Problems of the Wobbly Brain: Love (memoir)

Belinda Fewings on Unsplash

As I drift toward my 69th birthday [Beavis:  "69! heh heh heh"], my mind and heart largely free of any drama outside my continuing grief, I feel both curious about and embarrassed by my romantic history.  Curious because I've never put my history all together in writing.  Embarrassed because there is so much misdirected emotion, a misdirection that becomes clear to the teller of the tales long before it was clear to the chief actor.

I suppose the greatest embarrassment occurred in 1999 when I was accused of sexual harassment by a colleague with whom I'd become infatuated.  At that point I was studying the nature of erotic and romantic love and developing the "Love Education" program at COCC.  In reading and teaching both The Philosophy of (Erotic) Love, edited by Robert Solomon and Kathleen Higgins, and A General Theory of Love by Thomas Lewis, Fari Amini, and Richard Lannon, I realized that erotic attachment actually had the power to make people stupid and crazy.  This understanding helped me forgive myself for my own dumbity in regards my handsome ex-friend.

When I read the old philosophers on romance, I saw that they recognized how loony people became when passion settled over them.  The expression "All is fair in love and war" itself suggests that romance is rule-free and dangerous.  But it was Lewis, et al, who gave me the most important data.  They wrote that our image of who we should love is formed in our childhood by our primary caretakers.  Literally.  Paths are laid down in our neurons that are difficult to leave.  I used to tell my students that if someone was abused and loved as a child they will be passionately attracted to people with the same communication style as their abuser.  It may be that someone who was abused will never be able to find a safe passionate attachment and will need to settle for contentment without passion.

Although I knew all this in the early Aughts, I didn't completely release myself from the high romantic passion until 2011. At that point I let go of my attachment to the fantasy that there was someone, or that there were people, who could know me, who could finish my sentences, who could mind-meld with me.  It took that long, sadly, for me to recognize that the best and deepest high I experienced was fantasy.

 Why?  Because most of the people with whom I fell in love, with the exception of my wacky Will, were not healthy for me.  And even Will wasn't good for me early on, but for different reasons.

Not healthy in what way?

They presented themselves as loving me for who I am and then, later on when I was attached, found ways to punish me for who I am.  (Details will follow in later posts).

So I gave up romantic love and later, in 2014, I gave up its corollary, sexual passion, as all my love turned to care-giving my dog and spouse.

So now, as I look forward to my seventies, should I live so long, I wonder what's going to happen with my old heart and brain.  It will be interesting to find out!