When Faun tells me he’s afraid of losing his attraction for me, or that there is a block in his desire for me, the cold sets in. Waves of chills running up from my toes and engulfing my torso. I’m suddenly acutely aware of my pulse, which seems to be turning to palpitations, and a wave of fury is a bad cover for the panic in my chest. Oh, and I can’t breathe. The world seems to freeze, and I feel almost out of control of my physical self.
And these are my feelings, my physical responses, and my buttons being pushed. So before we do anything about us, I need to act for me. Here’s what I try:
Processing:
I came across the theory and practice of emotional processing, which originates in Gestalt techniques, via sacred sexuality teachers from the west coast. The idea being that emotion is “energy-in-motion” that gets stuck in our physical and emotional bodies when repressed. With breath, movement and sound, emotion can be expressed, and once moved like this it will ultimately give way to something new – whether because change is the nature of the universe, or because our natural state is a more peaceful one, you decide. I’ve been taught a bunch of techniques, but two have stuck with me. One involves pounding pillows and making plenty of noise, ideally kneeling up, raising the arms above the head, and using the flat of the forearm or the open palms to impact the pillows as you breathe out, or yell, or scream or whatever.
Screaming into pillows is always great too, but if you don’t have the luxury of being able to make sound, try one of my favourites, the hand scream (my teacher used to nip to the toilet during difficult business meetings to let off steam with this one). Use your hands, one over the other, to stopper your mouth completely, so you can’t breathe out or sound, but you still get the pressure of the scream building inside if you try and yell. And shake your body, particularly the belly and shoulders where emotions tend to gather. Then, when you finally let go and allow yourself to breathe out, it’s a great relief.
Finally, there’s my angry music; everyone should have some angry music to stomp and shake and shout along to. A combination of The Gaslight Anthem and Miranda Lambert seems to work for me – I suspect neither of them would approve of that particular pairing.
What’s the point of processing? Choice, darling. See, if I really go for it, then after a while I’ve moved enough emotion to accomplish two things: Firstly, I have more control since I’m no longer feeling overwhelmed. Secondly, I’ve made more space for forgiveness, love, compassion, or just peace and quiet, to well up in me. And I’m not waiting for someone else to fix me, or fall over themselves trying to fulfil my every wish, to keep me happy. Like anyone is going to do that. Certainly not my clever, clear-boundaried Faun.
Taking my sexuality into my own hands (literally):
We’ve established that I’m pretty set on sharing ecstatic sexual states with my partner. However, it’s becoming clear that is something we’re going to have to work on with patience and dedication; it doesn’t help the process if I come to bed frustrated, and set on resentment if things don’t go the way I want them to. I’ve noticed a tendency to “save myself” in relationship, so that if by any chance my partner(s) do want some I’m willing and wanting it – but I’m beginning to suspect it might have more to do with me projecting my needs onto other people so I don’t have to love myself that much.
Of course, one of the advantages of poly is that we can take the old “placing different needs in different relationships” adage to all sorts of interesting places, but my lover just went mono, I’m in full on hibernation mode and in no mood to go hunting. But my needs aren’t getting met here, and again, they’re my needs, so there are two courses of action I can see. A balance of the two seems to be the most effective approach, allowing for plenty of yumminess without disconnection and resentment.
On the one hand, I schedule in more long bubble baths, and more solo sex magic rituals – though it takes me a while to come around to the idea of this much me-time (workaholics anonymous, anyone?). On the other hand, gulp, I need to carry on my research in an area I was advised to take an interest in last year: Asking for what I want. Not my strong point, though I coach my clients in it meticulously. I was very much brought up not to ask for anything, and, for all the wonderful sexual healing work I’ve been blessed to study and practice, some of that cultural stigma around female pleasure has rubbed off on me somewhere. However, since apparently Faun can’t always read the small print of my every squeak, squirm and meaningful look (funny that), I’m just going to have to get used to spelling it out. Eek.
Deal breakers:
Unlike the “strategies” above, this one came to the surface of my psyche of its own accord. Faced with all this blasted love on the one hand, and a mind full of far more worst case scenarios than should feasibly be able to fit into it on the other, I’ve found myself thinking about what it would take for me to seriously consider leaving.
As someone who has been described as an “Olympic-pro personal development nut,” I’m often so involved in moving through issues that I can trample my own boundaries in the process; and poly for me was always about making choices according to love, rather than fear. However, as anyone who’s lived poly knows, the boundaries that are assumed in monogamous relationships are not present – we sort of have to make our own.
Working out what makes a deal breaker, as opposed to another thing that I’m willing to work on because I know it’s just a childhood trigger I don’t need any more, sets some useful signposts in place for future reference – in case there comes a point when I’m in too deep to work out that I’ve handed more of myself over than feels good.
The deal breaker for me, incidentally, is him being sexual with other people but not with me. I mentioned childhood triggers before, and don’t for a moment let me fool you into thinking that this boundary doesn’t also tap into the usual stuff that seems to lie at the root of jealousy for me. I can generally trace the green monster back to not getting the attention I wanted from my mother as a child, and then panicking when that attention was turned elsewhere. And of course the possibility that Faun might be sexual with other people and not with me keys into that. (By the way, I find knowing this really helpful emotionally – working out why something triggers me is generally really useful.)
But as Terry Pratchett says: “If you don’t know when to be human, you don’t know when to be a witch”. Boundaries are important for being human. And asides from the skin and bones bits, often we have to decide on our own. So, for now, for better or worse, there’s mine. And I feel a certain sense of relief having set it.
So – I’ve jumped and shouted and banged pillows and shaken out a nice big chunk of the emotional content that was causing me to feel out of control, panicky, angry, and resentful. I’ve dealt with some of my own needs and made agreements with myself and him that it’s ok to ask for what I want. And I have a good idea of what “time to quit” looks like. I’m now ready to team up with him, and come up with some new strategies to recreate our sex-life.
Liked this? Check out the previous installment of “Keeping the Home Fires Alight”
Tags: advice communication responsibility Personal Stories Spirituality deal breaker negotiaton processing Author Name: Rowan