You and No Other

by Jane Weiss

  There were other characteristics of our relationship that instilled confidence. We were well matched in our love and desire for each other, our willingness and need to explore the spiritual purpose for our lives, and the intensity with which we approached our work and play. Where we didn’t seem to be matched, we complemented each other. I deeply valued her analytical approach to problem-solving, as my style was emotionally-based. Bonnie had an understanding of how to take care of her needs for “being,” and didn’t get wrapped up in “doing” as I often did. But my penchant for “doing” was useful to us whenever we needed to tackle a difficult project. Her intuitive sense of strong boundaries, both in work and family relationships, was uncanny, whereas my willingness to give the benefit of the doubt was a necessary balance as we tried to navigate our way through the deep waters of redefining our roles in families, workplaces, and society.

  Being with Bonnie was a powerful mirror for me, reflecting my strength as a woman. She was a magnificent role model, as she demonstrated that a woman can be successful, freely exercising her power, while retaining her sensitivity and kindness. With my mother’s messages about women being untrustworthy, dependent, and manipulative ingrained in me, I sorely needed a different perspective.

  The possibility of being a lesbian wasn’t as abhorrent to me as it initially was to Bonnie. I say “possibility,” because I knew that I loved the essence of Bonnie but wasn’t and hadn’t been attracted to other women in the past. I believed the guides’ explanation of Bonnie’s coming to me to help me stay open to life-giving love, so that I could find my own inner truth and voice.

  Would the positive qualities of our relationship and its strength be sufficient to sustain us? Would we be enough for each other physically when the “flood of passion,” as Charles called it, subsided? Could Bonnie abide the dishonesty of continually hiding our relationship from the outside world? Would we make enough money to satisfy the kind of lifestyles we had both enjoyed? How would we resolve blending our families? What would I do if my children refused to ever be part of our lives?

  My fear about solely relying on Bonnie and concern about our relationship’s endurance came into sharp focus when I found Brian and Bonnie together at “our” café.

  My worst fears were manifested. I thought Bonnie must have been creating a way back to her safer, saner life. She and Brian were making amends and planning how to make that happen. I felt the blood drain from my face and a cold, tingly sensation pulsed through my body. Feeling too awkward to turn around and leave, I greeted them, then quickly walked over to the counter and gave Mary my order. In my confusion, I don’t know what else I said to Bonnie and Brian or how long I had to wait until my lunch was ready. But after leaving them, I realized I was too shaken to return to work that day. Instead, I drove down to Lake Harriet and cried, wrote, and walked myself into a more grounded place.

  My journal entry from that day read:

  Can’t help comparing my circumstances to Bonnie’s. Her children want to be with her. Only those friends she chooses to know about us do, while Charles has told the world about me. She and Brian could pick up again anytime. She keeps running into him at the lake, and now I’ve come upon the two of them at the café. I wouldn’t consider going back to Charles.

  Why would she meet him without even so much as letting me know? I’m so scared she’s decided to go back to him. Have I been, and has this path been, too intense for her?

  What am I to learn from this? That I’ve made a mistake in leaving my family, and now I am paying for it? That I’m expecting to be punished, so I will be?

  God help me find my soul’s guidance for this moment. Let me rise above these circumstances. I’m so afraid.

  Before the day was ended, I decided that maybe Bonnie could go back to Brian and her home. But my leaving Charles wasn’t just an awakening to Bonnie; it was an awakening to myself and my soul’s needs. Going back to Charles was incomprehensible—not just because I didn’t believe we could ever mend our marriage, or that I feared his wrath. Returning to our relationship would have felt like a once-released bird put back into its cage.

  I determined to work diligently to become more self-sufficient so I could find a way to manage alone, should I need to. Perhaps if I were alone, Charles would move out, and the kids and I could rebuild a life together. I visualized myself in mid-air, having taken a leap across the abyss, and now needing to trust in the grace of God to keep my travel safe until I reached the other side of the chasm—with or without Bonnie.

  As was always the case when I felt I had hit rock bottom, I was gently lifted up. That evening, I came across these words from the guides:

  “Be comforted and walk your life in Light and trust, for nothing will come to you that is not meant to be. There is nothing that can happen in your life that in any way threatens your soul. Indeed, all of life’s experience enhances its awareness. There is nothing that does not serve the process of your soul’s growth.”

  Coping with Change – Early Sequelae

  I found life nearly unbearable on the outside looking in as major life-transition events occurred in my family during the first several months after I left Charles. Older son, Michael, graduated from high school with high honors, earned a scholarship, and moved in August to Illinois to begin his Bachelor of Fine Arts in theater studies at my alma mater, Wheaton College. Since March, we hadn’t shared the same space for more than a few hours. I longed for Michael’s expansive, bright spirit that filled any room he was in.

  My daughter Lynn at age sixteen moved to Pennsylvania in August. My sister Carol, my parents, and Charles had decided it would be best for her to live with Carol, as Lynn hadn’t been doing well in school. We were all concerned that she might not be able to graduate if she didn’t pull out of her patterns of not studying, and spending hours socializing with friends.

