Perfect

“Sometimes is never quite enough/If you’re flawless/then you’ll win my love…”

Theme song of my life that I’m trying to change.

I’m not perfect.

But I have spent my life trying to be perfect. And that’s, I think, one of the cores of my problems.

Perfect - “having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be.”

How does one be perfect? It’s not humanly possible. But yet, I expect that that’s the expectation - I must be perfect. I must do everything well. Because to not do it well means that I’m bad and pathetic and less than.

In my previous life, everything had a value, everything was evaluated within an inch of its life. When I thought I did something that was beautiful and incredible and amazing, I was always informed that I wasn’t and that it wasn’t. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I believed that criticism and learned the lesson that I would never be perfect and that I should just quit trying.

My therapist was the first one to let me in on the secret that imperfection is beautiful. And, for the most part, I’ve embraced that and my flaws and accepted them and let go of the desire to be perfect.

Except when it comes to men.

I’m always terrified that I’m doing something wrong and they’re gonna see I’m not perfect. And the idea that I’m not perfect, that I’m not good enough has only been reinforced by those who have left. I did something wrong, I didn’t meet expectations, so therefore, bye.

And I struggle to realize that it’s not me, it’s them. Well, maybe not all me and not all them. It’s somewhere in the middle.

But as much as I try, there is that lingering voice saying, “if you’re flawless, then you’ll win my love.”

And, of course, this leads me back to the Filmmaker.

He, of all the men in my life, has embraced me for exactly who I am. I don’t get an expectation of perfect from him…. but I put the expectation of perfect on me when I’m with him.
Because I’m afraid he’ll see the imperfection and leave, like all the others.

And where this has reared its ugly head lately is, well, in the… um… shall we say… bedroom? (Can’t believe I’m going to write about this but I am…)

My sexual experience is almost non-existent. I have been with exactly four men - two ex-husbands, one little dalliance, and the Filmmaker.

And the Filmmaker has quite a plethora of experience, compared to me. Of course, compared to me, the Virgin Mary was a slut.

And despite the fact that the rest of the relationship is great and wonderful and “perfect”, this is the one area I’m still nervous about. Sometimes, it’s over the moon and out of the park and earth-shattering. And sometimes, I feel like I can’t find the rhythm and that I’m horribly inept.

And because of his having more experience, on those less than perfect nights, it makes me worry that I’m not good enough, I’m not perfect. And if I’m not perfect, he’ll be gone to be with someone who does it all better and knows what to do and how to do it and how to find the rhythm every single time. Cuz those women exist, right?

And I know it’s silly because I get no sign from him that there’s anything wrong. We always get things going in the right direction eventually and it’s always good. Sometimes, it’s spectacular… those are the best nights/mornings/days. And no matter how it ends, we always end up wrapped up together, warm and cuddly and happy.

So what’s my problem?

“Sometimes is never quite enough…”

And the new lesson is to learn to push that phrase away and just feel the energy between us. As long as his arms are around me at the end of it all and as long as he doesn’t pull away from me and push me away, that’s what’s important.

And I also had a very weird realization last night. Go with me on this…

I realized how much my ex missed out on simple joys in life and how much he must miss out on a daily basis.

I realized that one of the things I love with the Filmmaker is that after we make love, we curl up so close, so tight, so interconnected and intimate. And I love it almost more than the act itself. And on nights when he doesn’t let me go almost all night, those are the best.

Because I realized that my compulsive/obsessive ex would never cuddle immediately after we made love. (Okay, probably TMI but here we go… ) He had a thing about cleanliness so, after we made love, he would immediately get out of bed and go into the bathroom to, well, clean up. And that usually turned into ten minutes of him cleaning and tidying while I waited for him to come back to bed. And then, finally, when he was done with all that, we’d finally spoon together to fall asleep, all the passion gone, all the intimacy dispersed. Just his arms around me because that’s what we did.

But he missed those beautiful moments after. Those very special, very intimate moments where the passion is still in the air…

Oh, wait…

That would mean there was passion to begin with. Sorry, that’s a bit of a diss but it’s true. My ex was not one you would call passionate. And that’s another weird realization.

My ex never had passion. Never allowed himself to have passion. Occasionally, I would see a glimpse of what he might be able to feel but he never let himself really let it go. Part of it is the fact that he has Asperger’s syndrome and is just simply not able to access that part of himself. And so he was never able to convey that desire, that passion that the Filmmaker does. My ex just is not capable of that.

And not just passion for me, but my ex lacks passion for much of anything. He tries, he really does. And maybe he feels as much as he’s able to.

But he’s lost so much by not being able to let that go.

Even something as simple as a meal would suffer because he had to do the dishes -- and I mean all the dishes -- before he would sit down to eat. And then he would complain about the dinner being cold, after he’s been at the sink for ten minutes, cleaning.

“If you’re flawless, then you’ll win my love…”

So I don’t know how this all ties together - his lack of passion, his lack of intimacy and now my fear of screwing things up in the bedroom. But somehow, it’s all tied together.

And it makes me sad for my ex that he missed out on those beautiful moments between us that could have been. Because those are really, truly the moments I treasure with the Filmmaker. The other night, I don’t think I left his embrace more than a few minutes at a time after we made love. And it’s not every night that it’s like that but in the short time with the Filmmaker, there have been more nights like that than I ever had in my whole marriage. And there is beauty in those moments, there is wonder in those moments. Those are the moments to treasure, not waste by leaving the one you love waiting for you to share those moments.

And I hope that my ex is able to find at least one of those moments somewhere in his life, whether it’s making love to someone he loves and being able to be messy and sloppy and just stay there with her while she wants him to hold her, or being able to just sit down and enjoy dinner with her, or just be able to let go of the control and just have some fucking passion for once, just once, just… once.

Let go of perfect. Because someone will love you, flaws and all.