Natural Disaster Page 13

  I don’t even remember how we ended up getting in the house, but I do remember her apologizing for her outburst, as she always did, and then explaining why she was so frustrated and that it had nothing to do with us. And although I knew that, there was nothing in my soul I wanted more than to go back in time a half hour and be able to have those keys so my mom never had to get that mad.

  I’ve had a lot of time to think about and talk about my childhood and my parents, and the best that I can come up with is that they were an unusual pair. As demonstrative and emotional as my mom is, my dad holds back on his feelings and can be critical. Being their kid was confusing. On the one hand, I never wanted to yell like my mom, but on the other, I was also desperate to get some kind of reaction from my dad. In the end, it was a perfect recipe for a people pleaser who thrives on chaos.

  As the older sibling, I wanted Sean and me to be safe and happy. I came to a decision very early on in life, the totally subconscious kind we all do as kids, that would affect me until my early thirties. I thought that the only way to be safe was to be perfect. I couldn’t control my mom’s behavior or get what I wanted from my dad, but I could be the perfect child—perfect, perfect, perfect so that no one could get angry and everybody would love me. Great plan, right? No wonder I was so ambitious in my career; no wonder somebody like John came along who could always keep me guessing about how he felt, and who knew just how to push my buttons to keep me under his control.

  My parents both remarried, and starting when I was fourteen, there was a new baby for each of the next three years.

  First my dad had my half-sister Bridget.

  Then my mom had my half-sister Adrianna.

  And my dad had my half-brother Walter.

  My parents had both started new families. And yes, we were always part of the family. But now that I have my own child and know how much effort and love a baby takes, I can’t imagine having a fifteen-year-old to deal with at the same time.

  We were most definitely still loved to the moon and back, but life changed when those babies came into the picture. My parents were late to pick me up from sports practice; neither of them made it to all the school events, field trips, or cheer competitions. I think I felt like we had taken a bit of a backseat to their new families.

  So we did what any child would do. We both reached for a microphone. My brother is the lead singer of the band, The Outer Vibe. I went into television. We both took on professions that demand attention.

  It’s strange because now that I can step back and have the wisdom to see it differently, I was almost trapped in that sensitive teenage mind-set where everything revolves around me. That was not always in a bad way, but in the worst way for me, in that I would absorb other people’s feelings. I didn’t emotionally mature.

  That’s what got me into so much trouble, and it was entirely my fault for not asking more questions and communicating more. I couldn’t separate my feelings from anyone else’s.

  And that’s exactly what Dr. Wilson helped me untangle during our therapy sessions. I can’t believe it took me that long in life to figure it out, but I’m grateful I got to him when I did. The first thing Dr. Wilson explained to me—and it was a life-altering revelation to even hear this—was that everyone is entitled to their feelings, but it is unfair to absorb other people’s feelings. Wow. So somebody is mad and it’s not my fault? Conversely, somebody is pleased and it’s still not because of me. Life changing. But it’s not enough to just know this. In order to practice it, he taught me to put up an invisible fence. He taught me to recognize and acknowledge how the other person is feeling, but then block it from jumping into my space. He told me, “When confronted with another person’s actions in response to their feelings, say, ‘I am sorry you feel that way.’ You can genuinely feel empathy or compassion without absorbing all their negativity. Especially when it has nothing to do with you.” This idea has revolutionized the way I look at the world, and I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that working this tool is the foundation for everything I am so grateful for in my life today, including my job, my husband, my son, and my happiness.

  It’s hard not to look back at my younger self and wish I had known about this tool as a kid. If only I could have put up a fence when my mom was having an eruption, I might have had some peace, I might not have gotten addicted to the drama and the way it made me feel. When I wasn’t sure what my dad was thinking and I made up the most negative emotion I could imagine him having about me, I definitely could have used that fence. But it’s wishful thinking. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we all survive our childhoods.

  “He would have been abusive even if you didn’t cheat.”

  Dr. Wilson and I were on day four, going back through my failed relationships and the one that I couldn’t shake. The one where I had literally failed. Miserably. Or had I?

  On a cross-country trip to Los Angeles recently, I watched The Girl on the Train. I’m not sure if you do this, but I had one of those horribly embarrassing moments where the movie touched me so deeply I started bawling with no concern that I was in a capsule filled with strangers. I had read this book but did not remember the end. Spoiler alert: in this book and movie the main female character is painted as an alcoholic disaster who ruined her marriage and has an unhealthy obsession with her ex-husband and his current wife. In the end, you learn that he was really the monster. She was fallible, yes. She was drinking, yes. But they went through and told the story quickly again of their marriage failing, of her obsession with the ex-wife…from the perspective of him controlling and manipulating her.

  I had been the girl on the train.

  I had been controlled and manipulated.

  And while I did make several mistakes, he, John, was really the monster.

  Writing this book has been so eye-opening for me. I beat myself up for years because of my mistakes. But every story has two sides and the truth. I know my side and I have worked hard to find the truth.

