O.M. Grey's Blog, page 29

What Are You Laughing At?

It's okay to feel happy.

This came rather as a surprise to me. Strange, since I am a happy person most of the time, but I recently realized that I focused and identified more with the sadness and sorrow than I did with the happiness and joy. How ridiculous, really. Especially because I have a great life.

Truly blessed, beautiful life.

I am well aware of how lucky I am and I express gratitude for that every day. Still, I haven't felt happy because, unless I was in a state of ecstatic joy, I only noticed when I wasn't. My husband has had to remind me how genuinely happy I am. Why does it take my husband to remind me that I'm really happy most of the time? Sure, there is sadness and pain in life and relationships, and I feel those as deeply as I feel love and joy, but the happy times far outweigh the sad times. A sense of peace and contentment is an underlying feeling throughout my life, even during times of grief.

I am truly blessed.

After the most recent loss of love, I really looked inside myself to see why I didn't feel happy more often. Why I didn't notice the intrinsic joy within. Why it took someone else to point that out. Why I so identified with sadness and depression. Why I found some kind of satisfaction or justification in it. I knew I could just choose to be happy in any given moment, to focus on the joy in life instead of the sorrow, but it seemed like so much work when sadness was natural in a time of the loss of such a significant relationship.

I felt resentful that I was expected to be happy all the time. Who expected this of me? My ex, I suppose, as that was one of the excuses he gave for leaving. The joy and bliss we shared 95% of our time together wasn't enough for him. He wanted 100% of joy, ecstasy, and love without any sadness or misunderstandings or pain or fear.

Funny, when I told this to my life coach, she said, "What a whack job! Glad he's gone!"

It made me laugh.

Laughter is good.

I also told her how I realized that I didn't trust people who were "genuinely happy all the time," as there was something inherently insincere about that. Life is about a variety of experiences. Sure, happiness and joy and love, of course! But those are only so lovely because life contains so much sadness and pain and fear, too.

It's all of it. There cannot be one without the other.

Being happy all the time would no longer be happy. It would just be. It's like a beautiful, magnificent view of the ocean or mountains or forest. At first, it's glorious and inspiring, but after a few months, it's just outside.

I realized that I felt people who are "genuinely happy all the time" were being deceptive. Pollyanna. Fake. Shallow. Completely and totally bogus. They are as broken and scared as the rest of humanity, but they are covering it up with fake joy, too cowardly to face it. They were lying to themselves and lying to the world.

I have no respect for liars.

But even more than the need to avoid this feeling of insincerity, somewhere deep down, I felt that I didn't deserve to be truly happy. I felt that there was something inherently wrong with feeling happy and expressing joy, especially when there is so much suffering in the world. I realized that I downplay my successes and give away my power.

I minimize myself.

Why?

I feel guilty when I feel happy. I feel ashamed when I feel happy.

What is that about? Honestly?

With shame, I admitted that to my life coach, and she said, "Of course. That's easy. It's from childhood crap. Did anyone ever say 'What are you laughing at?'"

Then it hit me.

Hard.

Not only had I been told those very words more times than I could count, but I was also made to feel ashamed of being happy. When I would have fun as a child, I was told it was inappropriate or annoying. To stop giggling. To be quiet. To behave.

So being and acting happy was made wrong. Worse, when my stepfather would say, "I will slap that smile right off your face," and did more than once, I learned that I would be punished for being happy. For showing happiness.

What a complete disservice we do to our children.

And now, even though I noticed more joy with my recent ex than I ever had before, albeit short-lived, that still wasn't enough for him. So I was punished with abandonment for allowing myself to feel joyful, to act blissfully in love, to trust him. He gave the excuse that because I had insecurities and fear, just like he and everyone else on the fucking planet does, he was "stepping back" to look for someone who was 100% "genuinely happy all the time."

He's going to be looking for a long, long time.

So am I "genuinely happy all the time?" No. How absurd, really.

But I am genuine all the time. Authentic. Real. I have a big tender heart filled with love for those who are strong enough to accept it. I feel deeply and I experience life fully. I experience the highest joy and ecstasy, and sometimes my heart breaks wide open. However, I am wise enough to know to turn into the pain, just like I turn into the love. Feel it completely. For when you turn into pain, it passes more quickly, like diving into a wave instead of trying to outrun it. And when you turn into love, it grows and deepens.

