CONFESSIONS

This blog isn’t about my past exploits or sordid past; it’s about me taking this journey I’m on to yet another level. I don’t feel comfortable exposing myself publicly as I’ve done lately, it’s against the very core of my nature and it reveals what I’ve painstakingly protected with massive barriers and silence for years, me. It’s a constant internal battle to push the “publish” button on each blog post. Nevertheless, here I grow…

A book I read theorizes that a person needs 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert in some field, my field of expertise was being a Player. This is no boast, only a fact. I have my 10,000 hours. Most men who apply the “Player” label to themselves would pinpoint the age of puberty when they started their “training” at 12-14 years old. I on the other hand began much younger. I remember my “training” beginning around the age of 4. You see, my “training” came from someone who unknowingly took my natural ability to get a read on emotions and honed it to near perfection with hands on instruction. This schooling came from an unlikely source, my mother.

Trust me when I say this isn’t one of those blogs where an adult fails to take responsibility for their actions by blaming their parents for their shortcomings. I love my mother unconditionally and even without all of my friends constantly reminding me, know how FUNomenal the woman is. No buts at all. The conditions my mother experienced and endured in her life played out in mine as well. If you read my mother’s book, Healing for my Hurt: A Journey to Wholeness: Finding My Father, Finding Myself, you can find it online for purchase here, http://www.amazon.com/Healing-Hurt-Journey-Wholeness-Finding/dp/1449004687/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_1/180-6812881-8884148 you’ll see the obstacles she has overcome and why I’m so proud of her. Plus it’s a good read! A synopsis is, my mother grew up without a father until she was 56, then was married, to my father, for 13 years which from my own memories and recollections was loud, angry, painful and unfulfilling. Imagine being a woman who has either had a lack of interaction with a man she wants to know desperately, her father, or an unhealthy interaction with a man she wanted to love, her husband. Then I was born. I was groomed to be utterly attentive to my mother’s innate needs. I say that with no malice or regret. I love my mother through and through. As I aged, I became increasingly adept at knowing when and how to provide comfort to my mother. I learned how to apply the emotional salve she craved expertly. I know how much my mother suffered, even if I didn’t entirely understand why. I empathized and did what I could to lesson her pain, I never asked twice for anything, never complained no matter how bad it was, I was a midget stoic. Can you see how this “training” supersedes anything any man could acquire? As a child, I knew I was meant to do something that was imperative, but lacking adequate comprehension I saw it as a task, something to do before watching cartoons or going out to play. My skill at detecting the subtle nuances of a woman’s emotional needs is unparalleled. This talent in itself can be a wonderful thing. I believe, however, due to other circumstances, my learning to connect emotionally was nourished while my being comfortable enough to allow the reciprocation was stunted.

If we could look over the course of my adult life, you see the same pattern over and over again, me providing what a woman desires, on every level. I plugged myself directly into their wants and went about it in such a way that they were convinced we had a spiritual connection, that we shared something unique and special. Many were willing to stake everything on that belief. I on the other hand was only doing what I’d been conditioned to do, a task to complete, a chore if you will. The level of confusion, frustration and misunderstandings on both sides were sky high. I couldn’t comprehend why such a big deal was made about something I did for everyone, while women couldn’t understand why I fought against what they wanted to give so desperately. I’m not saying it was always mindless work for me. At times, with certain people, and I hope they know who they are, it wasn’t a job, but came naturally as breathing. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t learned to allow them within my walls. I honestly had no idea what was meant to be done. I resisted all attempts to reveal Carl. My level of discontent was always in the danger zone. I could only go a certain amount of time around people before I became almost physically ill. Even being in the presence of others could be too much for me and I would become a recluse for days, hiding out in my apartment completely disengaged from the world. Bad enough when your single making friends worry, almost unforgiveable in a relationship. I think what I’m trying to say is, people could always sense this huge space I placed between them and myself, yet, they were always drawn to me and intrigued by how quickly I was able to get them to feel safe and comfortable. That was something I saw as my purpose, to appease. My distance was created because I was afraid of the unknown. I knew what to expect when people opened up to me, but it was all uncharted territory when I was expected to do the same. Now, I am attempting to map that territory.

I am a work in progress in every sense of the word. I am attempting to allow people past my buffer zone and peak behind the curtain to catch a glimpse of the wizard. It’s difficult on many levels for me, but I’m trying. A couple of people I consider to be friends, good friends because I care about both of them immensely, sent me emails. I believe their emails were sent with only the best intentions. These emails questioned the appropriateness of making my journey so public. Both friends made very valid points about why it might not be the best way to go about things. I however explained to them, for too long I kept EVERYONE out and lived in a self imposed solitary confinement, opening the door for all to see forces me to clean up the mess. Much harder to hide anything, and I’m tired of hiding. I think it was Albert Einstein who said insanity is defined by doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. It’s time to do something different, with that, more blogs to follow. Day 28 still learning…