Valentine's Day
I woke up on Tuesday morning, Valentine's Day, put on Beyonce and added an extra coat of mascara. From the outside, I likely looked like a pretty, distracted girl with tight pants on, but on the inside, I was unconsciously preparing myself for the break-up, part toi. The third time's a charm, right?
My ex-boyfriend and I just couldn't get it right. I had repeatedly explained to him that ever since the traumatizing time I walked in on a boyfriend in bed with someone, I become on edge when I cannot get a hold of my boyfriend. It is part of post-traumatic stress. When I text or call and get no response for hours, my mind defaults to the worst-case scenario, which for me isn't a car wreck or subway mugging, but a dark-haired girl with a wide forehead sitting up in my then boyfriend's bed and saying, "Who are you?"
"Um, who the fuck are you, and why are you wearing my shirt?"
Sure, it was years ago and yes, there are stretches of time where I've been in solid relationships that triumph over the tragedy of that morning; but a couple twice-separated and giving it a third go-round is clearly trust-building. During said trust-building mode, I need to hear from you.
So when he went New York, and I didn't hear from him from the late afternoon until the next afternoon with a couple unanswered phone calls and ignored text messages, I did not like that. Not one little bit. And I'm sure he didn't like the intense, blaming person I became in my anxious state. Slightly passive aggressive. Very bratty. Yes, he has told me several times not to send him unkind text messages. But I have told him not to not respond. The chicken. The egg.
Monday night, this all came to head and he may have called my blog a "relationship killer," and told me to take it down, which he said was equal to me throwing away his cigarettes and telling him that smoking kills you and other people around you. Words were carelessly and mistakenly tossed around. To my credit, my meditation has been working wonders and I was significantly more collected and reasonable than probably any other opposite-sex argument I've had in my extensive dating history. I stayed calm. I reiterated that the phone was not a great medium for serious discussions. We agreed to talk tomorrow: Tuesday, February 14h.
Valentine's Day passed. I didn't get a "Happy Valentine's Day." No flowers. No chocolates. No singing telegram. When I spoke with him later, he had no dinner reservations. No plan. Nada. I put on my new sexy underwear set I had bought for the occasion and hoped for the best. I grabbed his present - a had a head-to-toe lululemon outfit for him with a surprise Saturday afternoon at the Trapeze School...and chocolates. Duh. And went to pick him from work, hoping for the best.
He never saw the new sexy underwear set.
By chance we ended up at one of our favorite restaurants and had a very honest conversation about what it is going to take to get our relationship on the right track. He was thoughtful and open. He looked very handsome. He kissed my hand and placed it on his neck. Other patrons saw us as an attractive couple, kissing and enjoying a beautiful Valentine's Day. I had on red pants.
Something was missing - the conversation, while full of love and strategy, danced around actual commitment; and when I pointed it out, he changed the subject. I led him back to the conversation at hand, the conversation we had agreed to have tonight. We talked about the foundation of our relationship and how to rebuild it, his job, happiness, all of that kind of stuff. We finished our dinner and hand-in-hand headed back to his apartment to exchange our gifts, but something lingered between us.
When we walked in the door, I didn't take my coat off. From the bench next to his bed, he pulled out a book lazily tied with a red bow that I recognized from a Christmas present he still had at the foot of his bed. He handed me the book - a cookbook of Brooklyn restaurants he had picked up for me in New York. Inside, the inscription was vague but pleasant. I sat there waiting for my Valentine's Day gift. He turned the page, and in my head I thought: Oh, the present is inside the book. Maybe it's tickets to a show. Maybe it's train tickets, and we are going to one of these restaurants. Maybe it's a picture of my present because he has been so busy at work and waited until the last minute. That will be okay. The page he turned to was blank save the recipe. "I thought you would like to cook this," he said.
I wanted to leave. The glaring disparity in our gift exchange was so dramatic that the air thickened, and I was short of breath. The only thing in the world I wanted to do was leave. I didn't want to sit there silent for five minutes while he read through the three-page card I had written him. I didn't want to watch him open his presents. I didn't want to hear him guess what we were going to do Saturday that would require athletic apparel. No, it wasn't rock-climbing. I looked at him sadly. Yes, he was almost there, but almost was not enough. 98% does not equal 100%. Alas, my fight or flight response urged me to leave immediately.
"I'm going to go now. I love you," I said and really hope my butt looked nice when I walked out the door.
Emma Dinzebach
My ex-boyfriend and I just couldn't get it right. I had repeatedly explained to him that ever since the traumatizing time I walked in on a boyfriend in bed with someone, I become on edge when I cannot get a hold of my boyfriend. It is part of post-traumatic stress. When I text or call and get no response for hours, my mind defaults to the worst-case scenario, which for me isn't a car wreck or subway mugging, but a dark-haired girl with a wide forehead sitting up in my then boyfriend's bed and saying, "Who are you?"
