Excerpts

ANGIE’S STORY

Looking for love in all the wrong places until my real Prince Charming arrived…

I was born on February 17, 1947 in Pasadena, California”or so they tell me; I really don’t remember. I have paperwork and no reason to believe in a conspiracy theory, so I take this to be a fact. I was raised in an alcoholic home. Although my father was an alcoholic, there was love in our home. He was prone to occasional rages and sometimes passed along the shame that was given to him by his critical parents. He never physically abused us and did have some admirable qualities, not the least of which was his sense of humor.
In grade school kids made fun of me starting in fifth grade, when a kid named Peter told other kids not to touch my books because I had cooties. This type of treatment persisted through eighth grade, when Glenn said he didn’t think I was so bad, but he couldn’t afford to be seen talking to me too much because it was such a burn. Funny thing, but I took that as a compliment. Then in ninth grade my family moved, so I went to a new school. I was devastated. That was the beginning of a series of events that, at the time, seemed to be the worst things that could possibly happen, but turned out to be the best. At the new school, no one knew I was supposed to be a creep. Kids were nice to me, and I grew up to be homecoming queen. I felt like the ugly duckling that turned into a swan.

I married when I was seventeen. I always liked to say that I married an older man (he was eighteen.) He had been captain of the football team, and we rode off into the sunset to have a perfect life.

We got married in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve in 1964. On August 13, 1965, our daughter was born. Mr. Wonderful had a hard time settling down, and around February of 1969, he left us to live in a fraternity house. I was twenty-two years old, and it was clear that I was not going to have a perfect life, since I was facing divorce.

That is when I began drinking addictively. I went out with several guys, and for a while I had a nice boyfriend to whom my daughter became attached. When we broke up, I became involved with an abusive young man. I was worried for my daughter’s safety and was relieved when the time came for her annual visit to my former in-laws in Texas. My drinking escalated, and I left my job to run away from that boyfriend. When I finally got away from him, I actually missed him! I had become very sick. My condition continued to deteriorate. For a time, the only reason that I did not consider myself homeless was because I still had a car. I allowed my daughter to live with her father. Her stepmother took good care of her.

I, however, experienced the worst period of my life. Finally I got it together enough to go back to work. I went out with a series of men who did not treat me well. Then I had a good relationship for about six months, and after that I didn’t date much. My daughter came back to live with me. I drove drunk with her in the car and was powerless to stop, despite the remorse and horror I experienced. I was also having an affair with a married man. (I do not condone this behavior; I share it despite my shame in case someone may identify and find hope for recovery and healthy relationships despite serious past mistakes.) I became addicted to amphetamines and was on a ten-year diet, where I actually hoped that I would not lose so much weight that I could no longer get pills from the diet doctor. I finally hit bottom and admitted I was an addict. I thought that was the worst thing that could have happened to me, especially because I never wanted to be like my father in that regard. But I was wrong. It was absolutely the best thing, and the beginning of a new and wonderful life.

I got into recovery on June 26, 1978. My healing was slow. Initially I had intermittent, frustrating relationships, and then I was alone for long periods of time, once for four-and-a-half years, and another time for more than six years. During that time, I grew in many ways. I would have preferred to have had a man in my life, but I was not willing to settle. I worked a program of recovery and was of service to others. I concentrated on raising my daughter and learning to be a good employee and daughter. I began traveling all over the world with recovery groups. I prayed for God’s will continuously. I followed whims, such as taking up belly dancing, swing dancing, and country western dancing. I bought a condo. I was having a great life, alone.

I reached the point where I figured that you either believe there is someone for you or you don’t” either way, the solution is the same. You may as well get out and enjoy your life, because this is it. You do not want to look back and think you wasted your time being miserable.

I was enjoying my life, but still had the yearning to be in a special relationship with a man. I prayed. I made lists of qualities I desired in a mate. I learned to

Be alone. It’s okay! As long as you have your health, family and friends who care about you, and enough money to do some things that you enjoy, you can have a great life. Sometimes I think there is not enough support for a single lifestyle.
Be self-supporting. I’ve always found it sad when people stay in miserable relationships because they are financially dependent on the other person.
Be celibate. I concluded that I could go the rest of my life without sex, but I could not go the rest of my life without self-esteem. I could no longer be with anyone who did not care about me.
Say no to what I do not want. This is half of the secret to getting what you do want. You have to be available when it comes along.
Put God first. I prayed for God’s will and for the power to carry it out. I learned to act in integrity with myself and my principles.
Take a man at his word. If he says he does not want to be in a relationship, thank him for the information and move on. (Many a woman has confided in me that she did not heed the warning given to her. She thought he didn’t really mean it, or would change his mind when he found out how wonderful she was.) Also, if a man says he is faithful, believe him. It doesn’t pay to be jealous, unless you have evidence not to trust him. And then, if you are wrong, it is his spiritual defect, not yours.
For many years it would have been my will to be in a long-term, healthy relationship, but God’s will was different. I learned to feel good about myself, to have a full life, and to be happy being alone. I had a successful career. I mentored others, both professionally and in spiritual fellowships. I helped my mother when she became terminally ill. I gained self-esteem. I learned a lot about myself, and I had some painful relationship experiences that would later help me to have the healthy relationship for which I yearned.
Enter my real Prince Charming and the beginning of a new journey.

