I'm okay. I AM OKAY.

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection.” --Buddha

Isn’t that breathtaking? Yin sent me this quote after a rich conversation we had on the nature of self-acceptance.

It was prompted when I related an offhand comment from Said Husband. I have often accused him of “lawyering” me—asking questions that make me feel as if I should be on the witness stand. The other day, as he was about to launch a line of inquiry about some subject, he said, “This may seem like lawyering to you, but I’ve always asked questions like this. It’s just the way I am.” (Emphasis mine.) I don’t remember if he actually said, “You’ll get over it.” But that was the implication.

It raised my eyebrows—and my hackles. What a terribly unapologetic, self-justifying thing to say, I thought. How without regard for my opinion or interpretation. How dare he dismiss my accusation.

And then I realized that what I felt wasn’t just anger. It was also envy.

Why don’t I have that same solid sense of self-acceptance? I don’t ever imagine I’ll lose the tendency to push for personal growth and self-improvement; I don’t want to.

But why am I not more willing to be okay with who I am in the midst of that process? To be more compassionate about who I am in the moment would be deliciously spirit-freeing. To accept myself, if not because of my flaws, in spite of them? That is the definition of unconditional self-love. To stand firmly in all myself as a Child of God—recognizing even the God-ness that hides in my chinks and quirks. That would be wholly holy. And don’t I deserve that as much as the next person? Doesn’t everyone? The Buddha thought so.

We women, I'm convinced, have a more difficult time balancing the I’m Okay/You’re Okay model. We either accept other people, bending ourselves around their tendencies (even if it means denying our own). Or we expect other people to be as pliable as we are—and are hurt and disappointed when they don’t yield adequately to us. But aren’t we supposed to compromise—especially those we live intimately with? Aren’t they supposed to compromise, too?

Of course. But there is a line—thin, pliant, as easily broken as the strand of a spider web—between compromising and being compromised. Compromises, good ones, feel healthy and mutual. When we are compromised—subject to concessions that ultimately devalue or undermine who we truly are—an important line has been crossed. Like a spider web, you can’t always see it, but you feel it to sticking to you uncomfortably even after you’re sure you’ve wiped it away.

It made for a rich debate with Yin. She pressed the point that we have to be ready—especially in intimate relationships—to set aside some of the “just the way I am” stuff in the name the union. I agree. But I argued with her (maybe as a means of convincing myself) that boundaries must also be drawn, even in the deepest I love you relationships, so that I love ME is never forgotten.

She defended my hackled response to Said Husband’s comment. What kind of thing was that for him to say? I was right to be offended, she said. But whether his stance is wrong or not, he raised questions I need to explore: Do I deserve my own love, no matter what? And how can I learn the art of self-acceptance?

Your Woman is Wonderful

So I did my homework on books about how to find and keep a great woman. Went online and did a search. To get a basis for comparison, I started searching for books about “finding a good man.” I came up with a load of books for women of every age, race, religion and description.

For the married woman: Good Husband, Great Marriage: Finding the Good Husband...in the Man You Married
For the religious woman: In Search of the Proverbs 31 Man: The One God Approves and a Woman Wants
For the Type A woman: All the Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right
For the black woman: The Sistahs' Rules: Secrets For Meeting, Getting, And Keeping A Good Black Man (Not To Be Confused With The Rules)
For the angry woman: Seven Attitude Adjustments for Finding a Loving Man
For the mature woman: How Not to Stay Single After 40: The Secret to Finding Passion, Love, and Fulfillment--At Last!
For the maybe not so mature woman: How to Avoid a Stupid Man: A Woman's Guide to Attracting Her Soul Mate
And my personal favorite: Why Men Marry Bitches: A Woman's Guide to Winning Her Man's Heart

Next, I typed “finding a good woman” into the search. The results? Drum roll, please….

More books about how a woman can find and keep a MAN!

Winnifred Cutler’s Searching for Courtship: The Smart Woman's Guide to Finding a Good Husband came up third on the list. There was also Dating Rocks! The 21 Smartest Moves Women Make for Love by Steve Nakamoto, a former Dale Carnegie instructor, personal development trainer, and international tour director. (I am not making that up.) The cover art is a picture of a guy’s hand reaching under the table for a woman’s thigh. Also on the list—and I’m not making this up, either: The Women’s Basketball Drill Book.

God Bless Ronn Elmore. He’s the author of How to Love a Black Woman: Give and Get the Very Best in Your Relationship which is apparently the only book in the whole world that offers instruction to men about how to treat women.