Win-win.

So when he said about his other girlfriend, "she doesn't have the highs, but she also doesn't have the lows," he's settling for mediocrity.

I am not mediocre. I am extraordinary.

I am genuinely happy. I am genuinely sad.

I feel joy. I feel pain.

I experience deep love and I face my dark fears.

I am complete. I am strong. I am real.

I am genuine.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether, Romance & Relationships Tagged: author, breakup, broken heart, childhood, fear, grief, happy, healing, heartbreak, heartbroken, honesty, intimacy, joy, love, LTR, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, passion, polyamory, relationship advice, relationships, romance, sex, shame, trauma

Short Story: Duped

This week got away from me, so no podcast, I'm afraid. :/

Instead, here is a short story from my anthology Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection.

Contains explicit adult content.

-_Q

Tacoma

The baby's finally asleep. Husband away on business. Overtired. Unable to sleep. I sit at the computer in Alex's office and switch it on. The blueish glow lights the dark room around me and stings my bloodshot eyes. I won't even bother checking email. Since I left my career to raise kids about the only emails I get are for penis enlargements and pleas from Nigerian Princes. And mom, of course, but those are mostly forwarded jokes and funny pictures of cats. Facebook it is. Mom's been nagging for more baby pictures anyway. Now's as good a time as any.

Three new messages. Mom, of course. Sis, and Duped? Who the fuck is Duped?

Subject: Just the Messenger.

How odd.

I click on the message and read.

See for yourself.

alex_foreman2@yahoo.com

password: Xtr3m3Lov3

I'm so sorry.

No signature. No nothing. Just that.

What the fuck?

Certainly not. This must be a joke. I open a new tab and go to yahoo.

The boulder that has grown in my stomach begins crawling up my throat, slithering. As if boulders can slither, but it is.

Log in.

Hold my breath.

Fuck.

No.

I don't believe it.

No!

The taste of bile fills my throat and I put my hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting. Darkness closes in and my breath comes faster, heart pounding, as I look at my husband's secret inbox. And folders. Down the left, a list of folders all named after US cities. Six of them. Dallas. San Francisco. Chicago. NYC. Vegas. Wichita.

All the places he travels to for work.

This can't be happening.

Seriously. This just can't be happening.

I pick one. Dallas, where he is this weekend. Surely there is a logical explanation. They're just clients, right?

Double click.

Dearest Alex,

Your last email was so romantic! I read it ten times straight through again and again. This weekend will be so magical, just like the last, and I'm aching to have you inside me again–

Fuck!

I bolt up, knocking the chair over, and it crashes to the floor with a loud band, waking the baby. Screams from the other room fill the silent night, and I rush in to quiet her before she wakes Sarah.

"Mommy?"

Too late.

Dallas.

April giggles as he pours scotch on her stomach. With a flat, firm tongue he sucks the drink from her skin and licks up between her full breasts. She arches her back, pressing into him and moans.

"You like that?" Alex asks, settling on top of her and looking into her green eyes.

"Mmmmm. Do I ever."

"Then you're going to love this." Grabbing his cock, he positions himself against her wetness, sliding the tip up and down her swollen lips until she gasped. Grinding himself against her clit, circling until she screams and he feels the warm liquid squirt out of her, drenching him. Then with a slow, determined push, slides inside.

His phone on the bedside table buzzes as it vibrates against the hard surface, but its sound is drown out by April's orgasms as he thrusts inside her harder and deeper with each new movement.

Tacoma.

No answer.

I hold the baby against my breast with one arm and wipe the tears away from my cheeks with the back of the hand holding the phone. I catch my breath and dial again. So help me if I get his voicemail a ninth time.

"The party you are trying to reach…"

A sound of pure agony bursts out from the depth of my soul and I hurl the phone across the room straight into his beloved flat screen TV.

The baby startles off my nipple and cries anew. I bounce her, my tears baptizing the three-week-old all over again.

