Estimated reading time: 21 minutes
Dear Dr. NerdLove,
Longtime reader here, howdy’do and all that, and this is definitely not the letter I ever thought I would write.
I have a feeling that my question is essentially going to parse out to be a spin on one you have answered in many forms before, but this year has been a *gauntlet* for me and I’m certain you haven’t seen this exact combination of circumstances yet. So, at a minimum, for the sheer thrill of potentially presenting you with a query that contains an element of novelty, here we go:
The craziness of my year started just three days into 2025 with a total hysterectomy.
(While that was the start to my year, it also marked the culmination of a very long line of medical issues that have plagued me since adolescence. We all know the drill: chronic illness, classic case of women having their symptoms dismissed, multiplied exponentially for BIPOC non-femme people with uteruses, etc. I’m sure I don’t need to spell out for you that there’s years of both personal and systemic injustices and trauma to unpack there.)
As a result of how my parents chose to treat me throughout the medical process, and after many painstaking years of trying to have a genuine relationship with them, I finally decided to go fully no-contact with them. I don’t want to go into a whole lot of depth with this because it was painful, but among other things, I was accused of having severe mental illness and threatened with disinheritance. *While* I was stitched up, laid up, in recovery, with next to no support system.
Because the only in-person support I had throughout this was my partner. He drove me to my surgery, and while he was likely the best person to do so, he was also the only person who could. And while I forever owe him my gratitude for this…
…We broke up a couple months after I recovered from the surgery. After five and a half years together. What’s amazing and incredible is that we’ve remained great friends throughout, and have successfully de-escalated what was once a romantic partnership to a happily domestic one. We even managed to go through our breakup in a way that left our D&D group intact…
And then the D&D group disbanded after over four years of long-distance friendship together. Because…
…During my difficult health issues, myself and one of the other members of the group bonded even more than we had in previous years. Over several months we became so close that we fell in love, which I mean to say that we developed romantic feelings. Which is great and amazing and wonderful AND he was also in a several-year, very traditionally monogamous commitment with his fiancée.
This was actually fine with me. Going back a step for just a moment – you’ll notice I didn’t give a reason why my ex-partner and I broke up, and that’s because one of the major causes was that I’d started to realize that I do not experience love in a traditionally monogamous way, and through no fault or dishonesty of either party, we could not move forward in the same relationship structure we had been in previously. This is also why we work so great as friends and roommates now; there is truly no ill will or wrongdoing, simply a gut-wrenchingly honest realization, on both parts, that we do not fulfill one another romantically. And being so soon after my surgery, and many major life upheavals, including a major breakup (no matter how lacking in wrongdoing or blame), I was not at all desirous to jump into another committed relationship. At all. So, falling in love with someone who couldn’t commit to me romantically was not necessarily a bad thing for me. It was just a thing that happened. I strongly believe that not all feelings need to be acted upon, and in this case, I did not want to act on my romantic feelings for my friend.
I was explicit in all of this with my friend: the presence of romantic feels did not mean I in any way wanted or intended to pursue those romantic feels. First and foremost, he was my best friend, and while I did want to elevate our relationship, I explicitly, expressly, specifically, wanted to elevate it to something much more like a queerplatonic relationship than a romantic one, and we had many thorough conversations about what that could look like without encroaching on his existing commitments.
My ex, my therapist (yes, I definitely have a therapist on board through all this!), and the other former members of the D&D group all have unanimously reinforced to me that I am not at fault for what happened next, and that there was no shortcoming in my communication, and at times when I really want to blame myself, I hold onto that because I think they are all the next best judges of this. It’s also hard to explain in any concise way, but my friend gradually became more and more of an asshole. Especially as I became single and started to have more and more of a post-surgical social life, he started pressuring both me and his fiancée into a bizarre distance throuple that neither she nor I wanted, much less consented to, while simultaneously flaking on me, at first just here and there but eventually bailing on me anytime we were supposed to hang out, either individually or with the group (online hangouts for anyone wondering, though we had all had in-person friendships at various points in time). I said many times to my friend, “I explicitly do not consent to your fiancée as a metamour. That will not be healthy for me or for her.” I said many times, “This is not what I want. I do not want a romantic relationship with you. I do not want a polyamorous relationship with you or anyone. I do not identify as polyamorous and I do not want to be in a relationship that you are labeling as polyamory. What I want is for us to be friends. Here are examples of friendship to me, which we do not currently do, that would that are actionable,” such as literally hang out, ever (play games, shoot the shit, etc. *like friends do*). When he responded by going to his fiancée with an ultimatum to “open up the relationship or else break up,” I ended the friendship.
