This morning, one of my sisters called me in a state of panic. It is unusual for us to call each other at all, much less for emotional support. Even though I grew up in a household of girls (there are four of us), none of us are particularly close. We had a chaotic and poverty-stricken upbringing that pushed all of us into a decades-long fight-or-flight mode, which does not set the conditions for building healthy relationships.
She was on her way to work a 15-hour restaurant shift even though she was exhibiting signs of a panic attack. As I listened to the fear in her voice, I remembered that this past fall, I drove myself to the emergency room because my anxiety symptoms were so severe that I was having heart palpitations. An EKG determined that there was nothing (physically) wrong with me and the doctors sent me home. At the end of the call, my sister said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m getting up and I’m working, and I’m getting my kid to school, but beyond that, I’m not thriving. Are you thriving?”
This question stopped me in my tracks. None of my sisters have ever asked me this before, probably because they assumed that I was. I’m the oldest daughter, and as any oldest daughter of a large, dysfunctional family will tell you, it is our job to thrive. Or at least, it is our job to appear as if we are thriving — to have it together enough that the scarce family resources (both material and emotional) could go to the younger and more vulnerable members of the family. But is “together enough” thriving?
Superficially, it might appear that I have it together, cranking out my sex column and publishing more than at most other times in my life, but below the surface has been a series of personal struggles that have made me question at times whether I can legitimately write about sex and relationships when they are the very things I am struggling with the most. In writing circles, after all, it is a common truism that we ought to “write from the scab, not the wound.”
I am at a relational crossroads with my partner of 10 years. In recent months, we have been doing deep and, in many ways, destabilizing couples therapy. While we have been casually non-monogamous for our entire relationship, they have come to see themselves as polyamorous, which is so much different than non-monogamous. (For the unfamiliar, a non-monogamous couple may agree to sexual relationships outside the partnership, but those practicing polyamory typically allow for emotional and romantic connections to build outside of the partnership as well.) This shift has included a much greater emotional commitment to their other partner and a re-imagination of our relationship in a way that, quite frankly, digs into the (still open) attachment wounds of my youth.
Recently, my partner lightly joked that I am only comfortable when I’m the alpha bitch. They are not wrong, and I laughed because it’s easier than crying.
I have learned that the only way that I can ensure that I get what I need is if I create the world from scratch for myself and all of the people I care about, a world that I have a degree of control over. In my case, this has often taken the form of caring for those around me (as an older sister, as a mother, as a wife, as a doting partner).
The flip side of my compulsive caretaking is my inability to trust that anyone will do the same for me. I am comfortable in my role as a mother, a sex worker, and a self-employed person, in large part, because these are all roles where I create the conditions and call the shots. In the case of my relationship, my therapist tells me that I’ve defended against being vulnerable by being excessively necessary.
Boss bitch energy may be good for business, but it's far less so for love.
Returning to my sister’s question, part of what I am coming to terms with is how afraid I am to allow things to grow and change. Though I may look as if I am thriving, a lifetime of trauma has wired me to expect that any stability is short-lived, and that change threatens to take more from me than it gives.
One thing is certain, holding tightly onto old relational patterns that made me feel structurally safe is not contributing to our ability to thrive as a couple or in our lives as they are now. In fact, it’s doing the opposite. I am not thriving, but I want to and I still believe that it’s possible; it is just going to require a little more trust and a lot more vulnerability. I am going to have to believe — to internalize — that I don’t have to keep my partner solely dependent on me (sexually, emotionally, or otherwise) to be worthy of their love. I will also have to believe that loosening my grip will open up space for a more dynamic and secure relationship. I’m coming to believe that this is what it means to thrive, particularly in love.
You can find Jessie on Twitter @sapiotextual & Instagram @curvaceous_sage. You can follow her new podcast on Twitter & Instagram @NotHustlingPod. You can also visit her website jessiesage.com.
