The Dangers of Relationshipping with an Emotionally Unavailable Man.

Emotionally, our men are very different. I am referring to men who make Cassandras of their wives and intimate partners, regardless of the cause. 

We've all heard of abusive relationships. Emotional and mental abuse is making it's way to the forefront of what we now know about abusive relationships. We talk about it, we no longer make excuses for it. Verbal abuse is as bad as violence. But what about when the emotional turmoil is invisible? When the suffering is caused not by anything they do particularly, but what they don't do? It might be easy to blame our expectations, to gaslight it all away. But this type of (sometimes) unintentional, intimate abuse rocks us to the core. We're uprooted and we're disoriented by inner upheaval caused by the uncertainty of our outer worlds. 

I'm going to compare the way an emotionally healthy man may respond to elements of an intimate relationship, compared to the way many of our men appear to respond, to try and shed a bit of light on the darkness that they douse us in. 

Firstly, one of the elements of healthy intimate relationships which was missing in my relationship with an emotionally unavailable man was eye contact. You know when you're in company and someone makes a joke that totally resonates with the two of you and you look over at your other half and share an intimate glance? Well, that never happens. I realised just how greatly this was missing from my relationship with my ex on watching a video we made together during covid for our child's birthday. I'd written a funny poem about her birth and kept looking at Peter who stood next to me at the odd punch line, but he stood, stoney faced, awkwardly staring towards the camera fixatedly instead. In the video, I look like I'm desperately reaching to him to emotional connection with my eye contact, whilst he looks like he's doing everything he can to avoid it. It's uncomfortable viewing.

I've seen the way my friends husbands look at them when were all together, the way they look back. Miniscule intimate moments which create connections and links. These do not exist in our relationships.

Secondly, when we point out an element of themselves which they don't like? We suffer for pointing it out. They don't have the objectivity to step back and think, "that triggered me, what could I do differently?" Instead, they turn on us for daring to shed light on their shadows. The suffering isn't always direct either. It's often silent sulking, demand avoidance or ruining special occasions. We often don't get to actually learn what it is we've done to upset them, but boy do we know about it when we have. 

Thirdly, if we raise an issue that we're upset by, it will always be our fault for raising the issue. We can never win. The only behaviour they accept from us is tolerance, silence and blind compliance. We were never meant to complain, or have needs. We either suffer in silence or suffer for not being silent. 

Fourthly, they'll be jealous of us. We excel at work or receive a compliment? They'll hate it. Have a birthday? Don't expect to be celebrated. They may pretend to be pleased for us, but they won't be. We are competition. They feel us inching away from them if we become more successful or happier than them, and their disapproval emanates through their negative energy. 

And don't expect anniversaries to be noticed or celebrated. Anniversaries don't exist along with any other special occasions which mark any relationship milestones. They will feel discomfort when it comes to reminiscing about your historical romance, they'll make out you're overly sensitive for wanting to mark your time together and love with any form of celebration. 

Also, It's quite normal to make plans for the future together. But don't expect that from an emotionally unavailable man. They have no intention of committing any future plans or time to you, it may happen, but not through any conscious effort of theirs. They will not contribute to intimate discussions for the future, they will shut down. They wouldn't dream of making themselves vulnerable enough to share any of their future goals or agendas with you. They are one entity. They'll be maddened by these discussions and irritable. They don't appreciate being pinned down. You'll be talking to a wall which repeatedly responds with "ok" and "I don't know." You'll never know where you stand or what they want and that is how it's supposed to be. 

Then, you'll offend them over and over again but you'll never understand why. They are governed by deep inner beliefs, left by the deepest of wounds. If your values don't align with theirs, they'll be insulted and you will be punished, indirectly, subtly, insidiously. Sometimes,they may even push you to the limits of your tolerance levels as your needs wishes and boundaries are repeatedly ignored and broken down by them through silent revenge. 

And then, you'll be treated as an appliance. There to support and facilitate their lives. Their job will always be more important than yours, their time, their career. And you'll lose out on your own time, your own career because you're expected to slot in with childcare whenever a sudden demand is placed on them and they expect you to already know about it or to jump at short notice and set your own professional needs aside. You are their appliance to provide all necessary child and house work. Your uses are practical.

Sadly, they'll never miss you.

They aren't capable of it.

You'll feel out of mind when they're away from you as communication will be sparse. And that is exactly what you will be- far from their mind. They won't tell you they love you or miss you as they can only focus on what is right infront of them. The text messages of love and bonding that you might expect through periods of absence just won't exist in a relationship with an emotionally unavailable man. 

They'll gaslight you.