"Um, who the fuck are you, and why are you wearing my shirt?"
Sure, it was years ago and yes, there are stretches of time where I've been in solid relationships that triumph over the tragedy of that morning; but a couple twice-separated and giving it a third go-round is clearly trust-building. During said trust-building mode, I need to hear from you.
So when he went New York, and I didn't hear from him from the late afternoon until the next afternoon with a couple unanswered phone calls and ignored text messages, I did not like that. Not one little bit. And I'm sure he didn't like the intense, blaming person I became in my anxious state. Slightly passive aggressive. Very bratty. Yes, he has told me several times not to send him unkind text messages. But I have told him not to not respond. The chicken. The egg.
Monday night, this all came to head and he may have called my blog a "relationship killer," and told me to take it down, which he said was equal to me throwing away his cigarettes and telling him that smoking kills you and other people around you. Words were carelessly and mistakenly tossed around. To my credit, my meditation has been working wonders and I was significantly more collected and reasonable than probably any other opposite-sex argument I've had in my extensive dating history. I stayed calm. I reiterated that the phone was not a great medium for serious discussions. We agreed to talk tomorrow: Tuesday, February 14h.
Valentine's Day passed. I didn't get a "Happy Valentine's Day." No flowers. No chocolates. No singing telegram. When I spoke with him later, he had no dinner reservations. No plan. Nada. I put on my new sexy underwear set I had bought for the occasion and hoped for the best. I grabbed his present - a had a head-to-toe lululemon outfit for him with a surprise Saturday afternoon at the Trapeze School...and chocolates. Duh. And went to pick him from work, hoping for the best.
He never saw the new sexy underwear set.
By chance we ended up at one of our favorite restaurants and had a very honest conversation about what it is going to take to get our relationship on the right track. He was thoughtful and open. He looked very handsome. He kissed my hand and placed it on his neck. Other patrons saw us as an attractive couple, kissing and enjoying a beautiful Valentine's Day. I had on red pants.
Something was missing - the conversation, while full of love and strategy, danced around actual commitment; and when I pointed it out, he changed the subject. I led him back to the conversation at hand, the conversation we had agreed to have tonight. We talked about the foundation of our relationship and how to rebuild it, his job, happiness, all of that kind of stuff. We finished our dinner and hand-in-hand headed back to his apartment to exchange our gifts, but something lingered between us.
When we walked in the door, I didn't take my coat off. From the bench next to his bed, he pulled out a book lazily tied with a red bow that I recognized from a Christmas present he still had at the foot of his bed. He handed me the book - a cookbook of Brooklyn restaurants he had picked up for me in New York. Inside, the inscription was vague but pleasant. I sat there waiting for my Valentine's Day gift. He turned the page, and in my head I thought: Oh, the present is inside the book. Maybe it's tickets to a show. Maybe it's train tickets, and we are going to one of these restaurants. Maybe it's a picture of my present because he has been so busy at work and waited until the last minute. That will be okay. The page he turned to was blank save the recipe. "I thought you would like to cook this," he said.
I wanted to leave. The glaring disparity in our gift exchange was so dramatic that the air thickened, and I was short of breath. The only thing in the world I wanted to do was leave. I didn't want to sit there silent for five minutes while he read through the three-page card I had written him. I didn't want to watch him open his presents. I didn't want to hear him guess what we were going to do Saturday that would require athletic apparel. No, it wasn't rock-climbing. I looked at him sadly. Yes, he was almost there, but almost was not enough. 98% does not equal 100%. Alas, my fight or flight response urged me to leave immediately.
"I'm going to go now. I love you," I said and really hope my butt looked nice when I walked out the door.
Emma Dinzebach
Posted by Emma Dinzebach at 2/17/2012 10:51 AM 
Categories: Relationships
Tags: Emma Dinzebach Emma Dilemma dating relationships Valentine's Day break-up Valentine's Day break-up
Categories: Relationships
Tags: Emma Dinzebach Emma Dilemma dating relationships Valentine's Day break-up Valentine's Day break-up
Emma! I wish so bad at my age that I could give you advice I have learned along the way. Alas! It would fall on deaf ears as relationship issues usually are learned by oneself along the way. I know that you love him, but do not compromise yourself for him (I think you already know this). I know you want to probably experience joys of a truly wonderful love relationship, but also experience the joys of other relationships; your family, friends and yourself. He does not deserve you!
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You probably didn't even deserve the left over Christmas bow.
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Maybe if you weren't so materialistic he would be at 100%.
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Eff these haters! It's Valentine's Day people, the day of LOVE. It is not wrong to desire at the very least some creativity from your partner, like some cool, sporty apparel matched with an athletic adventure. Emma, you deserve everything you are searching for, and you will find it. xx
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