Then I quit my job. That was a long time coming. I’d taken a promotion, before my diagnosis, at a time when I’d been optimistic that the answer to all my fatigue would be a CPAP machine, not major surgery. Two sleep studies and three doctors later, the job turned out to me too much for what I was working with medically, but was also just a not great job period. I’d been having problems since before my medical leave, and I’d done all my due diligence of communicating with managers, and managers’ managers, and HR, and documenting, and documenting, and documenting, the things that needed to change, and the ways in which I needed more support to continue in the job. When I came back from leave, I made it clear in no uncertain circumstances (but also professionally) that I did so begrudgingly and only because *waves vaguely at the preceding paragraphs* I was not ready to add “find new health insurance” to my list of things. But the job continued to suck, I continued not to receive support even though I was supposedly asking for it in all the correct ways, and so then finally I did add “find new health insurance” to my list of things. So, while technically, I did in fact ragequit, I am still great friends with my colleagues (not the ones directly responsible for my crummy lack of support, of course) and we’ve even gone camping together since then.
In the meantime, I found a relationship. Seriously, I wasn’t trying to. Throughout all this chaos, I knew that what I really needed was human affection and intimacy, and so I started attending cuddle workshops in my area. Through the workshops, I’ve met so many cuddly kindred spirits who like to engage in platonic touch and practicing consent in a safe container. (The consent work is honestly even better than the cuddling – I love practicing clear yes’s and no’s, which for those unfamiliar with cuddle events, are very standard procedures in order to ensure everyone’s emotional and physical safety.) The was one especially lovely person I bonded with in particular. We started meeting up outside the workshops, and were both honest with where we were in life – and as neither of us were up for a serious, long-term thing, but very much up for a summertime crush with lots of fun outings and social activities, it seemed perfect.
And it really, really was perfect. Doc, we *really* clicked. On a whole ‘nother level. Things ended up being more than just fun; they also ended up being incredibly, deeply meaningful. We were super into one another, and just like that, my short-term summer fling became a full-blown super sexy summer romance. And that’s awesome, except…
One of the reasons why we both agreed to a short-term affair is because he was intending to relocate by the end of the year. And after five glorious months of seeing just what my post-surgical body is capable of (I do mean the obvious, yes sexually, but even more importantly to me, also socially – as my disorder for which I had the hysterectomy kept me oftentimes housebound. People have long pegged me as an introvert when I was just chronically ill but in no less need of companionship) – he has moved. A whole coast and three time zones away. And we agreed that it is for the best not to maintain a relationship over long distance; it simply would not meet either of our needs. And while we’ve agreed to be friends, we also agreed that it makes sense to let things settle, and adjust to our respective new senses of normalcy before we start trying to adapt what was once a very passionate, emotional dynamic to a distanced friendship.