Emotion just doesn't exist in their world so how could it possibly exist in yours? They'll accuse you of imagining things, of being too sensitive, hysterical, crazy, turbulent. 

He might love his mother more.

Most of us grow out of the FOG if it ever existed throughout childhood and adolescence (fear, obligation and guilt) as we mature and find our own views of the world and begin to honour our own needs. Emotionally unavailable men often don't adapt and reprioritise as they begin families of their own. His mother will always be the woman he needs to please the most. They never feel new love deep enough to cut those binds with her and so she remains his number one, his priority because she is the deepest emotional connection he's ever had. 

Emotionally unavailable men are silent, non-proactive, dismissive and dangerous. It's incredible how doing very little, how omitting love, avoiding connection and belittling your needs can cause so much destruction, but it really does. 

Some men weren't made for love.

If he's not emotionally available, he isn't available for any form of intimate relationship... so if you can, run for the hills. And if you can't, you must detach.

Making Space

Meeting someone new is going to be difficult unless I make space for him. Up until now, I've been healing and the last thing I've needed is a rebound relationship, but now I'm ready. 

A poster in the Cassandra Group pointed out to me in similar wording that some of our men only respect other men, who they often feel intimated by. They unfortunately do not respect women. That dating someone else may be the initiation he needs to finally respect my boundaries. I can't help thinking that she's on to something, but I know that meeting someone else for this purpose only wouldn't be at all healthy either. However, as I begin to wrench open the gap between us, I can't help feeling the need for protection from another male. 

He isn't taking it well. 

No he doesn't shout and scream, but he does play games and the passive aggression in his messages regarding the children has ramped up enormously in recent weeks. He has taken to openly mocking much of what I say and challenges my requests for notice regarding changes to the childrens' routine with attacks about other things which he argues is no different. It makes me realise that I've allowed him to cross my boundaries so much since we separated, in some ways, to protect myself from his emotional cruelty when I don't behave the way he likes or dare to question him.

To make space for someone new, I am having to go longer without seeing our children, which is anxiety inducing, leaving them in his care for longer periods, as "care" isn't something which comes naturally to him. I have asked for more calls with the children as a result and I'm met with responses like "if there's time."

Yet, if he children were ill or needed him, he still has access to our home, which I do not have where he lives as I am not welcome there by his mother.

Even occasions where I have sought to collect the children or drop the children off directly at his parents' house I've been directly accused of "making things difficult." The irony. Having the children in a space where I am not welcome to deliver them to or collect them from, let alone visit, is extremely hard, and he has the audacity to call me difficult. He is governed by inner most beliefs that to the outer world, make little sense. That's because these beliefs are routed in his parents wants and needs and rules and anxieties, but he is blind to it. 

I will go 36 hours without seeing my children twice a week from now on, knowing that they are likely going to have illnesses ignored, emotional needs neglected, that any schooling needs which fall out of his usual routine will be cast aside and that if it's a hot day, he will not apply suncream or provide extra water. Their diets will consist of processed packet food during their time with him and they will not be encouraged to eat any fruits or vegetables at all. They will go to bed late and wake up tired and I'll pay for it all during my own time with them. 

It's a hefty price for myself and my children to pay, but it's time to make space for change and for love. 

Last night was the beginning of one of the first 36 hours away from them and I ashamedly drank gin and tonic and ate airfryer chips until late. This is what I worried about. That during the time away from them I'd engage in negative behaviour myself as a means of coping. Hopefully, next time, I'll use my gym membership instead and try to use my time positively. But I don't know. 

The space makes me anxious.

Yet, I can't help feeling that this space is much needed now if I'm going to move forward in my life and find someone worthy to finally share it with. The challenge of course, is getting used to sitting with the space initially. Space where I should be near my children, space which he never deserved to fill. 

Going Back In Time

Recently, I've been struggling with low mood. At first I blamed the cold and dreary British weather and the slow start to summer, then I wondered if my vitamin levels were in check and even questioned if I was beginning peri-menopause early. Maybe it's the weight of responsibility: a child with additional needs, an energetic dog, a job to work, a house to run single-handedly.

I've filled my life with so much since he left: book clubs, yoga, meditation, dog walks, nature walks, friends, dancing, music- all the things that make me feel good. Yet, I still haven't felt good and have been too afraid to stop going.

I told my counsellor last week that stopping and slowing down worries me, yet I am exhausted. I don't want to sit in the silence and I'm petrified of returning to the lonely little girl hiding away in her bedroom that I once was. I realised that I am never giving myself the opportunity to sit and take in my surroundings because this isn't the life I'd planned or imagined. A single mum in a large house that I can't afford which is ageing around me and crying out for improvements. All the designs we had planned for our home are out of my financial reach now. It's a shell. A graveyard of dreams that will never be. Family holidays we'll never go on, family togetherness, love and happiness which will never be felt. Ideas of romance, gone.

