Not that I’m sure where I’m going with this

Having a counsellor to talk to is fascinating. Having a good counsellor to talk to is, well, everyone should try it. (Everyone! A good one, mind!) One of my counsellor’s particular rules is I am not allowed to blame myself and beat myself up over, well, anything, really, as I have a terrible tendency to sit there staring up at the light-fixtures to stop tears overflowing my lower eye-lids, saying things like ‘If only I’d realised, if only I’d known, if only I’d tried to do X instead of Y…’

‘If only shmonly,’ says my counsellor, ‘You did the best you could with the information you had.’

In the course of this sequence of not-being-allowed-to-diss-myself, we also discussed why I diss myself. (Family dysfunction hununga rutoot nureek squilookle, tedious predictable). And I had an insight. Or a resight. All my life, the people around me, the ones whose opinion was most formative and important, told me that I was not worthy of love. I don’t think they meant to do that, honestly, but the messages were, variously, ‘you talk too much. Stop showing off, it puts men off. No one likes a smartarse woman. You’d be so pretty if you were thinner. It’s a shame you need glasses. You make too many jokes, men prefer it if they’re the funny ones in a relationship. Why do you have to be so opinionated? Have you lost weight? Why aren’t you a doctor/lawyer/professor yet?’

(Eeep, my family are such sexist bastards. Eeep).

I spent years thinking I’d never marry because no one at all would ever want to marry me. Why on earth would they?

And then H loved me, and my Important People were so! Very! Pleased! Because H, H was great. H was talented and good-tempered and thoughtful and did the washing-up and could cook and had a good job and was so patient with May. So patient. Look at H, putting up with May sounding off again! Amazing. Wow, now he’s being proud of her being funny! Look! Isn’t it special? Isn’t she lucky that he appreciates her jokes?

So, that was the dynamic, at least in my own head, for a very long time. H was The Great Catch, and I was the lucky, lucky, possibly undeserving inferior being who had caught him. God knows with what. Limed twigs? A large net and a trident?

Yes. Well.

We could flip this, couldn’t we? May is bright, articulate, funny, opinionated-in-a-good-way, has great hair, talented, cooks a fabulous lasagne, and actually quite a few people like (really really like) full-breasted curvy girls with neat ankles and a habit of poking their glasses up their noses and looking fiercely at things. How did H luck out and catch her? Watch May putting sweetly up with his ineptitude in all things literary! Awww, she’s explaining the neurobiology of consciousness to him again. Remember when she patiently showed him how to wash the outside of bowls and saucepans before stacking them in the cupboard? Isn’t he so very lucky he’s found a life-partner that makes him laugh like the proverbial drain on a daily basis? I wish my spouse made me laugh like a drain on a daily basis.

*sigh*

(Yeah, no, it was a resight. I just remembered this poem from June 2011.)

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9 responses to “Not that I’m sure where I’m going with this

  • Mina

    Maybe we should make you listen every day to Billy Joel’s DON’T GO CHANGING, TRY TO PLEASE ME, YOU’VE NEVER LET ME DOWN BEFORE. :-)
    I know that we are the product of nature and nurture, and maybe, if something was changed, like family, for example, we might not have had the pleasure of knowing THIS May. But it would have been so nice to see how May would have been with more on the nurture side, more loved, more secure, more confident… All is not lost to that fire, and standing up for yourself is a slow process, and I am ever so happy that counsellor is worth her salt. (You do pay her in salt, oder?)
    That sonnet is very good. Writing on a fair to decent level is not hard to achieve, after all, as Mr. Jourdain found out, we’re all speaking prose without knowing it, now more than ever even. But poetry, that requires talent. And of course, you’ve got that too.

  • bubli

    It sounds like H. married up. I am glad for your wonderful counsellor and hope you have more of these insights. H. may have been a great guy but now you know he is velociraptor meat.

    Happily, you are still the fabulous May who has hit a terrible patch in life but will make it to the other side where hopefully there will be incredible amounts of laughter.

  • Dr Spouse

    H was both very lucky to get you and very stupid to do anything to endanger that.

  • korechronicles

    I’m so glad you have found a counsellor who actually knows how to do it.

    “May is bright, articulate, funny, opinionated-in-a-good-way, has great hair, talented, cooks a fabulous lasagne, and actually quite a few people like (really really like) full-breasted curvy girls with neat ankles and a habit of poking their glasses up their noses and looking fiercely at things. How did H luck out and catch her? Watch May putting sweetly up with his ineptitude in all things literary! Awww, she’s explaining the neurobiology of consciousness to him again. Remember when she patiently showed him how to wash the outside of bowls and saucepans before stacking them in the cupboard? Isn’t he so very lucky he’s found a life-partner that makes him laugh like the proverbial drain on a daily basis? I wish my spouse made me laugh like a drain on a daily basis.”

    I’m going to flip that one more time, if you’ll permit me. (Too late!) May is so very blessed to be May. She should leave her Important People out of the equation and learn to love and appreciate May for the utterly unique and fabulous being she is.

    It’s never too late to finally get to meet and know your authentic self. Much love, o fabulous and insightful (resightful) one.

  • a

    You have spent rather a lot of time talking up H’s good points, but are rather reticent talking about your own. And when you do, you make a brief list. Why don’t you take that list and elaborate on each point? Blogging material…

    H was very lucky to have you…

  • Chickenpig

    All those wonderful things he threw away, it boggles my mind. And you didn’t mention how you could have died trying to bring him a child, or how you doted on him when he was ill…. the list could go on and on. I would totally marry you if you were a man. I can’t tell you how much I wish for someone who could make me laugh like that. Lucky bastard.

  • twangy

    Very illuminating, though of course I wish it could have come without the attendant crisis and pain. Although, the crisis and pain are the thing that made it necessary – mercy, I am hurting my own head with this. Think I’ll lie down for a bit.

    I am very pleased to hear of your kind and clever counsellor.

    (I also have had cause to point out the outside of pots, the backs of plates, and bottoms of coffee cups come to think of it. Gah.)

  • Melissa Long

    I agree, H was the lucky one! I have no idea why they can’t see that! Shame on them!

  • Valery Valentina

    ah and Eeeep for family, yes and ahem. My grandfather died (age 97) before I met DP. I told DP about some of his quirks and he reacted he was glad the man was dead and would never meet him. Which um, wasn’t nice to hear, because family, and there were good sides, so many, so generous, but racist bastard Eeep.

    People with glasses look smarter, also when people are women. I like smart people, especially when they talk. And even more when you write where I can read it.
    And I like curly hair. (and lasagna)

    good counsellor.

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