if there's to be true healing and true growth.
Quixote kept thinking she had to save her partner. She thought that if she just... (one more thing).... and sometimes she still thinks that, but it turns out Quixote really just needs to save herself. Own her shit. Believe people the first time when they tell her something. Take the space. Take the time to take care. To practice. Keep practicing. Have compassion. Say no. Do the next right thing. Keep going. Keep coming back. Life isn't good/bad, right/wrong. Life lives in gray and ambiguity. In small kindness and small cares. Sweeping grand gestures can go fuck themselves. It's all about the next choice. And recovering from slips without adding recrimination to the damage. The urge to tilt will never entirely leave. And she'll tilt still, from time to time. And when she does, Quixote will try hard and assume it's all her fault when it doesn't work. Her hope comes from realizing it's another windmill before being entirely bruised and battered. That she has a choice. Adventures are OK and can be good! Adventures and windmill-tilting can look ridiculously familiar. They have common roots and require certain qualities of curiosity, hunger, tenaciousness, and bravery. And being adventurous isn't all bad when it includes loyalty, compassion, empathy, love--
But know when to stop.
See the patterns.
Know when the adventure is just a windmill, again.
Back up.
Forgive yourself for the slip and correct the path.
Make amends, if you can.
Try again.
.... to be continued....
The first love was the girl across the street. And for a while, it was pretty great, but always a little off balance. Eventually there was a parental divorce, and the girl across the street moved away, a world away, one town over- and it broke the girl's heart a bit. It was never entirely the same, but our little Don Quixote tried to keep things going, through teen years. But it always hurt that the girl no longer across the street just couldn't love Quixote back like that. She kept thinking.... if only she could try a little harder- do one more thing, the girl not across the street would love Quixote back like before. Aw, honey.
High school was hard. So many people to fall in love with, but this time, not the puppy-ish child-version. This was the adolescent flavor, with all the hormones and raw, unfilteredness that entailed- gods help us all. She'd tilt and tilt - and the windmills got big eyes and backed away slowly citing not wanting to ruin the friendship. Her take-away, was to try harder, be better. That she clearly was doing something wrong, so she should write a poem. Make a mix-tape. Pine. A lot. It'd work out eventually. But high school came and high school went. And then in the twilight before graduation, in the shadow of prom, she landed a windmill. After a year or so of hard campaigning, the windmill agreed to be her boyfriend. HUZZAH!! Cue victorious music and possibly a walk towards a sunset. But the now 18 year old Quixote had already spent over half her life tilting and failing.... it meant it was hard to say no when opportunity showed up. Even if it was a shitty idea: the wrong person, a bad match, maybe she wasn't really into them but they were into her. She'd best make the best of it because who knew when there'd be another chance. Even though she was in an assumed monogamous relationship, saying no was unthinkable. And in the meantime, the landed windmill had his own problems, lots of demons. Great sex, great moments... but still so much to figure out. So much to explore. Adventures to have and mistakes to make. So a small eternity of three years later, it ends in a crumbling, flaming heap of bad. A small chance of improvement out of all this -- Quixote abandons monogamy as a bad deal. It was a good start.
It never got as disastrous as the adolescent era, but the pattern stayed: keep trying. Give another chance. Don't say no to affection, even if it feels off. Even if it chafes a bit. Modifications and self-preservation would kick in here and there, learned through hard lessons. Some self-awareness of her own part in her pain and suffering, the damage she ended up inflicted because of it. Parenthood, partnerhood, marriage, friendship, career, therapy.... new lessons, new layers- poly & kink, oh my. Partner transition, and partner sobriety.... And finally- in sobriety and recovery can maybe Quixote figure her shit out. Because goodness! How much of her own misery came from her own choices. An addict's partner's recovery is less straight forward, but just as critical as the addict's if there's to be true healing and true growth.
Quixote kept thinking she had to save her partner. She thought that if she just... (one more thing).... and sometimes she still thinks that, but it turns out Quixote really just needs to save herself. Own her shit. Believe people the first time when they tell her something. Take the space. Take the time to take care. To practice. Keep practicing. Have compassion. Say no. Do the next right thing. Keep going. Keep coming back. Life isn't good/bad, right/wrong. Life lives in gray and ambiguity. In small kindness and small cares. Sweeping grand gestures can go fuck themselves. It's all about the next choice. And recovering from slips without adding recrimination to the damage. The urge to tilt will never entirely leave. And she'll tilt still, from time to time. And when she does, Quixote will try hard and assume it's all her fault when it doesn't work. Her hope comes from realizing it's another windmill before being entirely bruised and battered. That she has a choice. Adventures are OK and can be good! Adventures and windmill-tilting can look ridiculously familiar. They have common roots and require certain qualities of curiosity, hunger, tenaciousness, and bravery. And being adventurous isn't all bad when it includes loyalty, compassion, empathy, love--
But know when to stop.
See the patterns.
Know when the adventure is just a windmill, again.
Back up.
Forgive yourself for the slip and correct the path.
Make amends, if you can.
Try again.
.... to be continued....
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Remember the part about forgiving yourself.
*hugs*
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I just gotta hope though I'm slow it's all part of what I know the facts are pretend anyway
Love you. Like I said, your time and energy are valuable, you are valuable, and you are valued. Let the windmills spin and flap their arms, while you ride on. <3
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Hey, same. And thank you.