My counsellor told me that if I don't stop, my body will make me stop. So over the last two weeks I have stopped a little. 

Yesterday, I decided to go back in time. I don't know what I was looking for really, answers maybe about what life had been in the beginning with Peter. 

I drove to our first home together, which had always been his home and never mine because it belonged to him first. I parked near the rear of the house and I could see the driveway and the window of the back bedroom which used to be our eldest child's room. 

The house always felt claustrophobic and oppressive. The windows were small, the house long and narrow, nestled between two other houses on a narrow country lane. 

The memories of that house and the feelings which surfaced made me sad, as I realised I'd never ever been happy there. There was no joy looking up at my child's old bedroom window, just an ache for the lonely woman that I was in that house. Any happiness was always prompted by my hopes for us for the future. I always thought that our future would be better, happier, closer, more intimate somehow. Then I considered that I'd spent the entirety of our relationship in a state of perpetual hope. This was a bit of a revelation. Always thinking that the best was yet to come, but the best had actually been and gone. The best was at the very beginning, when I was unsure of him still and so he showered me with a short-term fixation which felt like love. 

It occurred to me that I can't lose what I have never had in the first place. So what do I grieve?

The house backs on to fields and so I took my dog and retraced my past footsteps over the paths and around the wooden fences which brandish the greenery. The walk took me, mentally, back to my old self, ten years ago, post-birth and suffering post natal depression. How lonely those walks used to feel, how isolated I used to feel; no friends or family close by, just these empty walks over empty spaces with no company. I remember feeling so heavy when I lived there, the pram felt so heavy, the weight of motherhood and the strain of his overbearing family, but I also remember Peter seeming much happier there somehow. I think he loved his life in that house before I arrived; it was his sanctuary, his hideaway on a small country lane, surrounded by fields. 

I think he might have loved it.

Further down the paths, I used to walk past a small cluster of houses on another lane, owned by a housing association which helps find homes for low income families. I remember at the time, thinking that I could apply to move into one of those homes and be free of him and his family. But the prospect of more loneliness a little further down the road from him never appealed to me and so I stayed in the narrow townhouse with him until I managed to convince him to move to the family home I live in now. 

My current home was the house of hope that I used to envision on my walks around those misty fields, a home surrounded by friends, close to my childrens school, near to the local shops. Community and support. This house where there are bigger windows, more light, more space and room to breathe. We had so many plans for it. But he never moved in with us. Not really. His mind was still closed and narrow, isolated and sheltered, so in the home I chose for our family, I outgrew him as I made friends, found new walks and became part of a community. He remained in his own narrow, dark space. 

I've come away from my trip back in time knowing that I am not grieving for anything that we've ever had, but for the hopes which never bloomed. It pains me that they very almost did bloom. We got so close. But in the end, he was never the man I wanted or needed, not even in the beginning, where it all began. I was still hoping back then.

I realise that I have always been on my own, just as much as I am on my own now. I haven't really been in a relationship since being in my early twenties. What I've been in over these last 12 years is a dangerous bubble of hope with a practical companion, a financial provider and an emotional oppressor. He has been unrelatable most of the time. 

However, I find myself thankful that I stayed and didn't move into one of the charity houses on my own with our first child ten years ago. I'm glad that I found my house- our family home. But I feel guilty too. Peter has lost both homes and lives with his parents once again. I know he resents me for that. I think if Peter went back in time for a few hours, I think he'd wish we were still living there in that house. Isolated. 

I felt sad for him on my walk near our old home and I cried for his losses, I'm not sure why I felt that so deeply. The seemingly lovely, lonely man that he was back then, should perhaps have been left alone all along. He has given me the two most precious gifts I'll ever have in my life, so I'm confused by feelings of gratitude and of loss towards him too. 

It's hard to grieve for something that you never really had, but atleast now my future is in my hands. Him leaving has given me real hope for a real love and a real relationship one day. It's actually been a very long time that I've been alone, I was perhaps more lonely in our old life than I am in this one, without him around as much. I grieve for what I thought our lives had been and would be. I grieve for not being loved and for having the love I freely gave rejected over and over again. Mostly though, I grieve for the lonely young woman with the pram who never realised that she was already grieving.

And I can't help but think to myself, it would be nice to be loved at last.