Is it me or is there something wrong with this picture? One thing I know from having worked in publishing: They don’t keep printing the stuff if no one’s buying it. So why are women so eager to pore over books on how to find a man, please a man, hold a man? And why aren't men just as eager to get their relationships right?

Maybe it's not the motivation. Maybe it's the approach. That was the hint I got from a counselor today.

“You’re working too hard,” she said. All my sincere, heroic efforts—the talking and reading and journaling and blogging and working and working and WORKING and WORKING on the relationship isn’t actually doing much of anything for the relationship--and it's doing less for me. “You’re doing all the work and he gets off the hook,” she says.

Her suggestion (though not her exact words): Get a life. Spend more time focusing on me. Do what I like. Do more of what makes me feel happy and creative and fulfilled. Stop and let him do some of the heavy lifting for a change.

My secret fear: That he won’t lift a thing. But then, if he’s not willing, why should I bother? And if I’m busy having a wonderful time in my own life, how much would I care?

Whether he's willing or not remains to be seen, but if he isn't, he should be. He was lucky to get me. I'm creative and smart and not too hard on the eyes. I have a sense of humor and a sense of spirit. I was a good catch. And he worked hard to reel me in. I need to see in me now, what he saw in me then.

Maybe there really is the need for the book called Your Woman is Wonderful. But maybe it’s us women who need to read it.

Wow, Isn't He Great!

Today my burly, surly, buzz-cut Asian UPS guy (who has the most beautiful legs you've ever seen in brown shorts) rang the bell and dropped a package on my porch. A review copy of a to-be-published book. I opened the package and read the title.

Your Man is Wonderful

I don’t know about you, but I’m big on Signs from the Universe and this seemed like a neon billboard. Okay, okay, I thought. I get it. I’ve got to appreciate my guy more. I’ve got to be more affectionate. I’ve got to overlook his little flaws and quirks and annoying habits. Okay. OKAY!

It actually seems like a good book—and probably an even easier read than the Susan Page one I've been trying to get through. I skimmed it and it does say some simple, pertinent things about how to remember he's a good guy. Here’s the gist:

Good = honest, reliable, trustworthy, responsive, responsible and appreciative.

That’s it.

And here’s the problem: We don’t see these “wonders” because

• We don’t recognize how vital and important these basics are
• “We pick (to death) a man’s superficial flaws”
• We don’t allow the emotional space for the good stuff to grow
• We want what they can’t give us

In other words, we expect too much. That’s basically it, isn’t it? We want more than they can give us.

I’m going to read the book more thoroughly and see what else it has to offer. (BTW, it's by Noelle Nelson Ph.D. and it's due out in January.) It seems worth ruminating on. I know that I’m guilty of all four of the “don’ts” above. I don’t often stop to think that, I married Said Husband because he had the six good qualities—and I recognized them as a great foundation for a good relationship. Those feel like lowest common denominators for me. But I’m also beginning to recognize that time takes its toll and if someone isn't actively cultivating those qualities or allowing them to “flourish,” the denominator can get lower. The guy who used to be responsive shuts down. The one who used to be there when you needed him can’t be found.

My problem is that when I'm asked to do more to "cultivate" him, I get caught up in this burning question: Where is the book called Your Woman is Wonderful? The self-help bookshelves are lined with books about how to find a great guy and make him happy. But I don’t remember having seen titles that offer the “wonderful” man advice on how to show appreciation for the wife who bore his 8-pound babies and picks up his stiff, sweaty socks after she comes home from work and before she starts cooking dinner.

That’s the thing that makes me feel just...tired. With all the work that women do—much that goes unnoticed, unappreciated or dismissed—we’re also supposed to find time to develop strategies for cultivating his wonderfulness and protecting his six precious qualities.

I want to see the book for guys called Wow, Your Wife is Great or Man, What a Catch! Maybe it’s out there and I just haven’t seen it. I’m going to do a search. I’ll let you know what I find.

Making Plans

I’ve begged and pleaded. I’ve asked over dinner. I’ve asked in e-mail. I’ve written letters.

What is our mission? What are our plans? What are we going to do together?

And I can’t, for the life of me, get an answer from my husband.

I don’t know if he can’t answer. If he won’t answer. Do the questions offend him? Do they just seem silly? Is he just the type of person that wants life to flow and take him along with it? Is he a “let go and let God” guy who believes that means you don’t have to plan at all? I don’t know what be believes. And it drives me crazy. It is a the crux of our relationship issues right now because his refusal to respond has left me wondering if he even has any aspirations for himself or his family. And, frankly, I don’t know how well I can deal with a person who doesn’t. But I can’t really make a decision about what I’ll deal with or won’t, because I don’t know what is going on in his ever-lovin’ head.

