Accepting Less Than Perfection

I have been fighting the poor self-image battle for the majority of my life. In my eyes, my worth was always directly related to the intricacies of my body, my accomplishments, my failures. Isaac says he loves me the way I am. As most know, this is a classic phrase, cliche in nature, but well meant by many. Honestly the first 100 times he said this to me, I brushed it off, not even letting a "thank you" escape my lips. It was always a "yah whatever" and then a swift switch of topic. What I didn't realize at the time, was that this technique of ignoring Isaac's statement, so closely related to our relationship and our love, was hurting his feelings. To him it felt like I was completely disregarding the authenticity of his feelings..and I was. I just felt like Isaac did not grasp the extent of this battle I fight every day. Now I have learned to grit my teeth and simply say "thank you," although in my mind that self-loathing demon is saying "he could never really love you for you."

With that being said, I still grasp at perfection. I think that if somehow I can accomplish all that I want to, if I can look a certain way, if I can grasp at dreams and desires and pull them from the sky into my eager hands, that I will have reached the promise land. In the beginning of my relationship with Isaac, my extreme lack of self-esteem was shining bright. Every single letter I wrote him was some sort of cut down, insult to myself, feeling of inadequacy. He put up with every single comment, every lavish description of why he would not want me anymore. Honestly I think Issac put up with my nonsense in the beginning because he was scared of upsetting me by simply telling me to hush. As time passed in this incarceration, he began to more freely express his feelings of distaste with my self-hatred. He told me that he never understood why I always beat myself up, and that I needed to understand that he liked what he saw, he loved the person I have always been, and that it was basically driving him up the wall. I would rant and rave about the appearance of my stomach, and he would simply say "I like it." But of course here came my counter argument, my desperate pleas at proving him wrong.

The age old debate for prison girlfriends is the "is he using me?" thought. In my amateur experience, this is definitely a trend amongst incarcerated men. For whatever reason (money, loneliness, connections to the outside world) these individuals will start "jail talking" a woman, giving them all sorts of compliments, making promises, professing love. In defense of some of these men, there are also many who simply care for their loved one and want to maintain the relationship, connection, etc...I did not know Isaac well before he became incarcerated. We dabbled in seeing each other. This fear of being used, it permeated my being in our beginning days of this journey. Isaac has a sordid past full of numerous dysfunctional relationships, manipulation, and lies. I sensed this before I even fully understood this. I was deathly afraid of being hurt by him again and being hurt in general. I did not believe in the power of change. I had such low self-confidence that I did not think he could actually want anything to do with me in a genuine manner. He has continued to prove me wrong.

  Now some of you may be saying at this point, "is she for real?" "Is there a point to despising yourself this much?" I do not know the point yet, perhaps it is a mechanism for avoiding life and the potential to act without fear. Regardless it is a struggle that is recognized and familiar to many. Prison and jail leave a doubt in many a woman's head that perhaps they are only enough if they are giving a man money, or writing him, giving him attention with visits,etc...that if he was not incarcerated he would have left a long time ago. These thoughts haunt many women daily, they perplex a number of us, leaving us wondering how some men can be so manipulative so cruel. I hear stories of women standing by there men for YEARS, only to be left the minute he walks out of those prison gates. The reality of the situation is that this can happen. You know what else can happen that gets much less recognition? A man can love a woman and a woman can love a man regardless of the bars and steel and walls separating them.A woman can be just as good and worthy as the man she cares for and stands by, she can have self-confidence, she can have a life, she can be attractive, and she can be loved. Through the months that have turned into years, I think women know in their hearts why their man is with them. It does not always make sense, and having a low self-worth can make this battle ten times worse. One's insecurities rule one's life, but I know this: I look into Isaac's eyes and see a love that goes beyond my stomach, my mishaps, my failures and fits perfectly, pushing away the shadow of my hatred. 

A New Day, A Worse Day

I am sitting here at Panera Bread eating my favorite cinnamon crunch bagel with hazelnut cream cheese and you know what I am absolutely miserable. Oh and right next to me, two older women are discussing with exasperation the woes of a relative with legal troubles. "How could anyone get involved in a situation like that?" One of the ladies does have a small sense of compassion in her voice. People don't realize how visible the loved ones of the incarcerated are. We are everywhere! I wish we weren't, but the support from those who are open is priceless for many.

So I am sitting here munching on my bagel and eavesdropping just a little. Only bits and pieces are audible. The only thing apparent is that this predicament causes one of these ladies pain. I return to my pain, my loathing. I constantly search for it's source. What hurts so horribly? I remind myself of my mantra: " I choose this life," every day, every hour, I make this journey a decision.

