The old adage goes that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, so when it came to re-learn how to function in a new relationship this old dog found herself somewhat challenged. In my past I had spent so many of my years holding things back that it was just natural to not talk about things that bothered me, and to bury them for fear they would upset or disappoint others. It turned out that the most important person it ended up bothering was me, because I held everything inside, let it fester and boil until I was feeling upset for what would have been a pretty minor thing. Still, I kept it inside until it had boiled dry and I was emotionally ready to go on.
I know deep down, that this is not how you conduct a relationship, but it was my way of coping and existing so as not to rattle the cage. I don’t know how I got to the point where I was scared of communicating, but I remember always being apprehensive about sharing my feelings, especially, and this is the crux of it all, if they were in the least bit controversial.
The first time I distinctly remember being hesitant was the time I had taken a job with a small newspaper in a remote North Western Ontario town. The editor of the paper had been kind enough to find me accommodation in the town, with a local nurse, Mary, who frequently rented out furnished rooms in her house for people who needed immediate lodging. Mary was the town social butterfly. She knew everyone and was constantly introducing me to people in town. She had a party once and I think half the townsfolk turned up. There was a parole officer living in the basement room of the house and she had also invited a bunch of her co-workers. I met one of them, we chatted a bit and he asked me out for dinner. Seizing an opportunity to get to know him better, and actually go on a date with someone who seemed kind of nice, appeared to be a good way to ease myself into the community.
The day came and we went out for dinner (which, oddly I don’t remember at all) and then drinks back at the house. It was one of those rare evenings when there was no one else home so we grabbed some wine and curled up on opposite ends of the couch to talk. That’s when things started going south. He began to ask me intensely personal and probing questions that made me feel uneasy. As I look back and in his defense, I assume he just wanted to get to know me better, but I wasn’t ready for this type of investigative assault and the wall instantly went up. The conversation fizzled and the evening was basically over at that point. I never saw him again. I can’t remember if it was because I turned him down for subsequent dates, or if he decided that I was too much work and never called me again. Regardless, opening up was difficult.
I used to open up to my diaries all the time. They were the window to my soul, and when I lost them all in a house fire I felt like my emotional past had somehow been erased. I started one journal after the fire, and it never filled up. I couldn’t bring myself to throw the same kind of emotion into it as I’d done in the past. So instead of recording it all, I kept it all inside.
Relationships followed. Again I never felt comfortable enough to really open up to many of the guys I dated. Not surprisingly, those relationships were relatively short-lived. When you cannot share your passions and dreams and worries then what can you share? As wonderful as a warm bed and a bottle of wine are shared between two people, it isn’t enough.
I think when I look back, I was never encouraged, or perhaps never really had the opportunity to challenge others’ viewpoints. As mentioned earlier throughout my married life I took the easy path, always deferring to others. During one family dinner I stepped outside my box and had an interesting “discussion” debating rural vs. urban upbringing with my brother-in-law. The discourse left me nervous and shaking inside, probably due to the exhilaration of finally being able to express myself. I’ve always underestimated my worth, and my intelligence. I think the main reason I hesitated in speaking up was an ill-founded fear of looking stupid.
As with many things in my life, the self-esteem I gained once I started running helped me begin to open up the channels I’d previously locked-down. I saw and embraced a new world outside. When I realized I wasn’t going to be shut down for expressing my views it became easier to articulate them. But I’m no means communicator-extraordinaire. It has continued to be a slow road. And I am still uneasy voicing my opinion, or even accepting that my opinion really matters in the long run. I need time to mull things over inside and formulate a response and sometimes it may take a few minutes or hours or even days. But I am getting better. This ‘old dog’ is slowly learning how to open up.