STEVE’S STORY

From hurting to healing to helping

It all started in kindergarten. There she was with her curly golden locks and enchanting smile, missing her front teeth–love at first sight. I longed for her attention. I schemed, the best a five-year-old can, but it was not to be. Thus the tone was set for the next many years.

Rough Patches on Icy Slopes

Adolescence was a challenging and awkward time for me. This is ideally when we develop personal values; communication skills; a deepening awareness about the world around us and within us; and effective ways to deal with stress, disappointments, and conflicts in relationships. What an order, even under the best of conditions! In making this transition from adolescence to adulthood, I was to be on the twenty-year plan.

I had no idea how to relate to peers, the opposite sex, and difficult authority figures. I also struggled to make my way through the mysterious high school social structures, while meeting intensifying academic and athletic demands. Don’t even get me started on the cruelties and complexities of the boys’ locker room.

At the apex of the hormonal and emotional chaos going on within me, the chaos of substance abuse and my parents’ divorce was unfolding around me, complete with domestic violence and financial hardship. As adolescence is a time of exploration and experimentation, I set out seeking a way to cope.

Unfortunately, instead of striving toward constructive coping skills, I turned to alcohol and other drugs. In the beginning, I thought I had beaten the game. Now I was going to parties and having a good time, where before I had felt like a dork. It appeared as though I had found the magical elixir of life, a substitute for hard work and emotional risk. I had discovered a quick way to move from dis-ease and discomfort to ease and comfort.

I felt bulletproof. I loved feeling self-sufficient. I could dream bigger dreams and blow off disappointments. Little did I know I was falling deeper into the grip of a spiritual malady or soul sickness. More specifically, I was growing more and more disconnected from myself, my essential nature, my gifts, my heart, and the love within and around me. There was a sense of never feeling at home, or comfortable in my own skin. I had developed a skittish mind that was working directly against my own spiritual well-being.

So looking back it makes perfect sense that from the starting point of a poor relationship with myself, my relationships with the opposite sex would have been laughable if they weren’t so tragic. Dating always felt unnatural, strained, and scripted–like I was auditioning. So I went about my life with my radar up for mutuality, that is, open to meeting and sharing time with someone with similar interests. Unfortunately, I grew less interesting as my preoccupation with partying increased.

As alcohol/drugs became my primary relationship, the isolation deepened. I pushed people away, becoming disconnected from others. I could, in fact, be in a room full of people and feel alone. Yet once that first drink slid down my throat and warmed my belly, I experienced the illusion of connection and being okay. I had lost a conscious contact with my creator. I felt my spirit and my will to live dying. On November 30, 1988, I received the gift of desperation, and on December 1, 1988, I set out on a journey of recovery. Having always been fascinated by what makes people tick and relationships work or fail, I eventually set out to become a licensed marriage and family therapist. I was drawn to the mystery of the dance between the masculine and the feminine, which has been going on for hundreds of generations. I have worked in various settings, including private practice, public agencies such as children’s services and an emergency psychiatric unit, and now a major health care provider. I eagerly studied and began observing the issues that can cause strife in a relationship, from poor communication to major differences in life values, goals, and ability to be emotionally intimate.

Getting Ready for Angie

I would see her at gatherings. I remember thinking whenever she walked in, Oh good, Angie’s here. I looked forward to hearing her talk. Frequently she would say something brilliant or witty. I would feel her raw honesty reach a magical tendril through a small gap in my armor and touch my heart. I’d be caught off guard with a resonating truth, and overcome with belly laughter. And this was at a time in my life where absolutely nothing was funny. Nothing had been funny for quite a while.

When I first started to acknowledge my attraction to Angie, a mean-spirited voice inside convinced me that she was out of my league. What would this smart, beautiful, funny, and successful woman want with a guy like me? Then the medicine of the language of the heart began to heal me.
Ironically, at that time I was studying the wisdom of indigenous cultures and the notion of right action based on right timing and right position. A huge issue for me had always been trust; I didn’t trust a soul. I didn’t trust women. I didn’t trust men. In fact, I didn’t trust myself to know whom or what to trust. One of my mentors is fond of saying, Don’t start till you’re ready; don’t quit till you’re done. Looking back, it was perfect that I did not have the confidence to approach Angie. I had some maturing to do–some vital, painful, wisdom-infusing, transformative life experiences–to help get me ready for Angie.

