I am unfit for a relationship.

It’s Friday night and I’m binge watching Frasier.  Peyton is at my parents’ and I am at once exhausted and angsty.

The week has taken the piss out of me.  My credit card company is inept and drafted an enormous payment without my authority.  As I type I’m currently $275 in the hole.  That’s -$275, in case you think you’ve misread that.  I bawled out everyone and their mother, but still they said, “You’ll be reimbursed within three to five days, Ms. Jones.”  Three to fucking five days. 

Work has been intense and particularly stressful and I have ignored moving my body which is the most important thing I do each week to maintain my sanity.  Instead I swim in golden bottles of Sauvingon Blanc and get lost in my baby’s eyes as I do our bedtime routine.  The love I feel as I look into those blue eyes overwhelms me, fills me with light and this eternal ache, a mother’s love mixed with stark raving fear for the future of my love.

But tonight I am alone and I have none of that love to anchor me, just the wine to float on

Will, the sugar daddy, was forced to cancel our plans to consummate our relationship in a bed instead of over the front of seat of my car and The Artist’s attempt at a booty call fell on deaf ears.  I can’t be bothered, honestly.  I have bigger fish to fry.

Something keeps coming up for me, this sense that I am unfit for a relationship, and it’s been all consuming these past few days and weeks.  It’s been a real revelation; it all makes sense now.  I’m the square peg and a relationship is the round hole.

Yes, I want to be treated with respect and loved and adored and all of that, but the honest truth is that I cannot give anyone much in return.  I am a decent human being and treat everyone with kindness, but that’s not giving much.  That’s the bare minimum. 

 I am able to skate by with men because I’m charming and sexy and “busy” — oh, so busy.  And everyone thinks I’m open and that they know me, that they’ve learned a secret about me, but I’m performing to such a degree they don’t notice me hiding over there.  And I have no desire to come out.
As a young man recently accused me, I’m good at “the game.”  And fuck it if he wasn’t right.

I dance away and twirl just out of reach time and time again.  I am transfixed by others just like me, shiny objects shimmering in the distance just as I shimmer in the distance for someone else.  No one can catch me and as I’ve cried and lamented over the past years of my life at my bad luck it’s been because I choose the wrong men to focus on.  I can accept my role in my own misery.

Like I said the other day, I don’t trust myself.  It’s like I’m drunk on trust issues: my judgement is impaired.  I shouldn’t get behind the wheel of my love life.

I like men who are falsely close, those men who resemble Labradors and who feel like old friends immediately. Petra and The Soldier were like that and this new man Poppy, too.  Or I like men who can never commit to me like The Neighbor or the sugar daddy, Will.

There have been an extremely small number of men who’ve wanted to be present with and for me, but they’ve gotten no air time either in my life or here.  I found them to be unstable, strange, clingy — which may actually have been true, but the thought of blending our lives together gave me hives and choked me.

I maintain that the man I will ultimately want will know me as Hy and as me and will love me all the more for watching me soar away and yet circle back to rest with him because he is my safe place, my rock.  I’ve never had a rock before.

I am drawn again and again to the age-old saying of, “Youth is wasted on the young.”  Truer words may have never been uttered.

I spent years suffering poor body image and low self-esteem in general and suffered an even greater strife of not truly knowing myself until now.  At 40 I understand my wounds as if I had held the knife myself.  At 20, 25 or even 30 I knew only a fraction of who I was and my marriage was doomed to fail because of this; my life was always on this trajectory though there was a part of me that tried mightily to solve for it, to be traditional and monogamous.  But I don’t think it’s me.

I am wild and wanton, I push boundaries and crave newness.  I have grown accustomed to my aloneness, but I recognize that if I had a base to return to I would again and again; happily.  Like a toddler leaving her mother’s hip to explore further and further each time.  

My own mother didn’t appreciate that kind of exploration, it was threatening to her and so I pretended to be the daughter she needed and wanted.  And then I pretended to be the friend people needed and wanted, the wife, the girlfriend.  Today I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore and being alone isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

I’m not a religious woman, but I believe in magic, the magic of coincidence and observation.  What makes me notice these things now?  They’ve always been this way, but now it’s like seeing The Matrix; I am me.  And so I find it no small coincidence that this blog is named A Dissolute Life Means… for I am dissolute.  Completely, utterly, beautifully.  It’s like past me knew exactly what future me needed to embrace.

I am not ashamed of this and I am not trying to be anything but.  I am a good person, a perfect person in my own flawed way.  I have carved out the smallest little corner of the Universe for myself and I feel decently enough about it; it feels good, warm.  I’m happy here with you all.

Men have become like ocean waves since my feelings have begun to shift, crashing on my shore relentlessly.  I have to be more careful about poking around out there because they will want me if I say I’m available and the truth is, I’m not.

Not to the guy who lost the condom in me and came silently and not to the guy who disappeared for two months after our date and then I couldn’t remember him (or the date) when he texted again finally.  Not the guy who popped up after weeks to tell me that his lifting buddy pointed out my apartments as we drove by and said, “Hey, I dated a girl named Hy who lives there.” and the guy texted me to tell me “Small world.”  Not the guy who won’t let me wriggle away and pinned me down for a date.  Not the other guy who wouldn’t let me wriggle away and who also pinned me down for a date.

