The frum blogosphere is full of tirades from both men and women, frum and OTD, regarding taharas hamishpacha. Yes, this is another one. I think my perspective on the subject is somewhat unusual, but of course that may just be ego talking.
A few months ago, I would have told you that I don't mind keeping taharas hamishpacha; in fact, I was grateful for the mandatory respite from sex. Imagine - two whole weeks when he can't even ask me! Two whole weeks without worry! Gevaldik!
That's not how I feel anymore, though. I've started feeling that taharas hamishpacha is contributing to my dislike of intimacy. The halachos of taharas hamishpacha - and yes, that so-welcome mandatory respite - are contributing to my feeling objectified. I feel like we don't even have a chance to work on developing an emotional bond or a friendship that would make me happier to be bound to this person for the rest of my life: our relationship is halachicly focused on sex, on the woman's sexual cycle. The woman is a sex object, no matter how chivalrous the man is. No matter how much he pretends - or even tries - to focus on the woman's other qualities, the most important part of their relationship is going to be focused on whether or not he can touch her.
I am makpid on negiah. At work, where I spend my day mostly with goyim, I am very careful to avoid touching men. Although it's not particularly comfortable, especially in my line of work, I refuse to shake hands with people. I ask them not to touch me in platonic ways. Still, I'll admit that if it's something that the person clearly didn't even notice doing, and it's unlikely to ever happen again, I sometimes let things slide. I know that my husband is not going to be embarrassed or unhappy if I point out his own infractions while I'm a nidah, but I'll admit that there are times when I let those slide, too. If he passes me something without thinking about it, or if we forget to put a heker on the table, and I notice, sometimes I say something, and sometimes I don't. To be honest, sometimes I forget some of the harchakos. Not the negiah ones, but the heker and things like that. Sometimes I forget. Never that I'm a nidah, but sometimes that I'm not supposed to do something. I'm pretty good, but I'm not perfect. And it doesn't even bother me to slip up on these things; I'm having a lot of trouble appreciating the beauty in taharas hamishpacha.
Anyhow, my point is that since sex is not a part of anyone's relationship at the office, and since I don't believe I'm viewed as a sexual object in that setting, I don't focus on touch in building relationships - and neither do the people with whom I work. We build healthy, functional working relationships - and yes, friendships - without sexual undertones. No, I would never have considered marrying any of them, and no, sex never enters my mind as the natural progression of a close relationship, but still - I don't even think the men in my office think of that as a primary part of our relationships. Even the ones who like me and think I'm pretty. Even the ones who consider me a friend. (All right, I got pretty good at sending out "keep away" messages during college. I don't think any of them think of me as a good possibility for a relationship. Or even thought of me that way prior to my marriage.) Thus, I feel justified in believing that not all men think about women in a sexual context at all times. In fact, I'd be willing to say that most men are capable of thinking about other things than sex.
So I'm forced to assume that this seeming obsession by young frum married men with sex is caused, at least in part, by taharas hamishpacha. Imagine being forbidden any sort of sexual outlet for the 20-odd years leading up to marriage, and then only being able to think about sex 50% of the time. We're talking about young human men who have spent a lot of time working to develop their minds. They are hit with a whole new set of halacha when they get married, and they think about it non-stop. Horny newlywed kollel guys? Blame taharas hamishpacha. Maybe a more casual attitude to things like "affectionate touching" - within the bounds of marriage; I'm not advocating throwing out negiah - would cause fewer horniness issues.
All that horniness, I think, is one of the things that is hindering my ability to build a relationship with my husband. I don't see him as sexually attractive at all, and there are some things that I could finger as distinct turn-offs. If I'm trying to build a sex-based relationship here, there's really pretty much no hope. And I can't build a platonic relationship, because my every day is a constant reminder of my nidah or non-nidah status, and we are forced to constantly think about our sexual relationship. Either I'm counting the days I'm menstruating, or I'm counting the days I stick a cloth up where really I'd prefer to have nothing at all going, or I'm anticipating requests for some sort of sex and either trying to force myself into willingness or trying to come up with valid new excuses why I'm not willing. There is never a vacation. I'm always on duty, and I'm always feeling like an object.
I can't say I look forward to mikvah night. I don't find the mikvah a humiliating experience, but I don't enjoy it. I don't see it as a spiritually uplifting experience. I don't sense a profound direct connection to G-d when I'm standing in the pure waters of the mikvah. I try to daven for a better connection with my husband, hoping against hope that my kallah teacher is right and there is a special power to tefillos from the mikvah. I do it, because I feel like it's the right thing, and there's always this tiny hope that it will work.
The last time I went to mikvah, I took along a book to read in the tub. I managed to get myself in a much better mood than I ever had prior to sex. It lasted until I got home, and then the good feeling evaporated. But still, that one time, I looked forward to mikvah night. Why? Not because I eagerly awaited a reunion with a special person, but because I was finally in a mood where I'd be able to handle my duties, and if I could do them that night, I'd be off the hook for a while. Somehow, I don't think that's the anticipation that halacha had in mind.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Time Lapse
It took me maybe five seconds in the yichud room to start feeling uncomfortable. It took maybe another month for me to realize just how wrong things felt. It took my husband quite a bit longer to figure out that there was something serious going on; he would tell you himself that he enjoyed and encouraged his own ignorance. He knew that things weren't perfect - it would have been kind of difficult to miss all the signs - but he didn't realize that I was totally miserable or that the evil d-word was floating through my mind. It took a lot of time and a lot of therapy for him to come to terms with the magnitude of the problem.
