My glucose numbers have been higher than normal this summer, aligning with an ongoing stress of a new non-relationship. But overnight, I came to the realization that this non-/never-relationship demonstrates just how much emotional work I’ve done.
I now recognize emotionally unavailable men for what they are, and after a bit of to and fro, know that they are not for me. It’s a bit of a triumph, and I believe my body will soon reward me by normalizing my glucose levels.
The part that makes me happy is my recognition that, for most of my life, I’ve been one of those who are emotionally unavailable. I’ve carried this emotional numbness through a 15-year relationship (12 years’ married), and numerous long-term relationships with equally emotionally unavailable partners. These relationships can only go so far before they die on the vine.
I recognize in others the fear of letting others see “the real” person inside, the insane need to keep all the bad emotions (sadness/grief/anger/rage/fear/insecurity…even love) inside and unseen by the world.
I’ve envied couples who don’t have to wear a mask for each other. They seem to share everything, especially those tough emotions. When one is triumphant, the other is proud. When one grieves, the other supports. When one cries, well, they both cry.
They don’t tally all the wrongs that have been committed for ammunition in some future fight. They don’t drink until oblivion or storm out of the house to party with friends who seem to understand them. They don’t hide at at the office or bury themselves in hobbies.
I come by emotional distance honestly. Like many kids, I had no choice. I never saw my parents cry. I never saw them speak to each other in anger. I never saw them admit to their fears of abandonment — fear came out as anger. Boundaries, like closed doors, were firmly established as “no go” zones. But there were issues like high blood pressure, migraines, eating disorders and alcohol.
It wasn’t until I retired from journalism and went to school to study conflict resolution that I saw that my emotional distance during tough situations was inherited. And it wasn’t until my dad’s funeral in 2008 that I learned from my brother’s eulogy that I didn’t come into the world as a cherished third child — my father didn’t want any more than the two children he already had. I can’t imagine how much of the stress hormone cortisol was coursing through my mother’s body and into the fetus that was my beginning of life. Welcome to the family — welcome to a life of managing stress.
I’m no different from many who are thankful for having to overcome obstacles. Life become so much richer when you take off the blinders you inherited. There’s been so much to learn, so much that now makes sense. (They really should teach conflict resolution in elementary schools.)
A counsellor once asked me why I keep dating emotionally unavailable men. She sounded exasperated, as though I should recognize them for what they were. But I didn’t. They were just familiar to me, talking and behaving in a way I’d come to think of as normal. All those emotionally available men scared the hell out of me. I didn’t want to be seen for who I was, feeling myself somehow inferior.
If I’d known about conflict when I was a journalist, I would have asked different questions. There are many ways to ask about a conflict without triggering anger. Many people get stuck in their positions without consideration of the values, beliefs or morals behind them.
When it comes to raising children, most older adults were raised the same way their parents and grandparents were raised. It was all too common for outbursts of anger, tears or terrors to lead to a child’s banishment. Go to your room, the parent said. I still remember the marks on the closed door where my crib was located — I spent a lot of early life staring at that door.
Today we recognize the importance of attachment between parents and infants. I was raised by my mother, which was common in the 1960s. When I expressed emotions my mother disliked, I was banished to my room. So I chose to stay with my mom, and stuff those undesirable emotions down deep and out of sight. I repeat, I never saw my mother cry — she got migraines. I never saw my father cry — he reached for rye whiskey or just went silent, sometimes for a week or more.
Today I wear an Apple watch that monitors my heart-rate variability, a key indicator of emotional health. Routinely, I am in the red zone, with my stress at 96% (very high), energy in short supply (16%) but my health as stable at 89%. It comes with the constant warning to “take things nice and slow or you might start feeling worse.”
My body is chronically in “fight or flight” mode, sending cortisol (which triggers high glucose) throughout my system. The counterweight to fight or flight is rest/digest, and that part of my system is kaput. The constant hammering of cortisol has left my pancreas and liver depleted of insulin. I need to add synthetic insulin, which makes me a type 1 diabetic. The organ damage may be done, but I’m claiming victory over the initial cause, emotional denial and unavailability.
In a class on conflict resolution, a vast majority of students came from emotionally damaged families. We were there to deal better with broken relationships and to set ourselves up to find life partners who were actually good for us.
Sometimes it can take awhile to identify emotional unavailability in others, as it was for me this summer. Someone who listened closely as I wept over old stories from my journalism days, then offered hugs, actually gave very little emotional feedback on himself.
He offered little crumbs, like agreeing to coffee meet-ups, and saying he was attracted to me, and liked me. But his actions told a different story. His withdrawal and increasing unavailability spoke of his unwillingness to get closer to me while his words denied this. I found it all very confusing.
A little bit of research on my end led to a series of Facebook clips that exposed him as emotionally unavailable. The final straw was one clip addressing my confusion over his words and deeds going in different directions. A clip said that these people like to keep you around as an option, but it’s one they’re too terrified to pursue.
I see it all now, and of course I feel stupid. Vulnerability leaves me open to pain, for which I am thankful. At least I’m feeling something, and not hiding from it.
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