I’ve named Hy after Samantha Jones from Sex and the City.  She was always the character who was criticized the most as being one-dimensional, but I found Samantha extremely complex.  What female character has ever been lauded as sexually free without being a caricature of a desperate woman?  She just plain liked to fuck and wasn’t interested in anything more, unlike so many other slutty female characters out there who were ultimately looking for a boyfriend.  There is nothing wrong with not wanting a boyfriend and I do not want a boyfriend. 

I want to be free to do as I please, to go where I want with whomever I want.  I don’t want to answer to anyone.  Most importantly I don’t want to worry about anyone else.  I want to focus only on my child and myself, my career, my health, my animals whose needs are so ever-present it’s a miracle I even get to sleep.  One is beside me as I type, his black fur over-heating my thigh even as he purrs softly, ignorant of my discomfort.

There are risks to this route of course: if I don’t care, they don’t care.  My time is less valuable and thus plans are more like suggestions rather than commitments.  Fades are the name of the game instead of graceful goodbyes.  It’s the tax for the reality of the situation but it’s all I want to spend.  

Watching Frasier I’m reminded that 20 years ago we we talked to each other more, dating was a relational exercise more than just words on a screen.  We heard each other’s voices, expected someone’s complete attention.
There were endless debates on how long to wait to call a boy, etc., but that was so easy compared to today’s dating challenges and I want to return to basics.  I want to do only what I really want to.  I’ll walk *this* far and no more.  If no one is there where I stand then I will change direction and I suspect that I’ll make a beautiful pattern in the sand as I walk here and there trying to discover which way to go, deliberate and mindful of what feels right for me.

I might be alone tonight, but I’ve never felt more by my own side.





A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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13 thoughts on “I am unfit for a relationship.
  1. “I am a good person, a perfect person in my own flawed way.”
    It makes me happy to read this.
    I also want to say: sometimes relationships happen upon you. That’s when you know you’re ready for them. No shame in starting out with the sexual part. When done with the right man, it can turn into something beautiful.
    And it’s fun exploring whether or not someone is the right man.
    I thought The Dancer was the one not ready for a relationship. Turns out we have more of a relationship than I’ve ever had with a man, even if some may not call it a true relationship. No one knows about us, or close to no one. We have no plan of ever living together. They may come, but for now we have none. There are no presents exchanged. But there is support like I’ve never had before, and he “loves me all the more for watching me soar away and yet circle back to rest with him because he is my safe place, my rock.”  I had never had such a rock before either. But last night, I was reminded how good it is to feel like I can be me, all of me and simply me, and how good it is to feel safe in his arms.

    This said, and even if he is the one who said he doesn’t want a relationship, I now know that I’m not ready for it either. Not what people usually expect from a relationship. Not the getting to meet each other’s families, not the living together, not the day-to-day grind.
    *I* am not ready, for various reasons, the messy divorce is a big one, but mostly I don’t have the energy needed to get him to meld into my lufe more. Especially as *he* is not ready either. But it’s OK. We don’t have to rush. We can just be and take it one day at a time.

    All this to say: fuck conventions, fuck expectations, live your life the best you can. Don’t look for a relationship for the sake of being in one. Just… BE. What happens happens. There is a man out there meant especially for you. To love you, the whole you, as the mother, the lover, the writer and all those other facets too. Maybe he’ll be the one saying he is eventually looking for a relationship but there is no harm in having fun while looking (like I did), while you say you’re not looking for a relationship, nothing more than meeting to have fun together, sex, dancing, movies, whatever it is that makes you happy (like he did), only to realise slowly but surely you like being together more than you expected, it is easy and you want to continue having fun like that for just a little while longer. It doesn’t have to follow the usual script of a relationship. Maybe he’ll accept your need for diversity, to go check all that’s out there, while loving getting you back. It can be exhilarating to realise someone has a choice to keep moving, tasted other flavours, and still decides to come back to you. What worked for us was telling each other there were others. It takes some work adjusting, working on the jealous feelings that surface. But it can be freeing for everyone to feel accepted for who we are.

    Just go with the flow. Listen to your heart and to your gut, they will tell you who to stick with and when to run. And one day when you least expect it, you’ll realise someone is your rock you didn’t expect to be.

    I’m sending you all the best wishes Hy. Sorry about the long comment. Just wanted to explain that the magic can, *does*, work, if you give it time to do so. Follow YOUR script. It is YOUR life after all!
    Lots of love coming your way, at least from me.

      1. Oh Hy! Don’t worry about me. I live my life in the present. And I’m enjoying my present very much.
        I couldn’t be happier with the way things are with my lover. As for the ex… well, one day the divorce will be final, and the kids are growing up, so one day he won’t have any way to get to me.
        I am determined not to let him kick me down any more. I’m strong and stand strong.
        And I trust that life will sort itself. When the time is right.

        I am in love and loved by a wonderful man, and even though our relationship is unconventional, it is what works for us. Don’t worry my friend. I am strong enough to not accept things that don’t suit me any more. I did that far too long with the ex!

        Best of luck Hy. You deserve to be happy. I hope one day you can see that, and find what makes you truly happy.


  2. Hy, I can completely and totally relate to this your current relational situation. I strongly encourage you to stay true to yourself, always!

    “…if I had a base to return to I would again and again; happily.”

    That makes total sense to me and many like us. It’s part of “compersion”. Here is an image that speaks VOLUMES to me. I think you’ll totally understand…


    I wanted to find an image without any door whatsoever, but alas, this had to do. You are truly becoming wiser and wiser Hy. You’ll be just fine. <3

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