My husband is a pretty optimistic guy. He generally accomplishes this by ignoring any negatives and focusing on the positive. This is a wonderful midah, but it means that he doesn't actually deal with negatives. He pretends they don't exist. It seems to have worked for him in most aspects of his life. I, however, am not so good at ignoring what I don't want to see; I insist on dragging problems out into the open, where presumably they will be easier to deal with. I am capable of laziness and of hoping that time and inertia will make action by me unnecessary, but I am not capable of pretending the problem doesn't exist. Thus, I forced my husband to acknowledge the existence and importance of what was going on in our marriage. However, once the problem was visible, he had no tools to deal with it: his usual tool of aggressive ignorance would no longer work.
Since that cruel pulling away of the wool over his eyes, he's been sinking deeper and deeper into something closely resembling depression. This is ironic, since a few months ago, he was accusing me of being depressed and trying to convince me that Prozac would solve all our relationship problems. Actually, for a while I was convinced that it was a possibility, and I considered going on an anti-depressant, all in the name of leaving no stone unturned.
Forced acknowledgement is worse than just ironic, though; it's counter-productive. Before, I could be reasonably certain that if I managed to straighten out my own issues, we would be okay. Now, though, my husband has a whole set of issues and unhappiness all his own. That means that if I do fix things on my end, we're not home free and happy. We're needing to deal with problems that I created post-wedding. I'm not so selfish as to think my husband is not entitled to have his own issues and to be upset at times. But these aren't his issues; they're still mine. I don't want to have to fix them twice, especially when the second time around I'll have to deal with them in an unfamiliar brain pattern, so that I don't know how to reassure him in a way that will hold. And it hurts to know that I've made things worse - again - by following the experts' advice.
Irony has a way of escalating. I used to think that one of the reasons that I couldn't emotionally connect with my husband was that he didn't need me emotionally. After lots of therapy, we have managed to get him to admit he has issues with dealing with emotions. Most men are less in tune than women are with their emotions, but he is less in tune with his emotions than even most men, and by his own efforts to make himself that way. I need to be needed, and I didn't feel like he needed me. Now he does, because he certainly isn't capable of handling these newfound emotions himself. The irony is that making things worse may be a catalyst for making things better. However, that is probably a false hope, since I don't really want to help anymore. We have too much negative history at this point.
But I'm trying to be fair. He had to put up with months of my extreme misery, even though he spent most of that time in denial. Yes, I've finally managed to achieve apathy - who would have ever thought I'd think that was an achievement? - and he's a few months behind me in getting to miserable. If he had to put up with me, I should be willing to let him have a few months of self-indulgent sulking. It's a shame we couldn't do the misery thing at the same time, but then, maybe the marriage would be over by now if we had. Although I'm not convinced that that would be a bad thing. Prolonging the misery is not a goal I strive for.
My husband is a pretty optimistic guy. He generally accomplishes this by ignoring any negatives and focusing on the positive. This is a wonderful midah, but it means that he doesn't actually deal with negatives. He pretends they don't exist. It seems to have worked for him in most aspects of his life. I, however, am not so good at ignoring what I don't want to see; I insist on dragging problems out into the open, where presumably they will be easier to deal with. I am capable of laziness and of hoping that time and inertia will make action by me unnecessary, but I am not capable of pretending the problem doesn't exist. Thus, I forced my husband to acknowledge the existence and importance of what was going on in our marriage. However, once the problem was visible, he had no tools to deal with it: his usual tool of aggressive ignorance would no longer work.
Since that cruel pulling away of the wool over his eyes, he's been sinking deeper and deeper into something closely resembling depression. This is ironic, since a few months ago, he was accusing me of being depressed and trying to convince me that Prozac would solve all our relationship problems. Actually, for a while I was convinced that it was a possibility, and I considered going on an anti-depressant, all in the name of leaving no stone unturned.
Forced acknowledgement is worse than just ironic, though; it's counter-productive. Before, I could be reasonably certain that if I managed to straighten out my own issues, we would be okay. Now, though, my husband has a whole set of issues and unhappiness all his own. That means that if I do fix things on my end, we're not home free and happy. We're needing to deal with problems that I created post-wedding. I'm not so selfish as to think my husband is not entitled to have his own issues and to be upset at times. But these aren't his issues; they're still mine. I don't want to have to fix them twice, especially when the second time around I'll have to deal with them in an unfamiliar brain pattern, so that I don't know how to reassure him in a way that will hold. And it hurts to know that I've made things worse - again - by following the experts' advice.
Irony has a way of escalating. I used to think that one of the reasons that I couldn't emotionally connect with my husband was that he didn't need me emotionally. After lots of therapy, we have managed to get him to admit he has issues with dealing with emotions. Most men are less in tune than women are with their emotions, but he is less in tune with his emotions than even most men, and by his own efforts to make himself that way. I need to be needed, and I didn't feel like he needed me. Now he does, because he certainly isn't capable of handling these newfound emotions himself. The irony is that making things worse may be a catalyst for making things better. However, that is probably a false hope, since I don't really want to help anymore. We have too much negative history at this point.