Another mentor taught me that a mature man needs to know two things:

Where am I going?
Who will go with me?

It is vital that I not get these two in the wrong order. If I make a substance or a woman my higher power, I am inviting massive misery into my life. I’m also asking any woman I get involved with to settle for a boy instead of a man. It is clear looking back that Spirit was still getting us ready for each other. It took some time to create the optimal circumstances that ultimately brought us together.

When the Student is Ready

I suffered the excruciating results of trying to manage my own life armed only with a misguided self-will, half-hearted goals, a distorted perception of the world, and the emotional neediness of a two-year-old. Then I was drawn to a spiritual teacher. John had a peace about him, an infectious laugh, and a sparkle in his eye that intrigued me. How was it that his light burned so bright? How did this come about? He began to share with me what was shared with him. He taught me spiritual principles and how to practice them in everyday life. Together we began a journey that quickly yielded favorable results. The first miracle occurred in my work life. My trust in John and his teachings deepened. I began to feel a love and gratitude for him that scared me. One day I realized that I’d take a bullet for John, which surprised me because I don’t even like bullets.

Accepting Being Alone
“I just want someone to hold me while I isolate.” -Anonymous

I remember driving with John to Santa Cruz one Thanksgiving to visit friends and saying how I felt hopelessly single. After a series of painful experiences, it appeared to me that I was incapable of being in a healthy relationship. John replied that, yes, there were some of us who may never have that. I felt myself surrender to this possibility. I began to find it acceptable, if that were going to be the reality for my life. He left me to reflect on the following: It’s not about finding the right person, it’s about being the right person.

How We Got Together

On Sunday mornings after a weekly event, about a dozen of us would go out for coffee and chat. I would see Angie across the circle, wave, and say hello. Next thing I knew we began sitting next to each other, talking every week about our lives. Eventually, we were usually the last to leave. I was impressed with how Angie responded to her challenges in the workplace or with loved ones. Here was a bright, loving woman with impeccable integrity. My respect and trust deepened. I valued her take on things. She appeared interested in my point of view. We became friends. She was amused that I had once been engaged to be married for three days. I grew curious about a long-distance relationship she had had with a man in Hawaii.

Then I felt an attraction developing. Our good-bye hugs kept getting longer and longer. When I would run into her twenty minutes later in Trader Joe’s, I would think to myself, Does this mean I can get another good-bye hug? Once we got together to play a board game, and one night, purely to satisfy my curiosity about a new TV show, I went to Angie’s because, after all, she had cable. Eventually I tested the waters by pondering out loud, I wonder what would happen if we allowed ourselves to act on this attraction.
Here was a golden opportunity to blow the whole deal, to squash the newly formed tender shoot. We stood at a turning point.

Settling Before Settling Down

In the past I had settled–fallen into the arms of a woman who expressed interest, and my heart never had time to open before my zipper. And yet sex as a pathway to intimacy had repeatedly proven itself to be a dead end. A brief courtship, turning up the heat before the relationship container grew strong enough to hold it, and then the passionate sex would blow it to pieces. One more time that awful feeling after the thrill is gone. Who is this stranger lying next to me, and are we truly compatible, beyond sexually?

Thankfully Angie shone the light of sanity and the evening ended simply with a long hug. I was clear that I did not want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I experienced a lot of ambivalence around taking the risk of becoming more than friends with Angie. Without realizing it, based on mutual respect and trust, Angie and I had been building the container of our relationship over years, unaware that someday it would be strong enough to hold the gathering strength of our erotic energy. With my relationship history, it was vitally important to me to open the door slowly, with full consciousness and clear intention versus lust-charged urgency. After living in the pain of unfulfilled hopes for a healthy relationship, we both appreciated that the magnificent opportunity for a life partnership does not come along every day.

Yikes, Now What?

On February 14, 2002, Angie and I attended our first couples retreat. Why? Because we were a couple. A couple of lunatics that is, as Angie’s daughter once blurted out. She said, You and Steve are both psycho, and it’s a good thing that you are together, because you saved two other people from misery.

Given our history of dismal relationships, we agreed that we needed all the help we could get. What a blessing the couples community has turned out to be.

The first year we attended, we were dating. The second year we attended, we were engaged. The third year, we were married. The sixth year, we led the damn thing! How could this be? How does this happen?