That was a month ago. Initially, I’d made plans to continue hanging out with some of his friends after he moved away, but that fell apart literally a week after he moved (the hosts cancelled due to some unforeseen life circumstances of their own). I then also had a resurgence of some very bad symptoms that I thought the surgery had cured; luckily, I do finally have a doctor that I trust and who listens, and we were able to resolve it once and for all, but it was still harrowing nonetheless. Despite these setbacks, I’m taking good care of myself. I’ve got a good balance of social activities so that I do not feel overwhelmed, but not lonely. While I don’t talk to my parents, I’ve gotten close to some long-distanced aunts that I did not know very well in my childhood, which has been healing in its own way. I have my therapist (though that is also not an in-person relationship, as we work through video conferencing/calls). I have my roommate, who was once my partner, and still a very close confidante in my life. The former-colleagues-to-besties saga continues as our next camping trip is already planned, and the next cuddle workshop is already booked. Like most people, I will need to think about earning income again at some point, but my budget is solid, my exit strategy benefitted greatly from the extra months I stuck it out at a job I hated, and I am not in any risk of immediate financial harm. Even after a surprise second surgery this year (my wisdom teeth this time, just a couple months ago – which is apparently no joke at my age, and costly with the complications involved), I can still take the time that is needed for me to heal mentally from all the other things, and then start my job search when I feel ready to start trawling Ask A Manager for tips lol. I am also taking alone time when I need it; letting people know that I’m feeling raw, and what kind of support would be helpful to me right now; and crying a lot while watching period dramas and reading sappy romance novels.
In other words, I’m using my resources; leaning on my support system; putting to work all the skills that I have gained in therapy, life, and frankly, from not having a major medical issue interfering with my basal metabolic functions any longer. At the same time, while I am very much a chronic overdoer and planner, I feel confident that I have also employed the skill of not overdoing; that this is not “too much” for me, but that rather I have calibrated my activity level to just the right amount to get myself out of the house and be amongst supportive people while still giving myself the proper space to grieve for…literally all the things.
But Doc, it doesn’t feel good. And at this point, you’re hopefully thinking, “Well, no shit it doesn’t feel good, that’s awful.” And that’s kind of just it. No matter how good I take care of myself, it isn’t the same as being taken care of. I’ve gone through the wringer to build a good life for myself with solid, supportive relationships, and I have that. But the thing is, every support system I described just now, all the bonds I have, these are what I would think of as intermediate relationships. None of these relationships take the place of a parent, intimate partner, or best friend/QPP, nor are any of my current relationships in the place to step up or change the status quo just now. Grocery shopping with the roomie isn’t having someone who knows me well cook the comfort foods that won’t upset my stomach when I’m feeling sad; trying to explain all of this to my therapist isn’t having someone who loves me bundle me up in to their arms and give me explicit permission to stop talking and not have to explain myself so exhaustively all the time. It’s not that grocery shopping with the roomie isn’t great bonding time. It’s not that therapy doesn’t add incredible utility to my life. It’s just also not what I necessarily need *more* of right now.
But, Doc? I must repeat: it really doesn’t feel good. And when I say that it doesn’t feel good, what I’m actually saying is that it feels hopeless and futile and I’ve been watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” (which is an incredible commentary on affordable housing that holds up well in the modern sphere, just sayin’) just to remind myself to keep holding on, that I matter. And sure, that gets me through, to a point. But the truth is, what I’m really missing are intimate bonds. It’s not about coping mechanisms or skill work for me anymore, even if there was definitely a time before my surgery when it was. It doesn’t matter how self-sufficient we become, there will always be times where we need to rely on our close bonds with others to help ourselves through the toughest times. That’s how being human works.
I have talked with my therapist about this, but I feel strongly that therapy does not provide the kind of support I desperately need in this specific context (and my therapist agrees). It seems that the options are, essentially to keep trying variations on what I have already been doing, but I really do not think I need to be doing more or adapting what I am already doing. I’m quite certain, for possibly the first time in my life, that I’m not doing anything *wrong*. That I don’t need to change anything or fix anything. I’m pretty sure I’ve done all the hard work, going through two surgeries this year included, and that I need to just be, for a little while, until things pass. I think that I am doing well from an objective standpoint even if not from an emotional one, and I just need to be maintaining what I have, until life moves to a different stage on its own. I can’t snap my fingers and have the strong bond I want with someone – something akin to a parent, partner, or QPP bond takes time and has to happen organically. I have many strong relationships even if they aren’t intimate, and even my relationships that end or substantially change, I end them with intention and on generally good terms. I’m not worried about eventually finding the close, affectionate types of bonds that I would like to form – someday. But that is cold comfort in the here and now. It feels like I am in need of some variant of “this too shall pass,” but I don’t know what that looks like, or how to get through it, when I can’t get what I need (intimate care and affection), and getting more of the other supports I do have (primarily distance relationships of all kinds, and some limited in-person relationships that are not as intimate as I need) is starting to feel like I’m using water to douse an oil fire: it just isn’t going to work, and at some point will make things worse by stressing me out and overwhelming me.