But I'm trying to be fair. He had to put up with months of my extreme misery, even though he spent most of that time in denial. Yes, I've finally managed to achieve apathy - who would have ever thought I'd think that was an achievement? - and he's a few months behind me in getting to miserable. If he had to put up with me, I should be willing to let him have a few months of self-indulgent sulking. It's a shame we couldn't do the misery thing at the same time, but then, maybe the marriage would be over by now if we had. Although I'm not convinced that that would be a bad thing. Prolonging the misery is not a goal I strive for.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Reading and Writing
Every experience has an impact. I'm not always sure if that's a good thing.
My ultimate goal right now is to be happy. I know that doesn't sound lofty or inspiring or impressive. It's not as "important" as doing the right thing, serving Hashem, making a kiddush Hashem, bringing Jewish children into the world. But it's my goal of the moment. Happy.
I'm not being too picky right now about the specific form of happiness. Although there are a number of reasons why I would like to not be married, it would certainly be easier, and in the long run, perhaps, better, to stay married. If I can be happy in this marriage, it is certainly less complicated than any other solution. Complicated sort of defeats happy (although not always), so I'm trying to work with what I have. After all, on some level, I did choose this.
Being happy in this marriage involves not thinking very much. If I think, I realize all the things that are wrong with my relationship. If I think, I realize that I go out and shmooze for hours with neighbors about nothing at all, just so that I don't have to pretend to be in a good mood to my husband. It's easier to pretend for the neighbors.
Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out for marriage, and that I would be equally unhappy in any marriage. I compare my husband to most of the other guys I know, married and unmarried, and I can't picture myself happier with any of them. But if I think harder, I remember that there are one or two guys whose company I do enjoy, and really, that would be enough to make me happier in a marriage. All the other stuff, I can do. The cooking and cleaning and housekeeping - I have that under control. Sex? Well, maybe if I enjoyed being with him, I would be more into making him feel good the way he wants to feel good. I don't need the sex, but if I enjoyed the conversation and the company, I'd want to give him his. Of course, the one guy who I've met recently who meets that description is related to my husband and younger than both of us. I can't even say that if he had been reht to me before my husband, I would have been better off, because I don't think it would ever have happened. The age difference probably would have nixed it. Also, he is missing some of my key "checklist" no-compromise items. So much for the checklist. The checklist matches good evolutionary characteristics, but it doesn't measure compatibility or friendship. I know, I know, you're supposed to be able to do that for yourself by dating. But I've been uptight all my life, and I guess I had trouble distinguishing between propriety and incompatibility.
If I don't think too much, though, I can settle into complacency. I convince myself that I can keep this up, so why rock the boat? I think - I'll move, have kids, build a family, find fulfillment through other outlets than my husband. I'll get along with my husband cordially, just like I do now. Life won't be perfect, but I can deal with it. I'll be okay. Does anyone have a perfect life?
But then I come here and I read about people who are happy. I'm not only talking about frum blogs; I'm talking about everyone. There are lots of people who do manage to find a person they love and who make the commitment to marriage not because they should, not because society expects them to, not because the family unit is the only acceptable household style, but because they have found a person about whom they can say, "Home is a person, not a place." They have found a person to whom they want to commit. I got married to be married; they get married to be with each other in a formal, committed relationship. And they're happy, and I'm not. Why didn't I hold a little tighter to my Western education and hold out for happiness? Or, if I really am not cut out for marriage, why couldn't I be strong enough to be happy in singlehood? I also read about happy singles and divorcees. Of course, I also read about miserable singles and divorcees. So of course, I am led to wonder whether happiness is at all related to one's situation in life, or if it's just a character trait. Some people will be happy no matter what, and some won't be, no matter what. And if I'm one of the latter, why even bother trying to be happy?
My ultimate goal right now is to be happy. I know that doesn't sound lofty or inspiring or impressive. It's not as "important" as doing the right thing, serving Hashem, making a kiddush Hashem, bringing Jewish children into the world. But it's my goal of the moment. Happy.
I'm not being too picky right now about the specific form of happiness. Although there are a number of reasons why I would like to not be married, it would certainly be easier, and in the long run, perhaps, better, to stay married. If I can be happy in this marriage, it is certainly less complicated than any other solution. Complicated sort of defeats happy (although not always), so I'm trying to work with what I have. After all, on some level, I did choose this.
Being happy in this marriage involves not thinking very much. If I think, I realize all the things that are wrong with my relationship. If I think, I realize that I go out and shmooze for hours with neighbors about nothing at all, just so that I don't have to pretend to be in a good mood to my husband. It's easier to pretend for the neighbors.
Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out for marriage, and that I would be equally unhappy in any marriage. I compare my husband to most of the other guys I know, married and unmarried, and I can't picture myself happier with any of them. But if I think harder, I remember that there are one or two guys whose company I do enjoy, and really, that would be enough to make me happier in a marriage. All the other stuff, I can do. The cooking and cleaning and housekeeping - I have that under control. Sex? Well, maybe if I enjoyed being with him, I would be more into making him feel good the way he wants to feel good. I don't need the sex, but if I enjoyed the conversation and the company, I'd want to give him his. Of course, the one guy who I've met recently who meets that description is related to my husband and younger than both of us. I can't even say that if he had been reht to me before my husband, I would have been better off, because I don't think it would ever have happened. The age difference probably would have nixed it. Also, he is missing some of my key "checklist" no-compromise items. So much for the checklist. The checklist matches good evolutionary characteristics, but it doesn't measure compatibility or friendship. I know, I know, you're supposed to be able to do that for yourself by dating. But I've been uptight all my life, and I guess I had trouble distinguishing between propriety and incompatibility.
If I don't think too much, though, I can settle into complacency. I convince myself that I can keep this up, so why rock the boat? I think - I'll move, have kids, build a family, find fulfillment through other outlets than my husband. I'll get along with my husband cordially, just like I do now. Life won't be perfect, but I can deal with it. I'll be okay. Does anyone have a perfect life?
But then I come here and I read about people who are happy. I'm not only talking about frum blogs; I'm talking about everyone. There are lots of people who do manage to find a person they love and who make the commitment to marriage not because they should, not because society expects them to, not because the family unit is the only acceptable household style, but because they have found a person about whom they can say, "Home is a person, not a place." They have found a person to whom they want to commit. I got married to be married; they get married to be with each other in a formal, committed relationship. And they're happy, and I'm not. Why didn't I hold a little tighter to my Western education and hold out for happiness? Or, if I really am not cut out for marriage, why couldn't I be strong enough to be happy in singlehood? I also read about happy singles and divorcees. Of course, I also read about miserable singles and divorcees. So of course, I am led to wonder whether happiness is at all related to one's situation in life, or if it's just a character trait. Some people will be happy no matter what, and some won't be, no matter what. And if I'm one of the latter, why even bother trying to be happy?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Light in the Dark
One morning on the train, the car lights went out while the train was in a tunnel. Pitch black, right?
But no. In today's day and age, there are lots of lights in the darkness. There was a girl playing on her iPod, a guy using a laptop: small lights in the darkness. Can we see technology as a symbol of hope?
I may just need to leave Lakewood.
But no. In today's day and age, there are lots of lights in the darkness. There was a girl playing on her iPod, a guy using a laptop: small lights in the darkness. Can we see technology as a symbol of hope?
I may just need to leave Lakewood.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Other Side
Most things have more than one side. It's a side effect of living in a three-dimensional universe. Of course, there are Moebius strips, but those take conscious efforts.
For example, I stumbled across this blog yesterday. Mostly, I've been trying to fix my attitude to marriage by looking for other marrieds who've been through a painful beginning and looking for hope and insight from them. But there's another set of experiences to consider: the girls who didn't take the plunge. I keep thinking to myself that I wish I could turn back the clock and have never gotten married to begin with; never having gotten engaged would be even better. But I do still faintly remember pre-marriage me, and I wasn't the happiest person. That's what convinced me in the end to go for perfect-on-paper: I couldn't take being the nebach single when I knew that I wasn't a nebach at all. Maybe seeing how a girl who did choose to remain single regrets her decision and is trying to make herself more marriage-minded will help me change my own perspective.
Or, to paraphrase one of the anonymous commentors, maybe it takes being married to recognize that I'm more suited to being single. I certainly didn't think I wanted to be single forever when I was single, but now I'm giving it much more serious thought. Still, being single is a very selfish lifestyle: I wouldn't have to care about anyone. Being the spinster aunt might be fun, but is it fulfilling? Am I thinking about singlehood as better than marriage, or better than this marriage?
For example, I stumbled across this blog yesterday. Mostly, I've been trying to fix my attitude to marriage by looking for other marrieds who've been through a painful beginning and looking for hope and insight from them. But there's another set of experiences to consider: the girls who didn't take the plunge. I keep thinking to myself that I wish I could turn back the clock and have never gotten married to begin with; never having gotten engaged would be even better. But I do still faintly remember pre-marriage me, and I wasn't the happiest person. That's what convinced me in the end to go for perfect-on-paper: I couldn't take being the nebach single when I knew that I wasn't a nebach at all. Maybe seeing how a girl who did choose to remain single regrets her decision and is trying to make herself more marriage-minded will help me change my own perspective.
Or, to paraphrase one of the anonymous commentors, maybe it takes being married to recognize that I'm more suited to being single. I certainly didn't think I wanted to be single forever when I was single, but now I'm giving it much more serious thought. Still, being single is a very selfish lifestyle: I wouldn't have to care about anyone. Being the spinster aunt might be fun, but is it fulfilling? Am I thinking about singlehood as better than marriage, or better than this marriage?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Frum Seeking
Mid-20's kollel wife, overworked, underpaid, performs well under stress, seeking well-proportioned caffeinated beverage for long-term relationship.
When I read about the frum-seeking-frum ads on Craig's List and the like, I am sickened. Cheating is simply not a good option. Maybe it's mutar for a man, m'ikar hadin, but it's (a) illegal and (b) morally wrong. And for women, it's a clear issur - issur karais! And yet, people feel justified in doing something like that, because they feel they need to.
I was reading a website run by a traditional Indian group, where arranged marriages are common. They discussed the differences between a physical affair and an emotional affair. Is one worse than the other? Is either permissible?