Finally, I just started thinking, “Ef it! If he won’t get a plan for his life, then I’ll just start making plans of my own.” Lately, I’ve thrown myself into creating long-range plans and short-term schedules. I’ve been fleshing out ideas that I’ve had, putting some meat on those dreams. Getting organized. Getting disciplined. Getting ready to roll.

It bothers me to set goals that don’t take him into consideration, but I feel like I have no choice. The call to get moving is very strong, and I’m the kind of person who can’t press the gas without some directions, a map, a destination in mind. I need a plan for my life. I'm going to have a plan for my life. Period.

And then the revelation came.

Maybe that was the point: For me to do it for myself. It's my life, after all. I know myself well enough to know that if he had responded to my queries about his dreams and goals, I would have thrown myself wholeheartedly into his vision for our future. Because the reality is, that I didn’t have a clear vision of my own aspirations. I had reached my previously set career goals (The cushy NY job). I had spent the past few years catching up on my personal goals (Marriage? Check. Child? Check. House? Check.). Now what? I had no idea what was next.

That’s why I was pushing so hard for us to talk about it. I was hoping that he would help get me motivated or that we would motivate one another. In the end, his inability (or stubborn refusal or whatever it was) to talk about it ignited a fine-then-I’ll-show-YOU attitude that fired me up to get off my ass and start to plan the life I want. As my girl Rox says, “I ain’t saying it’s right and I ain’t saying it’s healthy” but it certainly is helping to the job done.

To be honest, I’m still not absolutely clear on where I want my life to go. (Hmm, could that be why Said Husband has been so closed-lipped? He doesn’t quite know the answer to the questions I’ve been asking?) But I know some things I want in place. I know how I want my life to feel. I know I can find the ways and means. How, exactly, will it come together? I don’t quite know. But I’m working on it.

Talking In My Sleep

I had a chance to go and meet one of my favorite authors. Not at a reading or lecture. She was going to be at a friend’s house, having tea. I was invited. To sit and drink tea with Said Author and my friend. Just the three of us. I was dressed to go. I was in the car. I was on my way.

And I never got there. Because I ended up having a huge, all-consuming “discussion” with Said Husband—on the cell phone, as I was driving, trying to navigate my way to meet Said Author. In the end, I was too distracted to find the place and too much a mess to have enjoyed it anyway. (And lucky I hadn’t wrecked the car in all that drama.) That’s what I told myself anyway, to mask my disappointment at my own self-undermining.

I’ve always believed that, when two reasonable people have an issue, talking it out ought to work. Never mind that, in seven years of marriage, it has rarely yielded much. In fact, I’m beginning to find that talk—at least the way Said Husband and I are doing it—has become a form of self-sabotage. There have been nights when discussions about the State of Our Union have kept us up until 3 in the morning. And, while these hashings seem important at the time, often, in the next-day light I realize that we haven’t covered much new ground or come to any major revelations or resolutions. And, adding insult to injury, I end up exhausted. Not only have I wasted a good night’s sleep, I’ve tanked my ability to function the next day as well.

But I keep doing it. Keep think talking is going to help. According to Susan Page, that’s my first problem. She’s the author of, Why Talking Doesn’t Work: Eight Loving Actions That Will Transform Your Marriage.

The title doesn’t do the book justice. You’ll find it on the “self-help” shelf, but its focus is spiritual. It encourages you to think of marriage (and all relationships) as spiritual practice—a way for you to grow as a person. More connected, more authentic, more aware, more at peace, more in Love. (Big L Love.)

The book asks you to eschew discussion, debate and verbal self-defense in favor of acting with a sense of good will, allowing the other person to just be himself, accepting what is and accepting yourself with the same compassion. Give up problem solving, Page writes. Talking and negotiating isn’t going to solve them—and you’re not going to change your partner any more than he’s going to change you.

So far, the only “loving action” that has come fairly easily for me is Act On Your Own. Stop asking or expecting the partner to do the thing, say the thing, have a revelation you want him to have. Just do what you need to do. I’ve been calling this the “Work Around”—and find that it’s empowering to see that I can find a way to do or have what I need, without being hindered by another person’s actions or inactions.

I’ve had a very hard time with the other “loving actions,” because they require you to consider some practices and concepts that, if you have any ego at all, really stretch you beyond your comfort zone. But I’m inching my way into the book, going back and literally re-viewing the concepts again and again. Remembering that this is supposed to be a spiritual practice—trying again and again until I get it. And reminding myself that this is about me getting it. Because until I get it, I’m going to keep spinning in the same circle of self-sabotage. And I’m never going to get any sleep.