"Mommy, I'm scared." My shriek woke Sarah again. She stands in her pale blue nightgown holding tightly to her favorite teddy bear. Her eyes are wide, and they question me. They're pleading for me to tell her it's all okay. That everything will be okay.

"Come here, baby." I hold her close to me with one arm, cradling Maggie with the other.

And I'm alone. With two children, I'm alone. Shattered. My brain scrambles to catch up with this new information and starts to see a pattern. The amount of time he spends on his blasted Blackberry. The late nights working at home in his office. It all makes sense now. How could I have been so stupid not to see it? Maybe this is just a nightmare. Just an overstressed, overtired nightmare and I'll wake up soon. Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up.

Dallas.

Alex picks up his phone and looks at the Blackberry's screen. Nine missed calls from Karen.

No voicemails.

Shit.

Are the girls okay? What if something happened while I was here doing…this. Oh God! I'd never forgive myself. What am I doing? Karen and me, we work most of the time, right? I mean, she's a good woman and all, but I just can't talk to her like I can to April. And Sandy. And Trish. She just doesn't understand me anymore and she doesn't even try to. It's all about the girls. I have needs, damn it! She's not loving, not at all. She's hard and nagging and always so fucking tired. I mean what does a guy have to do to get a little action? Even when we do have sex it's quick and stale, not like it is with April. She's so alive and…participatory. Still, they're my family. Fuck! What are you doing, Alex? Turning into your father, that's what. You cunt.

April comes out of the bathroom. Naked. A goddess.

How can I let her go? I– Fuck. 

"Everything okay?" She's toweling her long, dark hair dry.

Alex looks down at his feet and turns toward the curtain-drawn hotel window.

What an ass. I can't even look her in the eye.

"We need to talk."

Tacoma.

Baby Mags is finally asleep again. Sarah too, after two stories and a glass of warm milk.

And I'm alone.

It's dark, just past one or so, and I sit, staring into the nothingness, unable to muster the courage to look at more emails. Perhaps it's just the one time…but all those folders. And Chicago. He hasn't been to Chicago for four months. How long has it been? Is my entire life a lie? I should've made love to him more often, but with the complications during Sarah's birth, I was being too careful. I drove him to it. Perhaps it's not too late. Perhaps I can make it work.

The phone, still in my hand, rings.

It's him.

The underlying nausea rises too quickly and vomit splashes on the coffee table, covering his blasted comics with sick.

"I can do this," I speak aloud into the darkness. "I can make this right."

——–

The cab ride from the airport seemed to take an eternity. After sixty-plus calls with no answer, Alex had taken the next flight back. Work be damned.

Approaching noon, he walked up the cobblestone path to their Victorian home on the corner. The American Dream. He had achieved it. And then he had spat in its face.

His hand instinctively covered his nose as the smell of vomit assaulted his senses. Shattered television. Clothes strewn everywhere. And the words "Fuck You!" spelled out across two walls in multiple sheets of paper. The words extended from the ceiling to about hip level.

The world closed in around him, darkness covered his peripheral vision, and he suddenly was directly in front of the new decor. All the emails to his girls. All of them. The last paper hanging as the period at the bottom of the huge exclamation point after the offensive words reads:

I'm done. At mom's. Get your shit and get out by Monday. Looks like you have plenty of places to go. See you in court.

-_Q

Get this short story as well as several others, poetry, and relationship essays in my anthology Caught in the Cogs.

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: author, broken heart, grief, heartbroken, honesty, infidelity, love, misogyny, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, passion, postaweek2011, relationships, romance, sex, shattered, short story

When Love Becomes Toxic

Sometimes you must let go.

I personally don't believe loving relationships have to end, I think they can evolve over time, but in order to do so, both people need to be self-aware and very honest with themselves and each other. I'll cover this more in next week's post entitled "Evolve, Damn It!"

But for now, let's admit that most intimate relationships don't evolve. They end. Often bitterly. Often angrily. Often without respect. But, they sometimes end cordially with love and understanding that it just can't work on that level.

When that happens, if reconciliation is truly not possible, they need to let that love end and not try to force it into staying alive. Otherwise, it becomes zombified. Horrific. Toxic. Malignant. Destructive to both people and anyone else who tries to come into their lives.