We all know that physical affairs are definitely assur. Now, how about emotional affairs? Is it okay if there are male friends with whom I feel more comfortable than with my husband? Is it okay if we discuss personal matters, if we laugh together, if we talk about our lives and families? Or is that a violation of a law?
The Indian website was of the opinion that emotional affairs are even worse than physical ones, because an emotional affair betrays the very fabric of the relationship. My question is - what relationship? Is there a relationship just because two people live together? Just because they stood together under a chupah? Just because they got a marriage license? That doesn't build a relationship; those things only create a framework for a relationship.
Why is it so much easier to build a relationship with someone when there are no strings attached? One would think that commitment would help make a relationship stronger: aren't our strongest relationships those with our family, who we can't divorce or discard? You can't run away from family, and thus, the saying goes, blood is thicker than water. Wouldn't that imply that commitment is proportional to the strength of the tie? So marriage should make a relationship stronger and easier. Divorce is hard; divorce is wrong; divorce is a last resort. And yet I find it so much easier to make friends with other people than with my husband. Somehow I resist his advances, even unconsciously. Is it fear of commitment? But I'm already committed! At least in the eyes of the world and the law, and that's plenty. So I end up thinking that the reason we can't make that "click" happen is because we're not suited - and yet, again, when he's not around, I can convince myself of just how well we are suited.
When I read about the frum-seeking-frum ads on Craig's List and the like, I am sickened. Cheating is simply not a good option. Maybe it's mutar for a man, m'ikar hadin, but it's (a) illegal and (b) morally wrong. And for women, it's a clear issur - issur karais! And yet, people feel justified in doing something like that, because they feel they need to.
I was reading a website run by a traditional Indian group, where arranged marriages are common. They discussed the differences between a physical affair and an emotional affair. Is one worse than the other? Is either permissible?
We all know that physical affairs are definitely assur. Now, how about emotional affairs? Is it okay if there are male friends with whom I feel more comfortable than with my husband? Is it okay if we discuss personal matters, if we laugh together, if we talk about our lives and families? Or is that a violation of a law?
The Indian website was of the opinion that emotional affairs are even worse than physical ones, because an emotional affair betrays the very fabric of the relationship. My question is - what relationship? Is there a relationship just because two people live together? Just because they stood together under a chupah? Just because they got a marriage license? That doesn't build a relationship; those things only create a framework for a relationship.
Why is it so much easier to build a relationship with someone when there are no strings attached? One would think that commitment would help make a relationship stronger: aren't our strongest relationships those with our family, who we can't divorce or discard? You can't run away from family, and thus, the saying goes, blood is thicker than water. Wouldn't that imply that commitment is proportional to the strength of the tie? So marriage should make a relationship stronger and easier. Divorce is hard; divorce is wrong; divorce is a last resort. And yet I find it so much easier to make friends with other people than with my husband. Somehow I resist his advances, even unconsciously. Is it fear of commitment? But I'm already committed! At least in the eyes of the world and the law, and that's plenty. So I end up thinking that the reason we can't make that "click" happen is because we're not suited - and yet, again, when he's not around, I can convince myself of just how well we are suited.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Non-Expert Advice
I realize that I'm currently posting this on the internet, where the general populace can read all the sordid details of my misery. Still, in real life, where people can see my face and know my name, I don't tell that many people about what's going on in my marriage. At least, I don't think I do. But while I'm a pretty good actress, and most people seem to think I'm very happily married and we're such a cute, well-suited couple (which may be objectively true; I hope it is), there are times when I let my guard down. More and more, recently. I can't do this without help anymore, and the only way to get help is to ask for it. Or at least to make it clear that you are open to it.
I started my advice-seeking in the right place: I started with my rabbi. At the same time, I consulted my kallah teacher, whose husband happens to be a rabbi as well. I asked for eitzos about marriage, and I asked my shailos about birth control. I had my share of panic, and I handled it the way a good BY girl should. I truly believe that I did everything I was supposed to do. My rabbi told me to get counseling, which I was planning to do anyway, and that started me on a round of therapists, with sessions both alone and with my husband. I maintained periodic contact with my rabbi during the long months of therapy.
After many months and many thousands of dollars, I've sort of grown frustrated with the mandated methods of advice-seeking. I'm trying conventional, but less recommended, ways of dealing with my feelings: writing in my journal, blogging, talking to trusted friends and family. (I know, they say NEVER talk about these things with your parents because they'll never forget and then if things work out, your parents forever have a bad impression of your spouse, but sometimes you have to deal with the now and let the future stay in the future. Working out is still an if.) What I've discovered, not particularly shockingly, is that I'm not the only frum girl who had a rocky start to her marriage. Sometimes it gets better; people deal with things differently. What's scary is that most of the people for whom it has gotten better had rocky beginnings that lasted years. Like six or seven or eight years. That's a pretty long time to be miserable. It means there might be a light at the end of the tunnel, but it's a very long tunnel. And that light also might not be there; the twists and turns of the tunnel make it impossible to see what's at the end. Even light can't bend that many times. And while I am willing to keep trying (although I'm not sure I'll last that number of years at this level of despair), I don't want to ever be a divorcee with kids. Can I really postpone having children until I'm sure of my happiness in my marriage? It's not fair, not to myself, my husband, or any future children. (I'm not sure how I feel about children, but that's a subject for another day.)
