UNCONDITIONED CHAPTER 25

Loving too Much

As we were packing up to move, I had another gynecological exam. This time bad news was delivered by mail—my Pap test indicated dysplasia, a pre-cancerous condition. The goddess doctor who’d treated me the first time had moved away and her replacement was a tightly wound young woman. I called her office to ask if there was anything I could do to prevent the dysplasia from developing into cancer. The nurse said, “No, we’ll wait until it becomes cancer and then treat it.” This seemed like the wrong approach, but I was still too scared to take matters into my own hands. I quit smoking again, but otherwise stayed in denial, telling myself it was probably nothing. This time, though, the stars were in an unexpected alignment.

Shortly after getting this news, I bumped into an old friend whom I hadn’t seen since she dragged me out of bed a few years earlier when I was too depressed to get up. She was no longer twitching with anxiety, but exuded contentment, her eyes clear, her face open and relaxed. I was so unnerved by the change in her, I blurted out I was searching for some answers but didn't know where to look. She recommended I read Women Who Love Too Much by Robin Norwood because she’d found it helpful in understanding her own self-destructive behavior. She also said something about mutual funds. I bought the book the same day and devoured it. A path to dismount the nightmare merry-go-round of my life unfolded. The book helped me to recognize my attraction to men who I deemed needed fixing, my focus on their potential rather than their reality, and my assumption that they’d change. Although I was never one to actively try to change the men in my life, I’d hoped my love would somehow passively transform them into the perfect men they could be. Therefore, when they didn’t change, it confirmed I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, sexy enough, etc. Although I’d never heard of co-dependency, I fit the profile perfectly. Having my behavior identified finally gave me hope because it meant now I could figure out how to change. I’d wandered in circles and suddenly an exit was revealed. That book led me to Al-Anon meetings, even though for once I wasn’t actively involved with an alcoholic or drug addict, like I was with Jesse’s father Wayne, and again with Alex, my boyfriend after leaving Wayne.

Even though there wasn’t a current substance abuser in my life, the impact of those painful experiences lingered. I learned at Al-Anon meetings that it’s essential to process emotional fallout in order to let it go, so I decided to take a close look at what had happened with Alex. Jesse usually worked all day on Saturdays so instead of cleaning the apartment and doing laundry, I lay on the couch with a pot of tea to think.

Alex lived in a big farmhouse with roommates from Los Angeles who were well-traveled, smoked a lot of pot, and drank gallons of wine. Their home was a nexus of creative types with whom I’d longed to rub elbows, but whenever I did was intimidated into self-conscious silence. They were kind and welcoming to Jesse and me and we frequently had dinner there and spent the night.

I met Alex when I worked briefly at a hippie clothing store when I was still married to Wayne. Every week he came in to try on rings. As he stuttered, shuffled his feet, and avoided eye contact while taking each ring out of the velvet display box and then putting it back, I became smitten. After many awkward and uneventful shopping attempts, he told me his name was Alex and that he was a metal sculptor with a studio in the next town. I was intrigued by meeting a real artist but knew nothing about sculpture. When he finally looked up and our eyes met, he stared with such intensity I was glad to be sitting down.