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And yet, even then, I constantly find ways to battle her, to throw roadblocks in our/my own way. My mom always said I liked doing things the hard way. She was right. And that’s to some degree still the case. Probably always will be. It’s just my nature. I never take the easy path. I am stubborn, willful and intense, like both of my parents.
Recently, my wife and I, along with her 18-year-old son, visited Manhattan for a few days. We did a lot. Saw a Broadway show. Did a comedy show. Caught live jazz at Small’s in Greenwich Village. Walked all over the place. Took trains everywhere. Zigzagged through Central Park. Ate pricey Italian dinners. Yelled at her son to get off his phone.
I am proud of myself for keeping my mouth shut about things that bothered me 90% of the time. Maybe 95%. This is usually not my strong suit. The problem I generally have—with my wife but historically with any woman—is that there’s a big part of me that wants things to go and be done a certain way. I get this from my lovely, passionate, intense, and yes, controlling, mother.
The problem is complex. As a sober alcoholic, I know I overthink things. I’m way too sensitive. I take things personally. I have too big expectations. No person—no woman—could possibly live up to these expectations. They’re fundamentally unrealistic. I know this…and yet most of the time I cannot prevent myself from feeling anger, resentment and fear.
Britney and I go to a couple’s counselor. She’s fantastic—early-mid 50s, dark-haired, aggressive energy, very practical. She tells us we’re “trauma kids” and that we both have “anxious attachment disorders.” Britney likely has ADHD. I have a mix of narcissism, arrogance and emotional neediness at explosive levels.
Every fight we have—well, let’s say 98% of them—is started by me. It’s always me having some kind of problem with her. It’s usually something she did, some way in which she didn’t “see or hear me.” I often feel she’s myopic and selfish. To be fair, we’re both only children. Though I was born and raised in much more privilege than she was, we were both spoiled in different ways.
And yet we both come from serious emotional trauma.
Britney’s dad left when she was three, moved to Florida. Her mother put her new husband ahead of her own daughter. She rebelled. Snuck out at night. Drank. Did drugs. Got into trouble. Me? My father was a good man who was completely emotionally detached and didn’t want to face fatherhood, and my mother was narcissistic, incredibly wounded from her own nefarious throwaway childhood, and profoundly strict and controlling. I turned, like Britney had, to drinking, drugs, girls, fast cars and rebellion, including the anarchy of punk rock. Anger surged through my essence from a very young age. Something wasn’t right.
What this meant for both of us was that we didn’t get our emotional needs met. We both felt emotionally abandoned. Britney felt both emotionally and, by her dad, physically abandoned.
All my adult life—since 18—I’ve used physical sex as a means of escape. I never wanted to get close to women. True emotional intimacy scared the shit out of me. Sure, I was the kind of guy who spilled his whole life story—gory personal details and all—on the third date, but it was ironically a superficial connection; somehow, I was using fake intimacy, oversharing, as a shield against really, truly being seen. I didn’t want to be seen.
When a woman got too close and it began to move past just casual rough sex, I ran. And yet of course I very much did want to be seen. Thus the irrational, aggressive push-pull of my attachment style. Come here, now go away, over and over and over.
It was different with my ex. We were together for 4.5 years. We traveled, moved in together, got a cat, etc. Yet even with her I felt safe because I never honestly got close with her emotionally. Not close enough, anyway. And we were never a good match. We never made sense. She always told me I was “emotionally abusive” because I was always criticizing her. She added that I always wanted her “to be a different person.”
She was right on both counts.