The High-Low Functioning Roller Coaster

I was recently reading an article which explained why experts in the field of autism are moving away from the term "high functioning autism" to describe autists who are able to achieve excellently academically and in other areas like arts and music. 

It explained that many autistic people have high functioning and low functioning days dependent on any triggers, stresses, biological changes etc that may have impacted them.

This has been quite impactful for me to consider as I always felt like I was going stir crazy when Peter's personality would completely change when he was on annual leave from work. The difference was so astounding that when I first noticed this in the early months of dating Peter, I thought that he was going on and off me. I'd often wonder what I might have done to upset him, then he'd be off work again a few weeks later and we'd be loved up again. However, as it turned out, Peter could not actually function in an intimate relationship and go to work at the same time. Too much demand. Emotional overload.

I am finding this in other areas of our lives too: he can't go to work and make parental decisions; he can't go to work and empathise with our child's emotional needs in school; he can't go to work and make plans for the future; he can't go to work and keep track of any family events at all.

When Peter is working he forcefully functions all day and he returns home a shell of himself. He sits in the quiet, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. He does not want to speak, he does not want to cook, he can't read, he can't have sex, he can just about exist. He returns home and stares a lot, his body is sluggish, he can not hold a conversation, he will keep falling asleep for a few minutes at a time as he sits with the children. At meal times, he eats and stares whilst his family connect all around him. He will eat dry foods mindlessly like crisps and crackers late into the evening, not realising how much he's eaten. He is completely unaware. He often can't remember his journey home from work.

Contrastingly, when he is not working, Peter is full of lively energy. He can not sit still. He has ideas of places to go and things to do. He has packed a family picnic before everyone else is dressed. He's impulsive. He wants to plan.  Of course, he ignores vital, important details and his time management is still crazy, yet he functions. He listens to our daughter's problems although still prioritises solutions over empathy, he chats at the dinner table, he cooks. He's a different person in the same skin.

It made me ask myself, could I actually consider Peter to be high functioning after a hard day's work? Absolutely not. He is a zombie.

Peter and I no longer live together of course, but the article made me reflect on the times of low functioning and on my own self doubts at what I was seeing and experiencing with him. 

 From the reliable, dependable, chatty, friendly personality that I'd come to know, that his work colleagues know, who was this vacant man who used to sit at the dinner table with us at the end of each day? I know now that he was functioning on his basic settings because he was depleted and burnt out. 

So many Cassandras are confused by the cognitive dissonance of their partners, unable to fathom how they can switch between two distinct personas. It's another layer to the cassandra syndrome- feeling like we're seeing and imagining things. But, we're not. 

Peter used to describe me as an emotional roller coaster and he was right, I was. But I now find myself wondering if this was a side effect of his roller coaster- as I had to sit next to him in his carriage day after day, functioning at his best one minute, to barely functioning at all, up and down, around and around. Yet, he was too mind-blind to even notice. And as often our men don't look inward, they only see that we are to blame. 

It's sad that he can not recognise his own limitations, get the support that he so clearly needs to enable him to be a better partner and parent. Autism isn't to blame for that, pride and ignorance is. I'd like to think that one day, he'll look back and wish he'd have committed to helping himself, but I'm not sure that he'll ever truly remember how much he needed help in the first place. 

Will I Ever Be Free?

Having two children with a man like Peter makes life difficult. He is emotionally detached, highly dysfunctional, neglectful, disinterested and yet possessive of all of us. 

We belong to him.

I've had to implement some harder boundaries over the last two weeks following a sharp decline in my mental health. Having his practical support which is so useful when I have no family support, comes at a price. I've had to explain to Peter that it is not ok for him to climb into my bed to watch the football after he's come to the house to put the children to bed, that he can't just stay over in the spare room when the feeling takes him and not inform me. 

It's been soul destroying to have to explain all of this to him because when you're separated, surely it's obvious? But they don't see or understand humane boundaries unless it's in black and white. 

I've driven myself crazy wondering if it's asking too much for him to continue walking our family dog a couple of times a week. Do I need to be more black and white? Should I pay someone, can I afford to? Because already, I'm paying for domestic help so that I can work and become financially independent of Peter eventually. 

Mostly, after 18 months, I long to feel loved and wanted. I am at a point in my life where I would like to find love again or even just date, but how do I do so when Peter is still so prevalent in my own life? How do I let go fully of the children when in his care? Will another man actually understand why we still holiday all together? When will it be safe for me to entrust Peter with care of the children on holidays? Will I ever? 

If I meet a man who accepts our co-parenting situation will it be because he's actually incapable of deep commitment and so I'll end up eventually with another Peter?

So many questions. 

So many worries and uncertainties.