Anyhow, non-expert advice is sometimes more helpful than expert advice, particularly when you're more interested in empathy than solutions. Solutions are rational; empathy is emotional. My problems right now are all emotional; I have rational very well covered. I still hate spontaneous crying in other people's living rooms, but sometimes it's worthwhile.
I started my advice-seeking in the right place: I started with my rabbi. At the same time, I consulted my kallah teacher, whose husband happens to be a rabbi as well. I asked for eitzos about marriage, and I asked my shailos about birth control. I had my share of panic, and I handled it the way a good BY girl should. I truly believe that I did everything I was supposed to do. My rabbi told me to get counseling, which I was planning to do anyway, and that started me on a round of therapists, with sessions both alone and with my husband. I maintained periodic contact with my rabbi during the long months of therapy.
After many months and many thousands of dollars, I've sort of grown frustrated with the mandated methods of advice-seeking. I'm trying conventional, but less recommended, ways of dealing with my feelings: writing in my journal, blogging, talking to trusted friends and family. (I know, they say NEVER talk about these things with your parents because they'll never forget and then if things work out, your parents forever have a bad impression of your spouse, but sometimes you have to deal with the now and let the future stay in the future. Working out is still an if.) What I've discovered, not particularly shockingly, is that I'm not the only frum girl who had a rocky start to her marriage. Sometimes it gets better; people deal with things differently. What's scary is that most of the people for whom it has gotten better had rocky beginnings that lasted years. Like six or seven or eight years. That's a pretty long time to be miserable. It means there might be a light at the end of the tunnel, but it's a very long tunnel. And that light also might not be there; the twists and turns of the tunnel make it impossible to see what's at the end. Even light can't bend that many times. And while I am willing to keep trying (although I'm not sure I'll last that number of years at this level of despair), I don't want to ever be a divorcee with kids. Can I really postpone having children until I'm sure of my happiness in my marriage? It's not fair, not to myself, my husband, or any future children. (I'm not sure how I feel about children, but that's a subject for another day.)
Anyhow, non-expert advice is sometimes more helpful than expert advice, particularly when you're more interested in empathy than solutions. Solutions are rational; empathy is emotional. My problems right now are all emotional; I have rational very well covered. I still hate spontaneous crying in other people's living rooms, but sometimes it's worthwhile.
Friday, February 6, 2009
In Theory
Theories are a little bit like dreams.
There are a lot of things that I can convince myself of in theory.
In theory, I could fall in love with my husband: he has all the qualifications of a guy that I should want to spend my life with. He has a sense of humor. He has a strong sense of values. They might not match mine 100% exactly, but the basics are close enough. Everyone tells me he's good-looking, although he doesn't exactly match my taste. But I know that my taste in men is not exactly normal. I'm not into tall and broad (which he is), or dark and broody (which he is). Although big hands are definitely manly, on the whole, I prefer slight and blonde. Also, I have a crazy thing about teeth and nails. What can I say; I'm weird like that. But being as I can think of tall, broad, dark movie stars that I think are good-looking, I'm convinced that if I could just manage to formulate the emotional attachment, the physical attraction would work itself out. All the books say that women base attraction on emotions, not on looks. I'm willing to believe that.
I can convince myself that I like him, as long as he's not around. When he's around, suddenly I'm annoyed. I don't know why I get annoyed so often, and I don't know how to stop it. But in theory, everything's wonderful: it's only real life spending time together that I can't stand.
In theory, I could learn to enjoy sex. I am a very passionate person, and I'm not ashamed of my body. I don't really understand the the male fascination with women's bodies, but then again, I'm not male. And I'm human enough to enjoy feeling good. Of course, right now it doesn't feel good, but that's a Catch-22. I can't relax because I know it's going to hurt, and thus it hurts more because I'm not relaxed.
Sometimes I manage to convince myself and relax my body. Sometimes I get myself in the mood enough to play along or even act appropriately. And I'm studying. I'm shocking my inner BY girl with the things I'm reading. I just bought a book that I can't even admit to myself I would buy. And yes, I'm planning to read it. Believe it or not, in the name of science. Sometimes information helps.
In theory, I have no issues with Lakewood. Even though it's in the middle of nowhere, the roads are icy and the legality of my apartment is questionable, food is reasonably cheap, it's a pretty town in the spring, and tuition (if/when that ever becomes applicable) is reasonable compared to other places. The people whom I've met are nice, and my rent is affordable. Lots of reasons to live there.
Notwithstanding the tuition savings, I don't think I could raise kids in Lakewood. I need a more open-minded neighborhood, because I want my kids to be "normal", whatever that means. But even before kids, I can't stay too long in Lakewood because I need my husband to be surrounded by people who won't force him to conform to Lakewood values. It's not how he was raised, but it is the educational system he went through. A decent setting might help deal with some of the value conflicts that we've had post-marriage. (There are never value conflicts pre-marriage; we're all too busy impressing each other with how wonderful we are while still being normal.)
In conclusion, theory is good. But it doesn't seem to transfer all that well to reality. As a scientist, I'm wondering how long I can go on ignoring the experimental results and hanging on to the clearly failing hypothesis.
There are a lot of things that I can convince myself of in theory.
