'There will be tears later'

'When passion fades and fate intervenes, who is else is a woman left with but herself?' Lady Danbury, Season 2 of Bridgerton, which of course I binge-watched and greatly enjoyed. I thought about that line as I continued to deconstruct the conclusion of the friend/business-ship. I'm still confused. But that could also be due to an overflow of adrenaline. 

I took Wednesday off. When I say that, I mean I sat on my sofa, finishing off admin for our upcoming trip, in my PJs, watching Bridgerton until noon. I fixed lunch, then I decided to have a nap. I slept for about an hour on the sofa but woke up disoriented. 

It wasn't an easy sleep. Lately, 2 or 3 times a week, there is a weird sleep paralysis that appears around me. I can feel a weight and a gaze, I can hear things beneath the surface.  This has happened periodically throughout my life and I notice that it comes in waves, usually after some sort of altercation or confrontation.  It is incredibly disturbing and I hate it.

For the last few months, I've been working with an interior designer acquaintance to declutter and revamp our living space. This required some changes, most notably to our sleeping arrangements. I moved up to the 2nd (3rd floor for the US continent), taking over the small guest room as my walk in wardrobe/reading nook and the other room as a sleeping room. My daughter has taken over the master bedroom, which may come back to bite me in the ass. 

This has worked and the action invigorated me to take further steps to declutter and really consider what is in the house. 

But there were several times in the process where I felt violated. This happens in this kind of work - especially when grief and trauma are involved. I know this intimately, because I DO this work. But this sense of violation was deeper, a disregard for the conversations we don't have when we do our work, because it's a Chatham House rules kind of scenario 

'I saw the giant suitcase so of course I went through it.'

 'I know all about you; I've seen your lingerie.'

Then there was the tacit agreement that certain things would go to the storage locker. And they haven't. They are simply...not there.  The guest room TV is gone. There a chest of drawers I had plans for that has disappeared.  And I know she didn't actually look at any of the the furniture that I shipped back because it was all still shrink-wrapped. It is frustrating because I do have decent taste. And the furniture is comprised of pieces important to me. 

The next step on the project was my daughter's room. 'C wants me to get rid of my baby art (a reference to artwork that my daughter was gifted as a child). But I don't want to. And Mummy...do we have to get rid of the wardrobe?' I sighed. So the sense of being violated wasn't just in my imagination. But what to do? How to extricate us from the well-intentioned dervish I had called in?  

I wanted to extricate myself from the working relationship and then re-evaluate the friendship. I had a long chat with my mother (in my head, obviously) and made the lists. I then made a list of my feelings and how long in my acquaintance with this person these feelings of uncertainty had abounded. I am noticing that I have a pattern of welcoming people in, not setting boundaries, allowing frustration to build then exploding because I feel abused or taken advantage of. And that isn't cool. At all. I mean...is it a person's fault if I don't set clear boundaries and expectations? 

It is an interesting case study in how the unconscious can recognise and trauma bond us to almost-strangers. If you have a history of abuse and co-dependency, the magnetic pull is even more intense, I think. And when these relationships with women, they seem even deeper and more fraught.

'There will be tears later,' I can almost hear my mum saying.  

Last Saturday, I met up with the designer.  I had gone to bed blissfully early after a massage and a quiet evening of crochet and music. I woke early and pottered around tidying and thinking and tidying some more. I was slightly late - an accident on the highway made a 15 minute drive more like 30 and when I got there, I could see the cloud above this person's head. It was like confronting a trapped opossum. She was hungover and prickly. I was not. She couldn't seem to fathom that I wasn't hungover. I didn't really care. 

'I was in London. In the park near Spitalfields. Met up with a friend, someone I want to work with.' 

There is a moment when the clock moves into a syncopation I recognize. A flicker of 2018 comes to mind, a sense of familiarity.  The project we worked on didn't end as fluidly as it could have; she left many things undone and I ended up hiring another person to finish it off.  And so I sit back in my chair, into the click of recognition  'Oh, this is an exit strategy.  She's stepping back.'  I nod to myself. We chat about her hangover and I wonder why she didn't just cancel, but let it ride. 

I went inside and ordered my coffee and a slice of banana cake. I had been up for hours and had already had breakfast and was going on to a luncheon after our time together.  On my return, I sit easily. I'm okay with whatever is about to happen...I mean, I called it in, right? I literally reached out to her to help me handle something I didn't want to contend with and it blossomed from there. Like honey fungus, I guess.  But 2022 me doesn't need this dynamic. 

The attack began immediately upon my return to the table and was initially about my standing lunch date with my uncle (by marriage).  'What happens on these lunch dates, exactly?' I looked at her, slightly confused. I mean, it's lunch, not a dalliance. 

 'Well, we have lunch. Usually just two courses. Sometimes dessert or a cheese plate. I play with the dogs, walk around the grounds...or I might read a chapter or two of a book from the library.' I sipped my coffee. 'Sometimes I take time to climb my favourite tree.' I smile to myself. I really do love that tree. 

The look on her face was on of disbelief and disgust. 'Really? And are you naked when any of this is happening? Naked lunch?' I bristle a bit.   This isn't what I'd come here to talk about. 

'You know, because I sit naked in rooms full of people doesn't mean I sit in every room naked.  And he's my uncle, not my "uncle."  This isn't a 'Pretty Woman,' scenario.  I'm not even sure where to put what you're saying.'

The conversation declines from there. My son can't be autistic. I'm a mother in crisis (some days, this is very true: I am in crisis; I'm healing from a heartbreak I always knew would come but didn't expect.  And I've been leaning far to much on early Noughties Rachel's coping mechanisms). Where is my support system? Do I have one (yes, by the way, I do. I have an amazing network of people; its just...they aren't all geographically accessible). At one point, a guy stops by the table and asks if she is the younger sister of someone and the interaction is fascinating. She basically bared her teeth at him. He and I start to introduce ourselves and she shuts that down, fast and hard. 

By the end of the hour, I am left confused, my underbelly hurt, and pretty certain that she isn't going to finish the gig.  And I can recognize my side of the pattern but it doesn't fit anymore.  I wait a few hours then draft an email to sound out where things are.  I don't chase and the next morning there a stroppy text. I reply and lay out my concerns. I can almost hear her stamping her foot.  At the end of the exchange she writes 'Don't ever contact me again.' And I'm thinking 'Yeah, don't worry about that, Hoss.' But I do not say anything; I don't need the last word (at least, not directly). I simply block her number and delete her contact information. And it makes me wonder why I have difficulty assessing situations and taking those steps earlier in a burgeoning relationship. 

It also sends me into a bit of an existential crisis. Am I incapable of sustaining lasting friendships? Is the world that much of a danger zone for me? I take a poll among long-lasting friendships and breathe a sigh of relief. That I have a roster of people I can call on is essentially a testimony to my ability to sustain relationships. I'm going to be okay.