Dorothea is worthy of love

I might delete this later, mostly because it is quite personal and involves other people. I concealed many details about this relationship to protect the identities of others, and that was many years ago; we don’t have many people in common. I'm also not sending this to my newsletter. So no one will get a notification for it. I'm writing this a stamp of my therapy journey.

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Dorothea is worthy of love.

Reading Middlemarch, I saw a deadly mix: 1) anxious attachment clashing with avoidant detachment, 2) invisible/unconscious power behaviors ruining any chance for balance or fairness.

What makes Dorthea so frustrating is how real she feels. I recognized Dorothea because I’ve experienced parts of her story in my own relationship. It wasn’t exactly the same. I’m not as good as Dorothea, and the person I was with wasn’t as bad as Casaubon. (I'm getting the early days of Casaubon, I heard from other people that he changes throughout the novel).

I’m only 10% in the book. I’ll pause for a bit because it is just too emotionally overwhelming at the moment. But here are some of the thoughts I have. 

It was this which made Dorothea so childlike, and, according to some judges, so stupid, with all her reputed cleverness; as, for example, in the present case of throwing herself, metaphorically speaking, at Mr. Casaubon's feet, and kissing his unfashionable shoe-ties as if he were a Protestant Pope. She was not in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were good enough for her, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good enough for Mr. Casaubon. 

"Surely I am in a strangely selfish weak state of mind," Dorothea said to herself. "How can I have a husband who is so much above me without knowing that he needs me less than I need him?"

I was in love with someone I admired. I admired the way he shaped his life. I adopted his tastes, the system he uses to learn, and the books he reads. I started using the device he uses to track his sleep. I even changed my library organization. His influence was mostly positive, except that we hadn't considered how it shaped our relationship dynamics and how it clouded my judgment on the fact that he is a human being, and just like me and all of us, deeply flawed.

If I were absorbing his preferences in everything else, then logically the relationship's rhythm has more of his influence than mine. Additionally, he was a Western man, we were living in a Western country, speaking his mother tongue, and dating within his own culture. I signed up for all of this, but I should’ve been more aware of the dynamics. It wasn't malicious or controlling by any means. But it was the reality of my life in this context, country, etc. The relationship became a dance he was leading, BUT he would blame me for every mistake in the choreography. 

This, in combination with our attachment styles. As the avoidant partner, he always prioritized his emotions over mine or any other complex understanding. An avoidant person who has experienced people not showing up for them, so they will often not want to show up for others. They are not doers or problem solvers. They take the easy way out. As the anxious partner, I believed I needed to fix whatever went wrong, even if it (literally) meant losing sleep. I thought doing things for people would make them stay. When problems arose, he'd withdraw and give vague criticism ("you bombed this"). These general statements are not actionable or constructive. But I would go to ChatGPT to translate it to concrete things that I could actually work on. I scrambled to find solutions: researching therapy, improving his sleep, trying to make everything better. 

I debriefed with my therapist after our relationship ended. She reminded me of a story. When I first met him. I was moving apartments at the time, paying double rent for two apartments, security deposits, agent fees, and bleeding money on all the logistics of relocating. I was dipping into my savings that month. Simultaneously, I wanted us to attend couples therapy together, which would cost $1,000. When scheduling the session, my therapist asked me how to split the payment. I said to use my card. "Everything wrong in our relationship is 100% my fault, so I should pay 100%." She pushed back: "Wouldn't it be at least 90% you, 10% him?" "No. 100% me, 0% him." I had insisted that I pay for a solo session with her, too, so he'd feel comfortable before the joint session. When she suggested he pay for his own portion, I refused. He'd only been to therapy once and wasn't used to such expenses. Additionally, he was in my city at the time, extending his trip to be with me, which incurred expenses. I viewed that as our shared financial problem. However, my moving costs are a personal financial problem. In my mind, I was being a generous, loving partner. In reality, I was operating from a place of such inequality that I couldn't even imagine this person contributing equally to something meant to help both of us.

This wasn’t the only time I denied myself love in that relationship. On a trip, I was worried that the Airbnb we had picked might not have blackout curtains (which he needed for sleep), and I felt it would be my fault. So, to be the perfect girlfriend and anticipate his needs, I made sure to pack an eye mask. I also brought massage oil because I really wanted to be the best, most thoughtful girlfriend. I thought I was doing pretty well. But on our last night in the mountains, I got scared in the middle of the night and woke my partner up. He got upset and accused me of ruining things. I felt so defeated. So lonely. I was trying hard to improve his sleep, and he thought I intended to ruin it. I was anticipating his needs, but he was questioning my intentions. I considered him an extension of myself (his sleep is my sleep). I wanted us to fight for each other, but he wanted us to fight against each other. "He distrusted her affection, and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust?". This is another classic anxious/avoidant trap.

