I was instantly drawn to her when we met. Our chemistry was palpable, magnetic: during the first movie we saw together, I thought I was imagining her leg pressing against mine, her shoulder leaning into me. Through late-night work sessions, our feet kept finding each other’s under the table where we sat across from each other, unable to concentrate and unsure of why. Over Indian food, I felt my stomach drop when I noticed she was blushing, shy–first date jitters had her pushing her sleeves up above her elbows with nerves. Naive, I hadn’t even realized it was a date until I tried holding the door open for her to enter before me and instead she ushered me in first with a hand at the small of my back, mumbling something about it feeling awkward to let me hold the door for her. Crying over coffee months later, confessing to her I’d fallen, hard, she sat back smugly and calmly explained how she didn’t want to get in between my husband and I, didn’t want to ruin a marriage, didn’t want to be blamed for destroying my children’s lives, and wouldn’t wait for me to clear the slate for us to be together.
Looking back on that moment now, four years later, after taking the hole my emotional investment in this woman had wrent in the fabric of our lives and tearing it in two so that we could move forward with the pieces, I realize that was when I should have walked away from her. She was pathological: a predatory lover, who preyed on women in vulnerable positions, offered a way out, promised something pure and whole, only to get bored once she got what she wanted or to bail once situations got real. She’s not to blame for my divorce, but she made it difficult for me to see myself clearly at a time when what I needed most was to know who I was. I knew I loved her but didn’t trust her, that I was unhappy with my husband but couldn’t leave him for her, that life as I knew it had changed but didn’t want to accept that I couldn’t un-change it; still, I hesitated, waiting. Waiting for her to be honest and whole with me. Waiting to know what was the right thing to do. Waiting to figure out whether I wanted to leave because of her or for myself.
And I waited. I went to bed every night wishing for freedom from the obsession I had with her, only to be drawn to her the next time I saw her. She alternated between “trying to respect my boundaries” and insidiously testing them, offering her support, her friendship, and her love–but only so much love–so that just as soon as I’d figured out how to shut down my feelings for her, she opened the spigot wide and they’d pour out in a rush. And I woke up every morning–first, next to my husband, then, alone, knowing that the only way I would ever free myself from her would be to fall in love with someone else–and unfortunately, that someone else was not going to be my husband.
This was what I’d been afraid of for most of my life, more than what my mother would think, what the neighbors would say, what it would do to my kids, or what I would think of myself for leaving a relationship most people coveted. I was afraid of the depth of emotional manipulation I would be subject to in a relationship with another woman. I was afraid of falling too hard too fast, of the exponentially fierce emotions two women in a relationship have to grapple with. I was afraid that finding a stable, balanced, responsible, and emotionally mature (gay) woman (whom I was attracted to) would be next to impossible. I was afraid that I was more unstable, imbalanced, irresponsible, and emotionally immature than anybody I’d ever meet. More than any of these, I was afraid of getting my heart broken.
In case you’re wondering how that story ended, suffice it to say she found another woman. And I, well, I found another woman too. She wasn’t the right woman, but as our relationship ran its course I realized I didn’t need to find the right woman to justify leaving my husband–I had been the right one all along. Ironically, it took finding the wrong woman for me to finally see myself clearly, to file for divorce, and to begin rediscovering myself. The beauty in getting to know myself is that it has allowed others to truly know me as well. And just as I’d given up trying to find the right woman, it turns out she may have found me first.
(mostly) full disclosure 