Sometimes relationships need to end for the health and well-being of one or both people involved, especially in cases of abuse. That betrayal bond must be broken, as painful as that is. Sometimes it needs to end for other reasons. One of the hardest ones to accept is when two people love each other so much, but that love isn't enough to make the romantic relationship work between them.

This quote from Anais Nin is all too often quite relevant.

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

Any relationship that comes to an end, whether naturally after years of tumultuous trying, coming to a place of acceptance that the two of you just can't be together on that level, or a short-lived relationship that never truly got it's fair chance, needs space afterwards. Space is safe, as Amelie Chance says in her Heal My Broken Heart (Step to Heal) program.

For those short-lived relationships that might still have a fighting chance, that space is needed to gain perspective. Then the couple can come back together and reassess from a place of strength and clarity. If their love is strong enough and if they can forgive/let go of the past and move forward together, it's done from a place love and peace, not desperation. If reconciliation is not possible, that space is needed to begin moving on.

Then there are those relationships that have tried every which way to work over years and years but just can't without causing one or both parties a lot of psychological, and sometimes physical, pain. They love each other deeply, desperately, but they come to the very harsh realization that love isn't enough to make a loving, romantic relationship work between them. Period. Still, they mean so much to each other that they want to find a way to remain in each other's life. They want to continue to love each other on a different level, freeing themselves and their beloved to find a love that will work and be healthy, but remaining close as well. And that is admirable.

In this case, SPACE IS MORE THAN SAFE, it's ESSENTIAL in order to move forward together, yet separate. At least three weeks and up to three months of no contact is necessary to separate your lives. This is not a power play. This is not manipulation. This is not a way to show your ex just how much they will miss you. This is to learn who you are without the other again, to let go of that part of the relationship so you both can move forward and love again. Healthily.

It. Is. Essential.

I know it's hard. I know it's painful. I know it feels like you're losing them for good.

You're not.

A few months, and especially a few weeks, does not send the message that it's over for good. Any real love doesn't die in that time. And real connection is not severed in that time.

You need that space to heal, and as importantly, so does your beloved.

Talk with them about it. Tell them you're not disappearing from their lives, but you both need space to move on. To let go of the romantic side of the love, the sexual side. You have been so important to one another, of course you still want to be close friends, perhaps even confidants, but that space is needed to gain perspective. To redefine your individuality outside the couplehood. It is possible to end your romantic relationship with love and respect, so that you might pick up a good friendship a few weeks or months down the line.

You are worth the space. Your beloved ex is worth the space.

If you refuse to take that time for yourself or to allow your beloved to have that time for themselves, the romantic side of your love that needs to die, won't. It will mutate. It will fester like a cancerous cell. It will begin to slowly destroy you, your beloved ex, and any new relationship that tries to develop.

It becomes zombie love.

I've seen this happen, and it's not healthy for anyone who even comes close to the toxic couple.

By so desperately to clinging to a love that cannot work, the former couple makes it impossible to find a new, healthy relationship as well. Just because they won't let go for just a few weeks' time.

It's tragic, really.

There is an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer called "Lovers Walk" where Spike captures this perfectly. Buffy and Angel are trying to be friends, trying to remain in the other's life, trying to work together, but Spike sees through it all:

You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood…blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it.

Fortunately for both Buffy and Angel, they eventually realize this and go their separate ways. Live their separate lives, and they both find love again. This could never have happened if they had remained in each other's lives to the extent they were, even as "friends."

Unfortunately for others, they have yet to realize this. They cling to a love that has long since become toxic to them and to all around them. Lying to themselves, to others. Jeopardizing new relationships before they even get a chance to truly start.

It's a hornet's nest of heartache. And, as a friend said, even if you're just breathing, you're still in a hornet's nest.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships Tagged: author, broken heart, cancer, fear, grief, honesty, intimacy, let go, letting go, love, move on, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, passion, polyamory, relationship advice, relationships, romance, sex, toxic

Steampunk Spotlight: Vote for Reader's Choice Awards

It's time to vote on the Steampunk Chronicle's Readers Choice Awards! And when I say vote, I mean VOTE FOR ME!