I hope all this made some semblance of sense. And if you don’t have any advice, that’s cool, because this was a lot, but I’d be very thankful if you could orient a good vibe or two in my direction. I need a Clarence. Thanks, Doc.
Best,
G. Bailey
Would I be falling down as an advice columnist if I mention that I always thought Pottersville was kinda awesome? I mean, there was the cool downtown bar scene, hot jazz… it had culture and a nightlife that Bedford Falls was lacking…
Ok sorry, not really the point.
Here’s the point: I think you’re framing things completely wrong in your head, and that’s part of the problem. You’re looking at the struggles you’re having, the social and emotional (and physical) aches and pains and changes and transformations as some sort of failure to thrive or lingering problems or coping in the wrong way, when it’s more of a case of “WELL OF COURSE YOU’RE GOING TO FEEL LIKE BRUISED SHIT AFTER ALL OF THIS.”
I mean, Lucifer, bright star of the morning, first and greatest amongst the angels needed a moment to lay there and just mutter “well… fuck” after crash-landing in Hell. You’ve been through massive changes that were just as total, just as momentous and you haven’t had your chance to just lay there for a moment and say “Ow, fuck, ow”.
You don’t need a Clarence to walk you through this, what you need is a moment to recognize the momentous import what it is that you’ve done. You’ve shed so much of your old life – from literal parts of your body, to understanding how your emotional connections to others work, to relationships that no longer meet your needs, to other relationships that needed to end – that you are, for all functionally a completely different person. You have, for all intents and purposes, been reborn and birth is goddamn traumatic. Rebirth – after shedding your past self – is even more so, because you have spent a human lifetime in one sense of self and now you have to adjust to a brand new one.
The chaotic, terrifying, painful and transformative act of rebirth is one that almost all cultures recognize as being one that entails almost total destruction and recreation, and one that always comes with a price tag of pain in the process and the aftermath. If we look to folklore and fairy tales, we see it all the time – the phoenix must immolate itself in a pyre until it reduces itself to ashes, only to be reborn the next day. The lycanthrope breaks its bones and rips through its own skin to reveal the beast that lives inside. The mermaid must split her tail and flukes or fins to create legs, and not only endure the pain of the transformation, but every step is like walking on a perpetual bed of broken glass and razor blades. Rebirth and transformation never comes easily.
Even in nature, transformation and rebirth is painful to the extreme. The snakes and lizards in the process of shedding their skin are at their most aggressive and angry because of the discomfort. Mantises trying to molt a shell that’s become too small and too tight are in danger of a bad molt, failing to break through and dying in the process. When the humble caterpillar secrets itself in its chrysalis, its entire body dissolves into goo before recreating itself into its new, glorious form, before having to break out of its literal shell and stretch its wings into the sun for the very first time and adjust to its new existence.
Over the course of the past year, you have gone through a transformation no less dramatic, no less total and no less complete than a phoenix rising from the ashes or a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. There wasn’t one moment – from your hysterectomy to your break ups, to your wisdom teeth – that marked the moment of transformation, it was all of it. Every change, every loss, every step has been part of the process. You have been shedding old relationships, leaving jobs that were a poor fit and poorer environment, casting away people whose love was incomplete, conditional or barely even love. You have been pushing away from people who refused to take your pain seriously, who insisted they knew your body better than you did, and finally being treated for conditions that they all insisted you never had. You have reached into yourself and learned more about who you truly are when you aren’t confined by those old limitations, the old shape that was never your true or final self. You burned yourself to ash, you dissolved into protoplasm, you shattered your exoskeleton when it became too small and too constrictive to contain you.