  Anyone who has been in a manipulative and controlling, emotionally abusive relationship will find this description eerily reminiscent. Because they are all the same. Let me just say this right now—just in case anyone reading this is in an emotionally abusive relationship but think their love is so strong that it is going to get better and it will be worth it. It won’t. It can’t. I wish I had something different to say. I wish I would have understood sooner. It is not healthy nor normal for your partner to isolate you from family and friends, to constantly have all your passwords and read all your texts and e-mails. No matter what your situation, you should be loved and your partnership should be supportive without drama.

  When John and I met, I was actually living with my boyfriend Angelo. Angelo was tall, dark, and very funny. He also had a seasonal job. I met him in his season of work; by the time fall came around and the weather turned, Angelo moved into my apartment with me, essentially out of work until the next spring. Suddenly, I had a barely employed boyfriend, which if I’m being honest, I hadn’t given much thought to.

  Angelo spent his days playing video games and taking long walks in the city. He was helpful with my dog, Otis, and I appreciated that but as we headed into winter, it felt as though he were hibernating. I knew this was just part of Angelo’s schedule, year in and year out, but it was new to me having a boyfriend who didn’t change out of his sweatpants all day, and as much as I didn’t want it to bother me, it did.

  Making matters worse, I was growing restless at work. It was beginning to feel stale, doing the same exact forecast from the same exact studio every weekend. I was starting to resent the “normal” people who were out in the world, eating and laughing and having a life while I was stuck inside a dark studio for sixteen-hour days every weekend. That entire winter, I focused on finding something to make my career advance and let my relationship with Angelo fall to the background. I was far from happy.

  And then spring arrived. The flowers bloomed, the sun was shining, and a Facebook message appeared from
a guy named John. He was interested in offering me an opportunity that would help my career. We scheduled a meeting and I was immediately smitten. John and I spent four days working on a project together. The last night neither of us could deny the chemistry any longer. We kissed and I heard angels sing.

  This was my future. Everything felt right. He smelled right. Do you know what I am saying? His skin felt and looked like the skin I wanted to be next to forever. There was a magnetism between us that I now believe was there to teach me a lesson in how to find value in myself and not allow someone else to determine my worth.

  I went home and told Angelo we had to break up and he had to move out. He was not pleased and it wasn’t easy, but I knew I had to do it. I had learned this lesson before. When something doesn’t feel right, get out. Or you’ll end up almost getting married. And I was not going to catch up with Julia Roberts’s numbers. This time as I ended it with Angelo I felt this sense of freedom I hadn’t ever felt in my life, even when I’d ended my engagement, which was so loaded with guilt about the pain I’d caused my fiancé. This time, I was ready to move on and get out of the quicksand of stagnation.

  John was the polar opposite of Angelo. Like me, he hated sitting still. We made plans for him to come visit me. I stocked my refrigerator, I cleaned my apartment, and I couldn’t wait for him to meet my dog and my friends. I had never been a long-distance dater, so I was naively optimistic.

  Just a few hours before he was supposed to arrive, John called and had bad news. He wasn’t going to make it.

  I was pissed.

  I’d broken up with my boyfriend for this guy. I’d turned my life upside down for this guy. I’d bought barbecue potato chips for this guy!

  But I’m forgiving. I was willing to give it another shot. I went once more to see John on his turf, and we had a fantastic time together. I felt myself falling for him more and more as I got to know him better. I was seeing his silly side, his caring side, and I could feel his guard dropping. We made plans for him to come visit me…again.

  And again, he didn’t show up.

  I didn’t get it. Wasn’t I important enough? Wasn’t there more to life than work? Didn’t he feel my skin was right, too?

  If I could broadcast this to all women (or men) thinking about changing anyone while they are dating, please listen: You must listen. People tell you who they are up front. You just have to be willing to listen and then accept it. But of course, that’s the thing right? As a natural disaster, my fantasies are critical to my survival. They are, in fact, my reality. So why would I pay attention to reality? That’s no fun.

  When I met John, he let me know in our first conversation together. He said something along the lines of, “I have never been as interested in a relationship than I have been with my work.” He said that to me! Clearly. And then I decided to ignore it. Why would I pay attention to such an obvious red flag? Why not choose to process this information as evidence of how much passion he had for his work—which was something I also had, so wow, that just confirmed we were meant to be. Why would I ever choose to read that as a way of a man telling the woman he has just gotten involved with, Hey, don’t ever get too attached to me because I love what I do more than I love people, and that will at some point down the line, include you? Again, I wasn’t interested in reality. Reality is very annoying, inconvenient, and distracting.

  So instead I buried all the evidence. The comment, the cancellations of his visits, anything that got in the way of my fantasy. Finally, after the two aborted trips, John came to see me. I once again cleaned my apartment, groomed Otis, and picked John up at the airport. But as soon as he took one step into my apartment, he opened his laptop, and he made it very clear that this relationship was costing him critical time away from his work. Within an hour, he had taken jabs at my friends and family and even started challenging me on some of my religious beliefs and values. I thought that was odd and chalked it up to him being in a bad mood from traveling.