Between now and April 5th, you can vote for your favorite Steampunks.

I'm nominated in the following categories:

Best Blog: Caught in the Cogs
Best Fiction: Avalon Revisited, by O. M. Grey
Best Short Story: "Dust on the Davenport" by O. M. Grey

Please register and sign in to vote. It helps them cut down on spam.

As for the other categories, here are my suggestions for your vote:

Album of the Year: Steam Powered Giraffe LIVE at the Globe of Yesterday's Tomorrow
Best Band: Steam Powered Giraffe or Marquis of Vaudeville. YAY Underdogs!
Best Podcast: Tales from the Archives
Best Solo Musician: UNWOMAN
Song of the Year: Brass Goggles by Steam Powered Giraffe
Best Maker Group: Airship Isabella

——> VOTE

Filed under: Events & Contests, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: airship isabella, author, avalon, award, brass goggles, caught in the cogs, contest, dust on the davenport, erica mulkey, marquis of vaudeville, ministry of peculiar occurrences, o.m. grey, olivia grey, short story, SPC Readers Choice Awards, steam powered giraffe, steampunk, steampunk chronicle, tales from the archives, unwoman

Lucky, Lucky Poly People (Podcast)

Episode 36: Lucky, Lucky Poly People (Podcast).

Luck has nothing to do with it. So many people look at those in open or non-monogamous relationships and think we are so lucky to have fallen into such a fulfilling lifestyle! Sex! Lots of hot sex! Or so they think. Let's address these misconceptions, shall we?

Lucky, Lucky Poly People (Podcast)

Original Blog Post

Loving More Website

Filed under: Podcasts Tagged: author, consent, enthusiastic, fear, healing, honesty, intimacy, love, LTR, misogyny, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, passion, podcast, polyamory, relationships, romance, sex, steampunk, trust

You Are Not Alone In This

Sometimes when recovering from heartbreak, it's helpful to know that you are not alone in your pain and confusion. Emails and comments from readers have often helped me through a particular day when they tell me that my blog has helped them cope or feel less alone.

After my first devastating heartbreak, twenty years ago, a counselor handed me the book How to Survive the Loss of a Love. That book saved my life back then. I recently got another copy of it, and it is as helpful now as it was then. All too often, when a loss of a love occurs in one's life by choice, rather than death, friends and family and other support often try to rush you through the grieving process, which inadvertently suggests there is something wrong with you for just not "getting over it." They're not projecting that judgment usually, as they only care about you and don't want to see you hurting, but that's often how the brokenhearted feel. Rushed. Ashamed. Foolish. Idiotic. Ashamed. Duped. Naive. Have I mentioned ashamed?

There is nothing to be ashamed of. You have suffered a traumatic loss, and although our culture isn't kind to the brokenhearted, it is up to us to take care of ourselves and each other. For suffering a loss by choice, as Susan Anderson explains so beautifully in her book The Journey from Abandonment to Healing, can be worse than a loss by death. After all, one suffers all the natural pain of losing a love from your life, but additionally one must face that this other person chose not to be with you anymore, quite damaging to one's sense of self. So you are not only grieving the loss of the love itself, you are dealing with a severe slap in the face of your identity.

I'd like to share a poem from How to Survive the Loss of a Love with you today.

What do I do

now that you're gone?

Well, when there's

nothing else going on,

which is quite often,

I sit in a corner and

I cry

until I am

too numbed

to feel.

Paralyzed, motionless

for awhile, nothing

moving

inside or out.

Then I think

how much I miss you.

Then I feel

fear

pain

loneliness

desolation.

Then

I cry

until I am

too numbed

to feel.

Interesting pastime.

See. You are not alone in this. Neither am I.

Over the past few weeks, I've only felt truly broken a few of those days, great improvement over last year's heartbreak when it was weeks upon weeks of constant agony. This week has been particularly hard, I suppose, knowing that he's not coming back. Slowly accepting it. Grateful for it.

