Wow!
I mean, yeah, of course, but, wow!
I don’t think I had “childhood” trauma, but definitely was more deeply affected than I admitted/knew by my parents’ shock divorce, obviously by the vicious, tearing rape by my friend’s friend, and yeah, also about my first attempts at making love with the first boy I loved. Where it 🍆 just didn’t fit! 🤦♀️. We tried, off and on, for a very long time.
I thought I was broken. Not capable of being penetrated. This is where my deep and very real fear of large penises kicked in.
I know it sounds like a joke.
But I was TERRIFIED of meeting someone with a big dick.
And guess what?
Yup.
The day BG took his pants off, aroused already, holy, holy fuck! 😱
I froze. I actually nearly ran from the room.
I did tell him, when we started making love, to be slow and gentle, as his is a LOT bigger than the only penis I had ever had inside me.
To be honest, I’m sure that is what every man probably wants to hear, but he looked a bit coy, and was amazingly careful.
To start with 😜
I also thought maybe I was overstating it in my mind. Maybe he was “normal” sized. But he has length AND girth. It was quite shocking.
Months later, probably a year, I discovered he had a reputation about his size, amongst his friends. A couple of the wives siddled up to me, to ask.
If the legend was true!
Jesus. What???
Not even sure how you answer that!
Of course, this was not asked sober. I just winked and smiled, knowingly. Then Ingrid, who asked first, told me that it was legendary amongst this crew.
When I later relayed the story to BG, he shook his head, and was really embarrassed. Told me about the incident, in his teens, with a girl in his Catholic boarding school dorm. And getting caught by one of his mates. Who is still a close mate to this day. Good lord.
Literally!
As he intimated, it made it seem more. Like, “The Legend,” is larger than the reality. (Pardon the pun.) And yeah, I can see it is dehumanising. Objectifying. It embarrases him.
But, it was genuinely a terrifying night. In a good, consenting way. Still a really difficult thing for me. In my 50s, one lover ever, whom I was totally, madly in love with. Then this very real fear of mine, materialising!
Back to the other points, though. I definitely tick all of those items on that unhealed trauma list. I would like to add that it wasn’t really a difficulty setting boundaries – although, my uber chill chick vibe might be (correctly?) read this way – I think it became more about difficulty policing them.
When I insisted after Leanne that he change his phone number (it was before I even knew you could block) to starve her of oxygen, when she kept covertly (by connection) threatening us, and our children, and overtly saying she was bringing her mother to meet with my inlaws, to let them know they were destined to be together, that scared the SHIT out of me.
Cut her off! Cut her access to us off!
Rog insisted that he needed to keep his number, to “manage” the bunny boiler.
Hmmm.
Also helped his need for ego kibbles, right? Not only was he continuing to get her attention, he fashioned himself as my great hero and protector by “cutting her off at the pass.”
Also made it REALLY easy to fuck her again, two years after he had “ended it.”
Riiiiiight. Good job on the boundary enforcement, Paula.
My problem is, I have no desire to be the Marriage Police. What a shit job that was.
So I “believed” him, let it slide.
I also hate that I was unable to see that his refusal to read about affair recovery, or get counselling was another violation of my boundaries.
I have lived in a state of high anxiety for 12 years now. I wasn’t that person before Leanne. Before I knew I am a chump. I used to be a far different person than I am today. I felt safe, connected, confident. I didn’t feel the need for much external validation.
I feel none of those things anymore. And yeah, am more socially “needy.” I’m aware of it, and work hard at dismantling the narrative of “not good enough” that now feeds my social anxiety.
That said, I am anxious about today. Anxious about re-entering my home town. The possibility of facing him yet again. Knowing he also has another horse racing in this region tomorrow. It’s likely he’ll be there. And surely the cunt will be, too. I preferred when I didn’t know much about these horses, and his current life.
No contact is the biggest tool for healing from relationship trauma.
I’ve been no contact with my former friend, of at the time, over thirty years, Leanne, for 12 years. It’s good.
It still blows my mind. This darling man, whom I loved and trusted completely, for decades (at least until he broke that unwavering trust, the love was still there) whose body I craved, and snuggled up with, at every chance, whose babies I conceived in deep love, gestated, and birthed with him, is someone I must avoid now. It’s super fucking crazy.
It still messes with me. I know it’s because I still love the “old” Rog. The illusion. So I don’t want to see the new one. Especially not with his whore. My mental health is too precious. Too hard fought for.
I know he doesn’t get it. He never had to fight for life, like I did. He never had to suffer, being rejected and discarded. He had several women clambering for his attention. He. Just. Doesn’t. Understand
Or really?
He just just care.
Better go shift my heifers, give Sunny, number 7, a big hug and scratch. Always helps ground me when I need it.
Thank God for animals, huh?
Tearing at the Fabric 