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

—Derek Walcott



Derek Walcott, born in 1930 in Saint Lucia, won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1992. He has written more than 20 poetry collections and more than 20 plays.

The End is Near; We are About to Begin

Saturday I heard a story. And Sunday I heard a story. And Monday I heard a story. And today, another one. And all the stories were different. And all the stories were the same:

A woman—a divine and flawed human woman—looked at the man to whom she has committed her heart (a divine and flawed human, too) and saw unfold, clearly and in real time, the violation of his respect for her.

And I listened to the quiet, even voices of these women telling their stories. And I looked at their faces. And I looked in the mirror. And what I see makes me tremble. What I see makes me weep. What I see makes me speechless. I sit here to write without words. But I know I have to find the words. Because I know this:

This can NOT continue. This must end.

We cannot continue to watch ourselves being subtly and overtly dishonored and wonder, in the back of our hearts, if we deserve it.

We cannot continue to listen to backhanded excuses, limp justifications and round-the-bush half-truths, trying to make sense of what is senseless, saying nothing in response.

We cannot be in situations where there is more safety in blindness than there is in truth.

We cannot allow ourselves to be so busy with doing…name it, you know you are doing it…that we forget that Knowing is our strength, our health and the Source of our life.

We can’t continue to shoulder the blame for everything that is not exactly “right” in our lives—from the dust in the corners to the baby’s allergies to the fact that “he” is not at home. Because all that won’t stay on our shoulders, so it migrates to our throbbing temples, our breasts, our backs, our wombs—and lodges there, growing.

We cannot continue to mute ourselves and make ourselves invisible. We cannot be called out of our names.

We cannot forget who we are.

Because you do know who you are, don’t you? You are the vessel for the creation of all humanity. You were given the ability to feed the generations. You are the one everyone turns to for wisdom, because you have both intelligence and intuition—and you know how to use them. You are….

Oh, this will just sound like so much new age, neo-feminist, milk and moon-blood Goddess-centric bullshit. And who am I to tell you who you are? I can hardly recognize and define myself.

But I know this, too: I’m about to get real, real clear. Little by little I am waking up. And my sisters around me are waking, too. And when we wipe the sleep out of our eyes, we are going to start moving. Some of us are moving now—our faces unwashed, still pulling on our clothes—because it is time. This ignore-ance of our Sacredness has got to stop and we are the ones to stop it.

You: Stand in your Self. You: Support the woman next to you. Me: Still your hands, wipe the tears and find the words.

Because it's time.

He's right? Right!

Rox and I were talking the other day, as we often do, about the state of our unions. For us, that often means comparing notes about the unbelievability of the things husbands do.

They're different, she said. Of course they're different; we can see that dangling. But she meant that Modern Husbands are really, especially different. And they are more different from us than husbands used to be from their wives.

Think about it. This is the first generation where we are regularly connecting with people who are from other backgrounds, other classes, other races. Back in the day, people stayed close to home and married their high-school sweetheart. If they moved, they moved to places where there were other people from back home. (Thus the migration trends that led to the Up South phenomenon—where groups of people from, say, Georgia all landed in the same blocks in New York.) In my parents' day, you were taking your life and liberty into your hands to marry outside of your race. People kept to their own kind and their own class. (Some Black folks even tried to stick with people their own shade of brown.)

All that seems as outdated as a chocolate malted now, but it created an atmosphere in which people started off in marriage with a common foundation. These days we don't have those common roots for our unions. And this cultural chaos gets piled on to the fact of the Mars-Venus madness that ensues when you marry someone of the opposite gender—someone who, according to some scientific research, has a brain that just plain works a different way. Then swirl in the fact that gender roles have morphed, so there is no June and Ward Cleaver standard that we all know to live by. And top it off with the cherry that is our ego: We want to be right. We think we ARE right.

It is a huge, sweet, beautiful, tragic mess.

And then Rox dropped the real shocker: They are different and...sit down for this...they have every right to be. The challenge comes when you begin to think that the fact that he doesn't think like you think means he's just...wrong.

We are raised in certain environments with certain values and certain experiences that form who we are and how we live. It is all too real to us. And it’s all too right. And if the opposite of right is wrong, and if what he thinks seems to oppose what to we think, therefore he is wrong.

Right?

Maybe. Maybe not. He has a right to the opinions borne of his experiences. He has a right to do things in his own way, in his own time. He has a right to believe what has grown in his heart. I don’t have the right to tell him that his understanding, his beliefs, his ways are wrong. He is right. (Unless he is, in fact, wrong.)

AND.... And his rights and his rightness do not mean that I am wrong. I have the right to my own experiences and views and ways, as well.

So there it is. Simple as that. Right?