I've felt so ashamed to be hurt again for the third time in a year, certain I must seem like a comical, pathetic mockery of myself. The hopeless romantic romance author who keeps opening her heart, only to be broken again. I feel so ashamed and stupid and foolish. So very ashamed.

But then letters and comments from readers help, knowing I am not alone in this.

These books I'm reading help, too, knowing I am not alone in this. Offering some semblance of explanation and understanding of what happened. How everything changed so quickly. How he could just walk away so easily.

And so I continue to choose happiness and peace in every moment I can. It's a lot of work, just to feel okay. A lot of fucking work.

Today's a hard day, as it was a month ago today. A month. A month.

A month.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around it.

It's been a month.

Still in shock.

A month.

So today. Right now. I choose happiness and peace. I'll process publicly when it suits me, for it's my blog. Plus, it's cathartic for me and helpful to others. I'm creating a new sub-category for "Surviving a Broken Heart" among others, now that there are over 70 Romance & Relationship posts. The sub-categories will hopefully help readers in need find the kind of posts they're looking for.

I hope you all find lasting peace, and I hope I do, too.

Namaste.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships, Surviving a Broken Heart Tagged: alone, author, broken, broken heart, fear, grief, healing, heartbroken, honesty, how to survive the loss of a love, intimacy, love, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, passion, poetry, polyamory, relationships, romance, shattered

Feeling Helpless

Last week I had a reader email me during my brief mourning hiatus and express how much my blogs had helped her deal with her own emotions and breakup. It reminded me why I do this. It's not only for me, but it's also for others who are going through something similar. For solidarity. For support.

Thank you, reader, for that reminder.

One of the things she asked in her email was how my husband handled my breakups and subsequent brokenhearted state. As I've commented on before, he handles them quite well. This last split, however, whether it was the experience of last year & knowing I would survive or the absence of blatant abuse or because I stood up for my own self-worth, wasn't as painful. Nowhere near as painful. 

Ironically, my husband handled this one with less patience than the first two, again, perhaps because we had been here twice before so recently, but I think it was more about him feeling like he somehow failed me. (Which, of course, he did not. Not by a long shot.) After all, he had met this man. Spent time with him. Shared meals with him. Went hiking with him. I'm sure my husband feels like he could've somehow protected me better.

When we see someone we love in pain, we want to relieve that pain. Of course we do. Although some just want to run away, absolve themselves of any knowledge or feelings of responsibility to support a loved one in pain, most loving people want to help ease the suffering.

But, ultimately, we can't.

It's so hard to watch someone you love suffer any pain, but especially the pain of a heartbreak or loss of a love. This difficulty is magnified by feelings of responsibility.

If only I had seen it coming. In cases of abuse or neglect, if only I had seen their ex for who s/he was. If only I had seen s/he would hurt us, for when one in a couple hurts, they both do. If only I had seen the lack of integrity. The abusive nature. If only I had seen the potential for pain, I could've protected my SO/spouse better. If only I had voiced my concerns.

This was touched upon in the Beautiful Poly Story I blogged about late last year.

Some people shun responsibility of everything, as if it were a type of leprosy. Others take on too much responsibility, feeling blame for things and actions that from any other perspective they could never be held responsible.

I'm of the latter, I'm afraid.

I was taught early in life that every action had consequences, and someone was responsible for those consequences. It was someone's fault. Normally, mine. Or at least I took the blame if no one else would. I still do.

Working on it.

The truth is that sometimes things just happen. It's no one's fault. A very difficult reality for me to accept. Just doesn't fit into how I was taught to view the world. Then sometimes, it is someone's fault…whether they accept responsibility or not. Usually, it's a combination of actions and circumstances.

The bottom line in this: regardless of responsibility or fault, it happened. Regardless of whether or not we should've seen it coming or we could've done something differently, we didn't. It's in the past. The past doesn't exist except in our minds. Holding on to that past is what causes the pain. Still, it's a part of the grieving process. So in polyamorous relationships, not only the abandoned feels the grief, but so does his/her spouse. Not only does the broken hearted feel pain and hopelessness, so does the spouse/SO.