  Carol would certainly provide Lynn with a tight structure for studying, as she had for her children Elizabeth and Arthur. Elizabeth was just one year younger than Lynn, so they could attend the same high school. An added bonus for Lynn was that she could be close to her beloved grandmother who lived less than a block away.

  Hopefully, once out from under her father’s dominating negativity, Lynn could begin to form her own opinions and feelings about me and about what had happened to her life. I dreaded having no access to her, even though we had only been alone together occasionally since March.

  In September, my son Andrew began his sophomore year at Burnsville Senior High School, alone. Michael and Lynn were both gone. On the surface, my leaving did not appear to disturb Andrew, but he was never one to express his emotions. He wasn’t very interested in meeting me for dinner, or shopping, or talking at length on the phone, yet he always invited me and expected me to attend his special events at school and church, which made me feel honored and cared for.

  My youngest daughter, Marie, moved from Cedar Elementary School to River Hills Middle School sixth grade, initiating another great change in her young life. I can hardly bear to write about her even now, for my separation from her at age eleven was heartbreaking. How could I have known then that we would not live together for the remainder of her childhood? Marie and I belonged together for her formative years. I held and still hold a righteous rage—an anger that will require forgiveness to release—about how Charles kept us separated.

  Ostensibly, to reestablish values for the children, Charles took them to church every Sunday. Even in his angry, overwhelmed state, he earnestly tried to keep the family well fed, and learned how to manage the washing, cleaning, and transportation routines. One of the times I called to speak to the children—any one of them who would talk with me—Charles stated that he had no idea how I had managed by myself all those years. His comment reminded me of how his mother used to shake her head and say she was frightened about what would happen to Charles (and to us) because of his frank disengagement with his family’s day-to-day world.

  He began counseling for himself and the chil
dren. Through the church network, he found a licensed psychologist who specialized in family counseling. At one point of their therapy, Bonnie and I were asked to meet with her for an interview, which we eagerly agreed to, believing she could help ease the children’s pain and transition back into relationship with me.

  But I became suspicious about her motives and her professional ability to support our family when I learned that she was coming to the house early every morning to help Marie get off to school. Within a few months, it seemed she and Charles had loosely come together and parted, leaving Marie with the loss of another mother figure, and the family disillusioned with therapy as a helpful process.

  Charles continued to justify to the children why they should not be with me. He used religious tenets, such as beliefs about adultery and homosexuality, to show that I was unworthy to be treated as a mother. He threatened to withhold the money they needed for college if they went to my apartment. He couldn’t accept that the issue was our marriage, which had been failing for years. He seemed hellbent on proving that Bonnie had lured me away, and that I was too gullible to understand what was happening. In hindsight, my leaving our marriage for a woman must have been a bitter blow to his pride.

  He couldn’t or wouldn’t see past his own needs and fears to realize that Andrew needed the comfort I offered him—and that even though Lynn had always identified strongly with her father, she still needed her mother. Michael missed our closeness and not having our family intact any longer. Marie seemed emotionally fragmented with loss from our separation. I wanted Charles to understand that our children and I needed to be with each other to talk through our losses and create a new way to be a family; but the powerful forces of fear, anger, and pain kept us apart.

  Eventually, I sought therapy, too, as I couldn’t ever talk about the children’s and our continued separation without weeping. My sadness was periodically overwhelming and immobilizing. And I didn’t know how to reconstruct a healthy relationship with my children in such a fragile state of mind.

  Therapy was helpful in several ways. Having a third party listen to and support me relieved some of the burden from Bonnie. The psychologist helped me begin to sort out the blurred boundaries I had regarding my feelings and the children’s, as well as how to begin to set up guidelines for new ways of relating. She cautioned me about how relationships with each of them would never go back to what they were.

  I didn’t want the parts of me that gave more than I wanted of time, things, attention—the parts that couldn’t tolerate disharmony or any show of pain, mine or theirs. I wondered how my children had changed and what they needed from me and/or to give to me. Did they realize that no matter what kind of connection we created, it would require more effort on their part—effort they never had to make when I lived with them? My fear was that I was no longer important to any of them, and that they had closed the searing, painful hole I had left.

  In my desperate desire to overcome my guilt and shame, and to find the sweet, familiar closeness we had shared, my efforts to communicate with them were stilted, simplistic, and often felt rehearsed. I was still permeable to their pain, terror, judgment, and anger, and so vulnerable to their needs.

  It would be years before I believed enough in myself, and the choices I made, to be able to set healthy boundaries and have a congruent conversation with them.

  Love Defined

  As Bonnie and I expanded our circle of women friends, we were pleased with how often we received feedback about how special our relationship was. There was no question that it was like none other from our perspective, but to have it validated by our friends was uplifting and deeply encouraging. One of the qualities people commented upon was what fun we seemed to have together.