In theory, I could fall in love with my husband: he has all the qualifications of a guy that I should want to spend my life with. He has a sense of humor. He has a strong sense of values. They might not match mine 100% exactly, but the basics are close enough. Everyone tells me he's good-looking, although he doesn't exactly match my taste. But I know that my taste in men is not exactly normal. I'm not into tall and broad (which he is), or dark and broody (which he is). Although big hands are definitely manly, on the whole, I prefer slight and blonde. Also, I have a crazy thing about teeth and nails. What can I say; I'm weird like that. But being as I can think of tall, broad, dark movie stars that I think are good-looking, I'm convinced that if I could just manage to formulate the emotional attachment, the physical attraction would work itself out. All the books say that women base attraction on emotions, not on looks. I'm willing to believe that.
I can convince myself that I like him, as long as he's not around. When he's around, suddenly I'm annoyed. I don't know why I get annoyed so often, and I don't know how to stop it. But in theory, everything's wonderful: it's only real life spending time together that I can't stand.
In theory, I could learn to enjoy sex. I am a very passionate person, and I'm not ashamed of my body. I don't really understand the the male fascination with women's bodies, but then again, I'm not male. And I'm human enough to enjoy feeling good. Of course, right now it doesn't feel good, but that's a Catch-22. I can't relax because I know it's going to hurt, and thus it hurts more because I'm not relaxed.
Sometimes I manage to convince myself and relax my body. Sometimes I get myself in the mood enough to play along or even act appropriately. And I'm studying. I'm shocking my inner BY girl with the things I'm reading. I just bought a book that I can't even admit to myself I would buy. And yes, I'm planning to read it. Believe it or not, in the name of science. Sometimes information helps.
In theory, I have no issues with Lakewood. Even though it's in the middle of nowhere, the roads are icy and the legality of my apartment is questionable, food is reasonably cheap, it's a pretty town in the spring, and tuition (if/when that ever becomes applicable) is reasonable compared to other places. The people whom I've met are nice, and my rent is affordable. Lots of reasons to live there.
Notwithstanding the tuition savings, I don't think I could raise kids in Lakewood. I need a more open-minded neighborhood, because I want my kids to be "normal", whatever that means. But even before kids, I can't stay too long in Lakewood because I need my husband to be surrounded by people who won't force him to conform to Lakewood values. It's not how he was raised, but it is the educational system he went through. A decent setting might help deal with some of the value conflicts that we've had post-marriage. (There are never value conflicts pre-marriage; we're all too busy impressing each other with how wonderful we are while still being normal.)
In conclusion, theory is good. But it doesn't seem to transfer all that well to reality. As a scientist, I'm wondering how long I can go on ignoring the experimental results and hanging on to the clearly failing hypothesis.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Broken
Today, someone let me know that an old prospect - one that had gotten "serious" - got engaged. This took me a bit by surprise, since as far as I knew he had gotten married last year. While I don't know the whole story, it means that either the engagement was broken or that they got married last year and it didn't last.
Do you know what the saddest part about that is? I'm jealous. I'm jealous of the courage of whoever broke the engagement or the marriage. I know I didn't have the courage to break an engagement (although I did have the courage to break off my relationship with that particular young man prior to its becoming an engagement), and I don't think I have the courage to destroy my marriage.
Another old prospect also got engaged today, to a friend of mine. That happens to me quite a bit; it's a small world we live in. I'm happy for them, of course, and I wish them much joy. And I'm so glad it isn't me he's marrying.
Do you know what the saddest part about that is? I'm jealous. I'm jealous of the courage of whoever broke the engagement or the marriage. I know I didn't have the courage to break an engagement (although I did have the courage to break off my relationship with that particular young man prior to its becoming an engagement), and I don't think I have the courage to destroy my marriage.
Another old prospect also got engaged today, to a friend of mine. That happens to me quite a bit; it's a small world we live in. I'm happy for them, of course, and I wish them much joy. And I'm so glad it isn't me he's marrying.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Dreaming Dreams
I have achieved the American dream: I have everything I ever thought I wanted, and I'm not happy. Even more - I have everything that everyone else wanted for me, and even knowing that I have managed to thoroughly impress the watching eyes of society doesn't manage to make me feel good about my life.
I have a good Bais Yaakov education, went to the right seminary, come from a good family. I have a good secular education, too, and by now, I have a decent job with the prospects of a very good one. Of course, the reason a good BY girl concerned herself with secular education and job prospects is obvious: I wanted to be able to support my husband in kollel without bankrupting my parents or my in-laws. I wanted kollel because I believed in it, and I wouldn't ask someone else to finance my dream.
That secular education was a bit of an issue while I was in shidduchim; after all, what top learner worth his salt would be willing to go out with a girl who went to a secular college? (You'd be surprised. Many.) Still, I'll admit that most of the shidduchim suggested were "pas nisht" for a girl of my family and caliber. So when I finally got engaged, at my advanced age, to a boy with a reputation for solid, serious learning, who went to all (and only) the right yeshivos, who came from a wonderful family, who was fresh out of the freezer, everybody said, "Wow! How did she pull that off?"
