The Allure of Pseudointimacy {Part 2}

The beauty hidden within our sh*t or the sh*t hiding within our beauty.

This is Part 2 of a series. You don’t need to read the first part for this part to make sense, but they pair quite nicely together, like wine and cheese! You can read Part 1 by clicking the button below:

And now, on to Part 2:

This engagement photo is ridonkulous. And it’s one of my favorite pictures ever. Because when he proposed, a FREAKING PERFECT RAINBOW POPPED UP RIGHT BEHIND US AS WE KISSED IN FRONT OF A WATERFALL. My Dad had died a few months earlier, and I felt his joy from the great Beyond.

And this second photo! The silhouette of the bird. The light breaking through the clouds. Are we in heaven? Is this the perfect couple?

But these photos - oh so shareable - only represent a sliver of our marriage. And I will continue to write about parts of my marriage that aren’t captured in photos because I am searching for the truth. And the truth is - sometimes, I think my husband’s equal capacity for ruthlessness, to go for the jugular, does make us a good match. I’ve never felt like I’m too vicious for my husband because I know he can match my meanness. One of the hardest parts of trying to be Christian was how truly nice so many of the women seemed. And the implicit belief that I should also look, act, think, and behave the same. I think, authentically, many of them were truly nice! But if God made them to be silky, sweet bunnies, then God made me into a porcupine. Or a puffer fish. Or a deranged dog that’s been left in the pound for way too long. 

You know those couples where one person is soooooo angelic and nice and accommodating and sweet to the other ALL THE TIME and everyone’s thinking, “Wow, that bitch/asshole does not deserve them!”

Yeah…that’s not us.

We can be equally selfish, equally destructive, equally mean, equally cutting. Another ex told me I’m the most castrating woman he’s ever dated. HOOOOO BOY, what an honor! Lucky for me, my husband’s dick is, apparently, made out of steel. The biting things I say bounce off of him into oblivion. 

Don’t get me wrong - there’s a ton of cuddling, affection, pet names, connection and laughter. But there’s also a lot of disconnection that leads to intense fighting. We are both neurodivergent, but in clashing ways. And we don’t have knock down, drag out fights that often, but when we do - we are both very comfortable with stooping low.

But strangely, it doesn’t feel personal. I can clearly see the ways I make him feel trapped and cornered, and why he lashes out at me - to protect himself at any cost in the heat of the moment. Maybe it’s because I’ve done a lot of research on autism, maybe it’s because I’ve come face to face with my own vicious shadows, and maybe it’s because I understand the nervous system. When we are in fight or flight, all humans truly have the empathic capacities of a lizard. And sometimes, I do the same lizard lash outs. And then we forgive each other.

Is this dynamic with my husband healthy? Well, I can confidently say, it doesn’t make me feel insane. I actually feel incredibly sane, even in the midst of intense rage. And I appreciate having a partner who doesn’t crumble in the middle of a fight. With other partners, I couldn’t tell what was real, what was fake, what was me and what was them. And that made me feel crazy.

Heather Havrilesky, advice columnist, writes on committed relationships:   

“NO ONE CAN GIVE YOU EVERYTHING. No one. I’ve had repeated conversations this week with friends about the very specific voids or flaws their partners have, and each time I tell them that they need to keep asking for exactly what they want, but they also need to recognize that this flaw or void is unlikely to disappear. If you love someone deeply and you want to be happy and you also want to support their quest for joy and peace, you have to learn how to tolerate and accept and even celebrate who they are. The worst flaws are welded to the best qualities. You can’t pry them apart. You have to love the whole person.

So whenever I consider the notion that someone else might be more intellectually curious and passionate and creative than my golfer husband…I revisit the reasons why I’m not with someone like that, namely: THAT TYPE OF PERSON WOULD NEVER PUT UP WITH MY SHIT.”

If I ever feel the pull to romanticize an ex, I remind myself in the most loving way possible, that I’m full of shit. And it’s quite possible that for other partners, loving me would have meant abandoning themselves.

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