Of goddamn course you feel awkward and unsure. Of course your current relationships are at an intermediate level, not as deep or as close as you would like. You are only, just now, starting to emerge, soaked, tremble-legged and blinking in the sun. You are a new and different person from who you were before. You are only just now learning who you are and what your new self is capable of – as you said, simply the act of discovering what you can do sexually and socially. You are still like that butterfly, stretching wings it never had before, letting them unfurl and dry in the warmth of the sun. You are getting used to senses you never had, a body that operates differently from what you’ve known, realizing you have opportunities and options available to you that were never open before.
It’s going to take time to become familiar with this new life, to understand your needs and how best to fill them. It’s going to be a while to come to terms with how much things have changed and how many things you learned through necessity that you will have to unlearn. So much of your life has been defined by adapting to limitations and restrictions that no longer exist. It’s liberating and terrifying at the same time because even though your past life was hobbled by pain and restraints, it was what you knew. The unknown is always terrifying, even when it’s demonstrably better; the devil you know is less frightening than the angel you have never seen before.
But the devil you know is still a devil.
What you’re feeling are the aches and pains and residual trauma of a rebirth and new life – the bruises and contusions of the birth process, the adjustment to a world simultaneously new and familiar, but also re-experiencing things you didn’t know you would ever experience again. It’s perfectly understandable, even reasonable to feel sad and disappointed that one of the first people you connected with as part of this new you couldn’t last; our first relationships rarely do and that’s ok. And this was a true first relationship – the first relationship you had as your new, true self. Feeling disappointed that you had something so amazing that eventually came to a natural conclusion is the most natural and relatable feeling in the world. You just happened to be in the rare position of experiencing it a second time, when you never realized that this was even possible.
It’s entirely understandable to feel sad that, while you have people who care for you and do their best to help you, they don’t know you as well as you wish. That’s ok! You are still getting to know you! It’s going to be a learning experience for you and the people who are in your life – whether they’re only in it for now, or whether they will become a permanent fixture – and that’s something that only comes with time. It’s simply a matter of recognizing that you need to give yourself the grace of rest and healing and letting things settle while you adjust to your new existence.
Because what you’re looking for – a family of choice, a community, people who know you – will come in time. Time is the one element we have no control over; we can’t speed it up when we wish and we can’t make it stand still when we need it to. Time will always flow as it wills, and things will always take exactly as long as they take; it’s the curse of our awareness that we have to make peace with time’s intransigent refusal to bend to our will. But it’s in the act of making peace, of surrendering to it like surrendering to the pull of the current of the river, that we let it flow as we need and get where we are going that much more smoothly. Because right now, part of surrendering to time will mean surrendering yourself to healing and adjustment. To learning and re-learning and un-learning.
When you give yourself that time, you’ll find that the things you are looking for will be that much easier to find. It’s less of a matter of “it will happen when it’s supposed to”, so much as “it will happen when you’re ready and best able to recognize it when you see it.” Some of these new relationships will be the natural evolution of the ones you have now. Some may well be a rebirth of their own – old relationships that came to their natural conclusion, only to sprout new shoots and new growth. Some may be new relationships grafted onto old ones and some may seem to come from the most unexpected of places, like seeing wildflowers bloom in a rain gutter.
But they will come in their time and not a moment before. So the best thing you can do with this time is to rest, to recoup and to engage with yourself and this old, new world. The more you give yourself the chance to become comfortable and accustomed to this massive change in your existence, the more you will set yourself up to bring these relationships – whether grown, found or reborn – into your life. You’ll find your partners and your family of choice, faces new and familiar, in time.
Just give yourself that time. Even a newborn phoenix needs to learn how to preen its new feathers and relearn how to fly.
You’ve got this.
All will be well.