The last time, I planned a trip and booked a place with a sofa for me to sleep on, so I won't disrupt his sleep in any way. My work covered the cost of the trip, and I arranged several surprises for him. All I asked in return was that he treat me to a few romantic dinners. But that small request was too much for him. It triggered the usual toxic dynamics in our relationship (if I ever said or did something wrong or something he didn't like, he would give me the silent treatment). This could last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks or even up to 1.5 months. I would usually feel so anxious and stressed that I’d apologize just to make the silence stop (I developed the perfectly normal biological bond with him). He didn't. This is a toxic cycle because in normal couples, conflict triggers a stress response, and the subsequent reconciliation releases bonding hormones like oxytocin and dopamine, which repair and reinforce their emotional attachment. We never got that repairing and reinforcing because of the extensive withdrawal. Instead, every argument was just tiring, exhausting. In prior relationships, I noticed learning and improvement from both sides with every misunderstanding. In past relationships, I knew arguments were painful, but I knew they would lead to a new understanding, not silence.

Anyways, luckily in this case, that dinner request ended the relationship. I was blaming myself for a while. I thought Oh, if I only told him that I planned surprises, he would realize a dinner or two would be an equal thing to request. But the reality is no. That wouldn't have helped. There will be another reason for him to distrust me in the future. Relationships should be default YES. We are a team that defaults together, trusts each other, gives to each other, and supports each other. That default, yes, creates the container in which love, growth, and safety could happen. But fearing always that I'm one misunderstanding away from someone breaking up with me is not nice. And I'm glad it happened sooner rather than later. I plan to write another blog post on "Default Yes, Default No" relationships. This is ultimately the biggest lesson I want to apply in future relationships.

I’m still working with my therapist to heal from this relationship. However, one concept that she and I frequently discuss is the concept of giving. Not financially, giving financially is the easiest thing to do. But giving emotionally, giving your time, trust, and energy. I firmly believe in being generous with my friends, family, and especially my lover (My person). I love this short video from another therapist about giving. And never be stingy, but also be mindful where you give.

Some people have an ocean to give, and they give it generously. Others have only a cup to give. The problem comes when someone with an ocean tries to love someone who offers a cup. I had a lot to give, not a pure ocean, admittedly. There was some wastewater and microplastics mixed in, some fear and anxiety clouding what should have been a clear ocean. But I wasn't pretending it was something it wasn't. I was actively working to build desalination plants, so to speak: attending therapy and trying to clean up my own emotional water supply. I was working hard to improve myself. I know I'm flawed. And I shared with him the ways I find myself flawed, but I don't think he ever shared with me anything negative about himself or any internal battles he was recovering from? I don't think he viewed himself as flawed in any way. He didn't go to therapy himself. Most of his reflections on past relationships centered on criticizing others and how they had wronged him.

This quote by Roosvelt wasn't meant romantically, but I can easily apply it to relationships. I aspire to "dare greatly", embracing all ideals, with love being the highest and most profound among them. I want my partner to be that too, not just sit and criticize.

The tragedy was that I kept trying to fit my ocean into his cup-sized understanding of love, instead of recognizing that we had fundamentally different capacities and needs. I'm very romantic, passionate, and thirsty. My view of love is grand, oceanic. In the absence of traditional religion, I find myself thinking of romantic love as its replacement. My lover is my prophet. Even physical intimacy, which is, objectively, a pretty weird act, feels spiritual and godly with them. Especially as a foreigner living abroad, my lover will be my entire family and everyone knows that I'll give the world to my family.

My lover is the person who will hold me on my deathbed. This is the person I want with me at the very end: the last thought, the last love. And if we are lucky, the first hello in whatever comes next. I can’t imagine a very transactional love sustanid on breadcrumbs. It has to be a lot of giving, a lot of receiving, a lot of healing, a lot of love. That level of intimacy requires a great deal of teaching, growth, and vulnerability from both parties.

I once heard about a highway where drivers don't pay their own toll fees; instead, each person pays for the car behind them. Everyone's toll fees get covered, but more importantly, everyone experiences both giving and receiving love. That's what I want in a relationship: someone who shows me the same generous love they show themselves.

The person I was with (and many avoidants) didn't love himself that way. He kept comparing me to ex-partners whom he admitted hadn't loved him well, using them as the standard. That broke my heart. He (just like every human on the planet) deserves to have pure and true love that withstands fear, sickness, and death. I genuinely pray that his next relationship is the most loving and healing because he has never had one.

He wanted to offer me minimal care and a light mode relationship. But I wanted me and him to be a family of two. I wanted the highway. I wanted us both to be generous drivers, each paying forward more love than we'd received. In my future lover, I want us to pay each other the love we deserve but never received from our parents or previous partners, or from the world. Love that heals all the way back to the beginning, tucking in every version of ourselves that ever went to bed afraid. 

Indeed, you mistake me. I am not a sad, melancholy creature. I am never unhappy long together. I am angry and naughty—not like Celia: I have a great outburst, and then all seems glorious again. I cannot help believing in glorious things in a blind sort of way.

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Other quotes I love about love, it captures to me love as a process, not an ideal, in a way that Dorthea (and that past relationship) lacked so much:

"An honorable human relationship – that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word "love" – is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other. It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation. It is important to do this because in doing so we do justice to our own complexity. It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us."

“Love can change a person the way a parent can change a baby— awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess”

For one person to care for another, that is perhaps the most difficult thing required of us, the utmost and final test, the work for which all other work is but a preparation. With our whole being, with all the strength we have gathered, we must learn to love. No human experience is so rife with conventions as this.