Even then, the very night of engagement, I was hesitant. How could I commit to spending the rest of my life with someone I barely knew? I knew that everything about him was right and good and perfect for me - I remember crying to my mother while saying, "But he's perfect. He's perfect!" - and yet I wasn't sure I could do it. Everyone told me it was normal to be nervous during the engagement. Marriage is such a big unknown, and it's frightening. It will be okay.
It's not okay. Everything is still perfect on paper, but I'm not. My marriage is not anywhere near perfect, however wonderful a couple we look on the outside. I absolutely hate when people ask me, "So how's married life?" because I can't answer the question. I'm not going to tell the truth, chas v'shalom, but I don't like being a hypocrite. The truth, though, is that I hate married life. I don't enjoy spending time with my husband, I don't like having to give up activities and independence that conflict with my wifely duties, and I don't like sex. And I feel tremendously guilty about that.
I've gone through stages since I got married. First, I blamed the system. Then I blamed myself for not realizing that I didn't want to live the system. Then, I decided that I hadn't been lying all those years, that I could live the system, but that I couldn't be married to someone I didn't love. Never mind that "true, lasting love comes after marriage and takes work" - you might be able to see that in ten years your life will be perfect, but you first have to survive those ten years! And it will never be perfect if you merely survive the passage of time: you have to be able to make improvements as time moves along.
My current stage is perhaps the most frightening of all. I've mostly stopped caring. I can live this way, and it will make a lot of people happy if I do. Myself, I don't know if I'll ever be happy: I'm not convinced that getting divorced would improve my situation. My husband is a wonderful guy, and I'd be hard-pressed to find a better person, in terms of midos and in terms of potential. Being divorced wouldn't necessarily open me up to better choices: divorced and frum is a stigma she'ein kamohu, and divorced and not frum is a choice I'm not quite willing to make yet. My Yiddishkeit - and my pride in my Yiddishkeit - is too deeply ingrained in me. I have my doubts sometimes about my lifestyle, but I can't take the step and say I don't believe in G-d. And frum or not, my upbringing has left some indelible imprints that will forever affect my ability to form relationships. I'm not sure I'm capable of falling in love, or even in lust. And if it's never going to happen, what would be the point of ruining my life and someone else's for the meager chance at dubious happiness?
I have a good Bais Yaakov education, went to the right seminary, come from a good family. I have a good secular education, too, and by now, I have a decent job with the prospects of a very good one. Of course, the reason a good BY girl concerned herself with secular education and job prospects is obvious: I wanted to be able to support my husband in kollel without bankrupting my parents or my in-laws. I wanted kollel because I believed in it, and I wouldn't ask someone else to finance my dream.
That secular education was a bit of an issue while I was in shidduchim; after all, what top learner worth his salt would be willing to go out with a girl who went to a secular college? (You'd be surprised. Many.) Still, I'll admit that most of the shidduchim suggested were "pas nisht" for a girl of my family and caliber. So when I finally got engaged, at my advanced age, to a boy with a reputation for solid, serious learning, who went to all (and only) the right yeshivos, who came from a wonderful family, who was fresh out of the freezer, everybody said, "Wow! How did she pull that off?"
Even then, the very night of engagement, I was hesitant. How could I commit to spending the rest of my life with someone I barely knew? I knew that everything about him was right and good and perfect for me - I remember crying to my mother while saying, "But he's perfect. He's perfect!" - and yet I wasn't sure I could do it. Everyone told me it was normal to be nervous during the engagement. Marriage is such a big unknown, and it's frightening. It will be okay.
It's not okay. Everything is still perfect on paper, but I'm not. My marriage is not anywhere near perfect, however wonderful a couple we look on the outside. I absolutely hate when people ask me, "So how's married life?" because I can't answer the question. I'm not going to tell the truth, chas v'shalom, but I don't like being a hypocrite. The truth, though, is that I hate married life. I don't enjoy spending time with my husband, I don't like having to give up activities and independence that conflict with my wifely duties, and I don't like sex. And I feel tremendously guilty about that.
I've gone through stages since I got married. First, I blamed the system. Then I blamed myself for not realizing that I didn't want to live the system. Then, I decided that I hadn't been lying all those years, that I could live the system, but that I couldn't be married to someone I didn't love. Never mind that "true, lasting love comes after marriage and takes work" - you might be able to see that in ten years your life will be perfect, but you first have to survive those ten years! And it will never be perfect if you merely survive the passage of time: you have to be able to make improvements as time moves along.
My current stage is perhaps the most frightening of all. I've mostly stopped caring. I can live this way, and it will make a lot of people happy if I do. Myself, I don't know if I'll ever be happy: I'm not convinced that getting divorced would improve my situation. My husband is a wonderful guy, and I'd be hard-pressed to find a better person, in terms of midos and in terms of potential. Being divorced wouldn't necessarily open me up to better choices: divorced and frum is a stigma she'ein kamohu, and divorced and not frum is a choice I'm not quite willing to make yet. My Yiddishkeit - and my pride in my Yiddishkeit - is too deeply ingrained in me. I have my doubts sometimes about my lifestyle, but I can't take the step and say I don't believe in G-d. And frum or not, my upbringing has left some indelible imprints that will forever affect my ability to form relationships. I'm not sure I'm capable of falling in love, or even in lust. And if it's never going to happen, what would be the point of ruining my life and someone else's for the meager chance at dubious happiness?
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