But what of our choice to love and is it so much a choice or a need? I need clothes, food shelter, but love, will I perish without it? I am unsure but have images of babies who fail to thrive because of a lack of touch. Sometimes I feel like that baby. I need love, but how I need it and how I know if it is enough is beyond me currently. Many people say we do not choose who we love, who the other half of our soul belongs to. Maybe we don't choose, but we choose whether to have this lover, this person as a part of our lives.

I hear about a large amount of women who love incarcerated men and who swear by the notion that this is the only person for them, that regardless of a 20 year sentence, they will wait. I do not judge these women either way. I am brought back to my love for Isaac, and how I would move the world for him, how I loved him since the day I met him, how our love seems to have a passion I have never known. I think about how regardless of my pain from the loss of him, I continue to stand by his side. Yes at this moment in Panera Bread, I am absolutely miserable. I am in love, I am torn by that love, and I am miserable. My legs continue to walk though, my heart still beats, I still can picture only him in my life. I feel lonely but I feel loved.

The Exhausted Argument

Isaac and I freely admit our relationship is not perfect. I blame this on a rocky start and a whole lot of stress. We fight sometimes, strangely enough often after a good visit or nice phone call. Maybe it is self-sabotage or the need to justify the anxiety that comes with this type of relationship. Either way I am not sure why we get into arguments, but we do. We both have worries about if we are strong enough to complete this journey, or what would happen if either of us found someone else, or even if we were to get tired of each other. We fight about our families, our friends, concerns about how people view us and his incarceration. Sometimes I think we argue cause we are bored or can't let a good thing be as it should. I always feel so frustrated and fragmented after an argument because they are usually left unresolved.

The worst part about prison arguments is that you have limited time to fight. Your disagreements must be handled in 15 minute monitored phone calls and if left unsettled, then your day stands to be riddled with anxiety and quite possibly ruined. Isaac and I fought this morning because we misunderstood each other's words. Without eye contact and the chance at further explanation we lost sight of the point. I believe arguments should bring growth out of emotional struggle, but sometimes we just exhaust each other saying the same thing over again with hopes of using less time to explain the ways of a world not constricted by increments of time.

Meet the Parents

Today Isaac met my mother for the first time. Well actually it is the second time, but the first time was a quick 30 second hello in the county jail, so I consider this their first true meeting. We had a two hour contact visit (no barrier dividing the inmate from their loved one), and I am happy to say that it turned out pleasantly well!

Isaac was so nervous, he had waited for the day he could sit down with my mother and talk to her about his feelings for me, his ideas for personal growth and change, and the respect he has for her as a person and a mother. He feared the conversation would lull or that he would say the wrong thing or that she would not like him. All his fears were squelched. My mother loved him! She knows he has hurt me in the past, she recognizes that he has made a lot of mistakes, that our relationship has had a lot of ups and downs, and that we are still working hard to find a balance. She sees him as human, a person trying to turn around his dysfunctional life, an unfinished art work, trying to find a different path. I appreciated her willingness to do that, to put herself out there, walk into a maximum security prison to meet the man I love, to hug him tightly, to tell him that she is proud of him and that he is worth something. That means the world to me. So we laughed, we did cry a little, we had some cokes and M & M's (I personally sampled the strawberry cheese danish, a tad sweet if I do say so myself), my mother looked amused on as Isaac planted a large kiss on me, and I think a bond was formed.

Isaac's nervousness dissipated because he realized that my mother would not judge him. He had things he wanted to say, he even apologized to her for the way he had treated me in the past with a sincerity that brought tears to my eyes. He talked about how saying no to trouble, drugs illegal activity, has started feeling better than the rush of getting high or breaking the law. He is changing. He surely is. Just saying that was a huge step for him because he has lived within the bounds of extreme impulsivity for a long time. My mother hugged Isaac tightly before we left waving to him as we went. I blew a kiss his way and he smiled that impish grin of his. I love that man, oh do I. He put himself out there, made himself vulnerable to the most important woman in my life. For that I salute him. He needs to know that people are rooting for him. His family loves him and cares, but have seen him do the same thing over and over again. It is natural to lose a bit of hope. I think my mother provided him with the desire to try harder, her belief in him renewed something or strengthened a desire to continue down the improved path he has been following. Isaac is a good man, who is living the consequences of a very messed up life fraught with bad choices as well as impenetrable circumstances. I try to breathe and recognize that this journey can only be taken a day at a time if I want to preserve my sanity. I felt the usual emptiness and sadness that are so pervasive when I leave the visiting area. The second my hand leaves his I feel lost. I try to go on with my day, but I am mentally and physically exhausted. The countdown begins until he can wrap me in a bear hug again, and until I can have that necessary reminder of why I chose this life.