  “If we want to laugh a lot, we invite Bonnie and Jane over,” Rachel said to the group at a birthday party several of our couple friends were attending. Despite the inherent tragic elements at work in our lives, Bonnie and I experienced ongoing joy with each other. We laughed about something almost every day, turning mundane events or ideas into fare for giddy laughter.

  On one such occasion, I remember Bonnie holding her sides and gasping for air as I told her about my first visit with Dr. Jasper. Shortly after Bonnie and I were together, I wanted to find a new primary-care physician for my annual preventive care checks. My healthcare insurance through Walker had a listing of several doctors to choose from and, for the first time in my life, I would see a female physician.

  As I sat in the inner waiting room, I became obsessed with Dr. Jasper somehow finding out that I had a female sexual partner. Would she be able to detect through vaginal exam that I had changed my sexual practices? Does a woman’s body take on different characteristics if she’s physically loved by a female rather than a male? Not even two minutes into the exam, my anxiety spiked when Dr. Jasper started asking questions about whether I had made any recent lifestyle changes.

  I no sooner finished stammering through explaining that I had separated from my husband, than she immediately launched into a long—and I do mean long—teaching monologue on how to protect myself from unwanted pregnancy. I was completely taken off guard as she covered in great detail the effectiveness of each type of contraceptive. I was stunned into silence, too disoriented to let her know that it was impossible for me to conceive because I had a tubal ligation eleven years ago—not to mention that the topic of contraception was totally irrelevant, since my partner was female! But I was oh-so relieved that she obviously hadn’t picked up on that.

  Another attribute that friends reflected back to us was how loving our relationship was, and how essential it seemed to both of us. We were keenly aware of how much we needed each other every day—to touch, to look into each other’s eyes, to share and listen to each other’s ideas and happenings. We preferred one another’s company over any other, so much so, that we were concerned our friends would see us as too reclusive, for we often didn’t emerge from our apartment for an entire weekend. As we learned about each other, we learned about ourselves. This relationship was a powerful mirroring process that broke through old rigid roles and stereotypes.

  But it was in a most unlikely place that I found for us a vivid verbal picture of all the ways we were together: an astrological composite of our relationship. In a composite, an astrologer analyzes the combined influences of a couple’s sun, ascending and descending signs, astrological houses and planets.

  As we all sat together in the astrologer’s studio, she beamed with excitement about being able to relay her findings:

  “You have a Capricorn relationship. The commitment and lovingness in this relationship are incredible. It’s the relationship that both of you have wanted, and you are at a point in your lives where you get what you want. You are spiritually linked. There’s a depth and elegance in this relationship that I’ve only seen twice in the twenty years I’ve been doing astrology. It’s really beautiful. There is nothing jarring in it. I look for four astrological glitches, and you have none of them.

  “Your relationship is equal. Neither one of you is playing Mom or Dad. Romance notwithstanding, it is a sibling relationship. That’s how equal it is and how much you trust each other. There’s support and respect for each of you for the other’s career. A difficulty may be that you have a tendency to not allow each other to play. You know, ‘gotta get our work done first.’ And you are able to work together. I can’t say that about many couples.

  “Capricorn is an earth sign, and earth rules pleasure. So physical touching is important. The relationship is grounding for both of you. It acts like a lightning rod to pull you down to reality.

  “Your composite moon is in Pisces, which means the relationship is sensitive, intuitive, and empathic. The Capricorn/Pisces mix is what is required on any chart to equal wisdom. Put the two of you together to problem solve, and you’re going to come up with wisdom. Both of you feel wiser within the relationship than alone.

  “A Pisces relationship is artistic. You live beautiful
ly, and your life together has an aesthetic elegance and gracefulness to it. In terms of creativity, there’s the ability to make things together that you couldn’t create alone. Between the two of you, you will make something of impact equivalent to a child, above and beyond the eight children I know you have.”

  Although these types of readings were heavily weighted with positives, it still felt like a much-needed gift to us. To name and have a witness to our relationship, especially from one who didn’t know us, was a powerful affirmation. We were also encouraged to know we were creating something of value together. Over the months and years to follow, whenever we were in the midst of difficulties, we turned into ourselves and were strengthened by our relationship’s attributes—commitment, lovingness, equality, respect, grounding, wisdom, creativity, humor—qualities that renewed and sustained us as we continued to create a life together against many odds.

  Chapter 10 - What Did You Expect?

  By November, it was going on nine months since we moved into our apartment. Periodically, Jane had a conversation with one of her children—Andrew or Marie locally, or Michael or Lynn long distance—that could actually be characterized as not hurtful. Maybe they were making headway, beginning to restore some type of meaningful relationship. I prayed that was the case. I continuously prayed for strength and support for Jane as she weathered uncertainty regarding her future with her beloved children, week after week, and month after month.

  Thanksgiving was upon us before we knew it. To our surprise, Charles called Jane and invited her to their house for Thanksgiving dinner with him and their children. He was cooking. But Jane worried that, if she were isolated there, Charles would likely use the opportunity to openly display his hurtful verbal barrage in front of the children, so she declined.