  That night, I had made plans for my best friends to meet John. Just as we were leaving, he told me he needed to stay back and work and just didn’t feel comfortable because of his social anxiety. He went on to explain that he could never be a “social butterfly” like me. He is one of the only people that has ever made that phrase sound like a bad thing. I didn’t know why at the time, but I was already changing, morphing to be what he wanted me to be. His manipulation was heavy; his ability to vilify others around me and isolate me from loved ones was masterful. Despite all that, I kept telling myself I wanted, no, needed, for this to work.

  What happened next still haunts me. I can see it now, and in retrospect, with a lot of therapy, I can understand it. Cheating on John was something I did to protect myself. Somewhere deep inside I must have known that John was bad for me, dangerous even, but without the courage to leave, I would have to find a way to make it implode so he would leave first. I was also afraid of being alone, so cheating on John was a way of hedging my bets. Plus, as a natural disaster, I thrive on turmoil.

  I got a text from my now ex-boyfriend Angelo and I texted him back. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I’d made the break with Angelo; it was over. But John wasn’t who I thought he was going to be. So, I returned the text.

  Angelo wanted to get together for coffee and a talk. Nothing more, he said. He just wanted to know why, why had I given up on us? I said yes. It seemed harmless enough. I owed him that, right? We met, we talked, and I went home. That should have been the end of it. But I was lonely. That friendly coffee soon led to a friendly lunch later in the week, which led to a friendly dinner a few days later and eventually led to friendly sex. I know, right now you must be judging me hard. But Angelo was warm and available, safe and supportive. Everything that John was not. Angelo was edging back in and filling the void John left open. Angelo truly loved me. He built me up without feeling the need to tear me down. All of this should have made me question why I was involved with somebody who didn’t make me feel safe, but it didn’t, not yet.

  The morning after Angelo and I slept together, I felt terrible. So guilty, so ashamed. It was so stupid, so unnecessary. I tried to justify to myself why I hadn’t done anything wrong. John and I had only known each other for six weeks. At one point, I even tried convincing myself that I hadn’t had sex with Angelo. But here’s the thing about your gut—it doesn’t lie, and it will not be lied to. You can ignore it, but you will pay the price. The thought of telling John and coming clean was never an option. The rest of that summer I danced between the two guys and dated other men, acting as if I were not committed to anyone—not once being honest with myself or them. It wasn’t always physical, but emotionally I was all over the place. I fantasized about how I could mesh Angelo and John into one to get the perfect man. If you ever find yourself saying this, please exit all current romantic relationships. That means that neither is right.

  Late that summer, John and I went away together. To me it was the trip that would finally determine whether John and I should really be together. It was a fantastic trip. We stayed in a swanky hotel and hiked. I finally believed we were falling in love. As a natural disaster, I felt like if the trip went well, we’d be okay. It would be a sign, and I would just forget I’d cheated on him. I know now that traveling is the worst metric for determining the health of a relationship. I know some couples who are terrible when they travel together, and awesome at the mundane details of their regular lives. Then, of course, there are couples like John and me (usually in the early stages of dating) who are great on vacation and a catastrophe back in reality. Four days into our trip, John and I were having such a great time, we decided to extend our trip. After rebooking our return, I jumped in the shower to get ready for a romantic dinner.

  What happened next would shatter my life. From that point on I would be a shell of myself attempting to make up for the wrongs I had done. Wrapped in nothing but a towel, I walked back into the bedroom and found John just staring at me, holding my phone, a text messge bright on
the screen.

  “Who’s Angelo?”

  I immediately felt vomit rise in my throat. My heart raced and I thought I would pass out. My immediate reaction was culled from every cop show I’ve ever seen. Deny, deny, deny.

  For the next hour, I talked around myself in circles. I hated lying to him, hurting him, but I couldn’t stop. When I broke off my engagement, I had also been one of those people who hurts people, but this was worse. Ending my engagement had been the right thing to do for me and my fiancé, but cheating on John was wrong in every way and I knew it. My gut was smirking in the background. See, I told you so.

  John didn’t need me to explain anything. He’d figured it all out himself and decided that I was playing my ex against him. My lying and denying had worked, or so I thought, and we decided to go to dinner.

  When we got back to our room after a tense meal, I went to sleep. John said he was going to stay up to work.

  I woke up in the middle of the night and found John sitting in the glow of his laptop just staring at me. He demanded more answers.

  “Tell me the truth. Have you seen Angelo since you broke up with him?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe you. I am going to assume you have seen him. Have you kissed him? Slept with him?”

  His questions kept jumping to the next level even though I was doing my best to contradict everything he was saying.

  I just kept lying. It made no sense. I was still desperately trying to save a relationship with a guy who consistently made me feel small, who clearly told me he loved his career more than people, a guy who didn’t really want to become a part of my life but wanted me to be his and only his when it worked for him. This was a guy who had made it painfully obvious that I was an inconvenience.

  I had done John a huge disservice by casting him in the role of my knight in shining armor who took me on great adventures and rescued me from the banality of a weekend studio job and a boyfriend who was addicted to video games. That wasn’t fair to John, Angelo, or especially me. We need to learn to be our own knights in shining armor, and when we cast others in that role, the universe seems hell-bent on proving us wrong. That’s what I was living through at that moment.