One person's unconsciousness and lack of courage to face their fears, incapacity to know themselves or to be honest, inability to communicate or unwillingness to try, abject betrayal of a deep trust…causes a world of hurt in another family. And there is nothing we, the discarded, can do about it but move through the pain, work through the stages of grief, look forward to new joy when we're again ready to open our hearts again enough to risk it. Still think we're lucky poly people?

My husband and I are very grateful to have each other. When times are hard, we become closer. When times are fun, we become closer. We turn into each other and into the love between us, and that's why we're still together 13 years later. He is there for me. I am there for him. We don't limit each other. We don't edit ourselves. We love and we love more. When another person comes into one of our lives, we allow space for that relationship and love to grow. After all, that's what love means, that's what it takes to be in a long term, loving, completely fulfilling relationship.

Responsibility for our own and the other's heart.

Patience while we each learn hard lessons and navigate through our fears and insecurities.

Easing suffering when we can for our other, just being present when we can't.

And loving completely. Reveling in the joy when it comes. Standing strong against the storms when they come.

That is relationship. That is love.

-_Q

The image I pilfered for this blog post is from this page on GRIEF. It's a process. Sometimes, a long one.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships Tagged: author, broken heart, fear, grief, honesty, intimacy, love, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, passion, polyamory, relationship advice, relationships, responsibility, romance, sex

Steampunk Spotlight: Her Majesty's Explorer

Today's spotlight shines on Her Majesty's Explorer: A Steampunk Bedtime Story by Emilie P. Bush, illustrated by William Kevin Petty. I had the great pleasure of meeting both contributors to this adorable story while at AnachroCon in Atlanta, GA. In fact, I was on one of my favorite panels ever with Ms. Bush as moderator. Lovely lady.

I found Her Majesty's Explorer: A Steampunk Bedtime Story to be a delightful romp into the life of a beautifully illustrated and adorable automaton. I'm completely in love with Steamduck! Three Cheers for Steamduck!

Watch the book trailer here:

Get your copy today on AMAZON.

Find out more about this delightful story and Steamduck here:

The Her Majesty's Explorer Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/HerMajestysExplorer

The blog: http://coalcitysteam.wordpress.com/

Filed under: Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: anachrocon, author, book, children's book, emilie p bush, her majesty's explorer, kindle, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, steamduck, steampunk, victorian, william kevin petty

Creating A New Identity

Last year, almost to the day, I published a post called "Rebuilding Your Sense of Self." It talks about the necessity of picking yourself up and forging ahead after the loss of a love, after a betray, especially if abuse was involved. I reread that post this morning in preparation of writing this one, and it was good to read it again. It was helpful to go through Sam Vaknin's "What is Abuse" article again as well.

Abuse comes in all forms. All damaging, of course, but perhaps the damage occurs on a different level when you're wondering if it even can be considered abuse, something Vaknin calls Covert Abuse, as opposed to Overt Abuse. If the abuser is unaware that they abuse, which, I've learned, most abusers don't realize they're doing it. They're acting out of unconsciousness, fear, pain, etc.

It's still abuse nonetheless.

Last year I also wrote about shame, victimization, and betrayal bonds. All well worth another read. No doubt. Gaslighting and Projected Abuse are two types of very subtle abuse that I've unfortunately become quite well acquainted with, types of abuse that keeps everything imbalanced, unpredictable, and unstable. A type of abuse that is so subtle, it often goes undetected until it's too late. It keeps the victim questioning everything, unsettled.

Remember my formula:  Words + Supporting Action + Reliability Over Time =Trust

A huge red flag that someone is using one of the more subtle forms of abuse is that their words and actions do not match. That they are inconsistent. Unpredictable and unstable. Turn on a dime and leave their partner wondering what happened.

Throughout the past few weeks, I've been listening to and studying Eckhart Tolle near-constantly. If not listening to his gentle voice reminding me to stay present, I've been meditating on Thich Nhat Hanh or reading Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times.

Tolle talks a lot about using Relationship as a Spiritual Practice in his book The Power of Now, and I'm still quite saddened my ex wasn't willing to do that. He and I are on the same spiritual path, after all. I can only hope he will read Chapter 8 on his own, since he was unwilling to read it with me, and stop running away, to face and ultimately transcend his fears. And learn. And see. And remember. And love.

