It's Not You, It's Me...

It's not you, it's me. Is this not the most unhelpful phrase in the entire language of relationships? Along with "I'm fine" and "Does my ass look big in these jeans?" Because basically what she's just said is there's a kink in the works of the "us" machine and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. The utter powerlessness that phrase invokes is rather overwhelming. What do you mean there's nothing I can do? This is our "machine", our life. How can it be broken and me unable to make repairs? And what do I do with my parts of the machine, which are still humming away like clockwork, while your parts shoot sparks and smoke? It feels like trying to steer a rowboat with one oar. So what do I do? If I flail around randomly all that happens is that we go in circles and probably wind up soaked and perhaps upset the boat altogether in the process. If I do nothing, we sit going wherever the current takes us for an undefined amount of time. What if by the time she's ready to row again we've drifted somewhere neither of us intended or wanted to be? Can we find our way back to where we started, or have we gotten too far away? It's an incredibly frightening feeling not knowing where you're going or what will happen when you get there. If I jump ship before we arrive I have the comfort of being once again in control of my own direction, but she's gone on to somewhere else without me and I have no way of knowing if that destination could have turned into an amazing adventure. So which is worse? To live in fear and insecurity with the hope that the end result will be worth it, or to be assured of safety now, but always wonder what could have been. Coulda woulda shoulda. Another of the world's most useless phrases, along with "what if" and "if only." How do we live in the moment of now finding peace and acceptance just in this moment of time, for this one breath, and then how do we do it again and again until all of our life is one peaceful breath? When do we let go of the need to "control" every moment and just allow the moments to flow through us as they come? As I float down this river of confusion, how do I communicate to her my love and my fear without increasing her fear as well? If I'm really living in the luuuuv moment (insert cheesy drawn out Marvin Gaye "Let's Get it On" voice here) should there really be any fear? This, my friends, is the dilemma of The Butch/Femme project. The ups and downs and communication catastrophes of the butch/femme lesbian relationship.

© Sarah Ultis 2011