I do not blame him for identifying with his fear, as I did the same thing. We all do from time to time. If we could only remember that it's fleeting. It's not what's real. I hope he will forgive my unconsciousness at a time our relationship needed my presence. I forgive his.

Regardless, my focus has not been on being the survivor of emotional abuse (notice I didn't use the word victim), but rather on the Now. The Present Moment. Dying to the past in every moment. Changing that with which I identify. Becoming a spiritual warrior, as Chodron calls it, and fighting the unconsciousness of the egoic mind. Going into the pain as it comes and letting it pass. Stopping the obsessive mind loops that replay the past and project into the future. Returning to the only time there ever is.

Right now.

This has been my mantra: I cannot change the past. I cannot begin to imagine what he's thinking or feeling. I have no idea what the future holds. Be Here, Now.

And then I ask myself: What can I do in this moment to bring joy and peace into my life?

Then I do that very thing.

And I smile.

After all, there is nothing I can change about what happened three weeks ago. I cannot make a different decision or say something else. What's done is done. That no longer exists. So I let that go.

Without a word to or from my ex in that time, I can't imagine what he's thinking or feeling or doing or planning or hoping or fearing or anything, really. If I try to imagine, it just results in crazy-making mind loops. So I let that go.

When I think about hearing from him in the future, I start to imagine what that might be like and what I'd say and how I'd feel, but then I stop myself, knowing that I have no idea what the future holds. I might hear from him, I might not. He might return to me, he might not. It's his move, for the final decision to split was his, and I cannot begin to know if or when or how he will make that move. So I let that go.

I am here, right now. Loving in peace.

Throughout all this work, delving deeper within and working on self-knowledge and growth, I've realized that I've been perpetuating suffering by identifying with it. Last year, I was the "victim" of emotional and verbal abuse, and I really don't like that word, although it is often accurate. A dear friend suggested I use the word "survivor" instead, as it's much more empowering to identify as a "survivor" rather than a "victim."

There are many other areas in my life in which I have formed part of my identity around the pain and heartache of the last year, and I'm changing that. I have identified with being a loving, compassionate, nurturing woman, which I am, but in doing so, it opens the door to predators and parasites who feed of my giving nature, who see that as a weakness and attack. So, my new identity is that of a strong, independent woman. A capable woman. A remarkable woman, as those are all true as well. They are all part of me, after all. Strong and vulnerable. Courageous and fearful. Compassionate and Wise. Selfless and selfish.

Now I'm changing my focus. No longer identifying with the anxiety or the pain, but rather with courage. No longer identifying with the weakness that is projected into tenderness and vulnerability (although that's a misconception, as it actually takes great strength to be both), but rather the strength inherent in those. No longer identifying with the sadness and loss, but rather with the joy of being, celebrating life and love. No longer identifying with the struggle of mental voice, but identifying with the deep peace within.

I am recreating myself, changing my identity.

And in every new moment, I die to the past.

I choose peace.

I choose joy.

I choose love.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether, Romance & Relationships Tagged: abuse, anxiety, broken heart, compassion, eckhart tolle, fear, forgiveness, gaslighting, grief, healing, heartbroken, honesty, intimacy, joy, love, LTR, misogyny, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, pain, passion, Peace, pema chodron, relationship advice, relationships, romance, sam vaknin, sex, Thich Nhat Hanh

Yes Means Yes (Podcast)

Episode 35: Yes Means Yes (Podcast).

Enthusiastic Consent. Wait for it. There is nothing sexier than your partner meeting you enthusiastically as you proceed through the sexual dance. If they're not enthusiastic, STOP. Slow down. Check in. Something. Sex is a gift you give to each other. It is not something you take for yourself. Ensure your partner is right there with you every step of the way.

Yes Means Yes (Podcast)

Original Blog Post

Filed under: Podcasts Tagged: assault, author, broken heart, consent, emotional vampire, emotional vampires, enthusiastic, fear, healing, honesty, intimacy, love, LTR, misogyny, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, open, open marriage, passion, podcast, polyamory, rape, relationships, romance, sex, steampunk, trust, victorian