Every time I've explored my values "freedom" is always my number 1. Freedom of expression, the freedrom to be me, the freedom to enjoy my life. I'm not free to enjoy my life whilst Peter plays such a major part in it and I don't see how he will stop playing a major part until the children are older. Then I foresee myself having to undo the consequences of his reactive parenting and his control over our lives. 

I am trapped.

So many women are. Because we prioritise the health, safety and well-being of our children above all else and so we live half lives until our time comes, hoping and praying that we'll make it to then. 

The Inquisitions

As many of our men are not engaged fully in the dynamics and workings of family life, they also rely on us as fountains of information which they will endeavour to suck from us whenever the feeling suddenly takes them.

They also seem to think that by asking us streams of questions, they are showing to be "taking an interest" and then, when we complain about the onslaught of questions, we're told defeatedly "I can't win."

This morning, I was running late, having been awake with a poorly child for much of the night and we overslept. He arrived to walk the dog (we still live separately thankfully) and he decided to help me pack the children's school bags. I was rushing around and trying to think all at the same time, which is tough as I seem to be the only adult who appears to really know what's going on. 

Perhaps, out of his own guilt, I was met by:

"How did you sleep?"

"How did she sleep?"

"What was her temperature during the night?"

"Are you sending her to school?"

"What is her temperature now?"

"What time are you working until today?" 

All of these things, he would know if he was engaged with family life in the first place. Maybe if he hadn't have had to move out of the family home because his loyalties and priorities remained with his family of origin rather than with us. Although, recollections tell me that he was never really very mentally and emotionally engaged before he left and even less so now. I'm already mentally exhausted as a result and so having to explain all of this to him on top of doing all the things is yet another chore.

I remember as a child, my mother becoming frustrated at my Dad's onslaught of mundane questions. One after the other in a monotone voice, him cornering her with his eyes as he demanded immediate responses. I remember her anxiety, her looking away from him trying not to catch his eyes as he worked to pin her down. It was his way of taking charge: his tone, his defiance, the grilling he was giving her all a rouse to cover up that actually, he didn't have a clue what was going on. She was managing everything whilst he ironically tried to assert his authority over her with his endless interrogations. 

Peter's questioning makes me whince. 

He's not aggressive like my father was, but he's there, extracting all of this information from me because he can't engage in the first place. And by the time I've finished answering his verbal questionnaire, I just know that I'll be met with an opinion or judgement, a demeaning sentence to demonstrate that he would have responded to or dealt with something differently- better. And I'll tense up because he doesn't have the right to judge, complain or criticise when he's so far removed from family life in the first place. And when I'm tired, I might snap at him and he'll wonder why I'm so horrible to him.

I find myself wishing that he is either involved or he isn't and thinking about how much I'd prefer him not to expect me to educate him on the ins and outs of our lives, because there's always a hope that he'll be interested, that he'll suddenly engage and care, but he doesn't. He takes his information, gives an opinion and makes his mental exit again, taking a bit of my hope with him every time. 

Beans On Toast Men

In England, we have a staple meal that is baked beans, out of a tin, on toast. Sometimes we might spruce it up with a bit of grated cheese, some barbeque sauce perhaps, or even a bit of bacon. It's a pretty bland meal, yet it's a dependable one. It offers the basics of what the body needs to survive: protein, carbohydrate, a little fat from the butter, fibre, a few vitamins and minerals, but you couldn't live on it because the body would likely be lacking in calcium (if you left out the cheese), vitamin B12, omega 3, potentially iron too amongst other nutrients. 

One evening a week, I make beans on toast for dinner. It's one of my favourite meals of the week because it' easy: it takes little time, little prep and leaves few dishes to wash up afterwards. But I wouldn't want beans on toast every night. 

Emotionally unavailable men are often beans on toast. They offer the very basics of a relationship, the nutrients that we require purely for survival, yet for most of us, the body and our minds can not thrive on beans on toast. 

There will be women out there who prefer only beans on toast, who shy away from anything spicy, adventurous, sweet or rich. Many of us are not these women. 

Unfortunately, we were served fillet steak with all the trimmings at the beginning of our relationships which has created confusion and dependency, only to be fed toast and baked beans once we committed to our men. Then they accuse us of having high expectations, of expecting too much. The irony of course is that we would have been quite satisfied with something less luxurious in the first place, like lasagne or perhaps thai curry. 

Nobody can be lasagne and thai curry everyday, we all need a baked beans on toast meal once in a while and we would of course have accepted this. Steak with all the trimmings would have been perfectly acceptable for special occasions only, but even on these occasions, we are now served the same old bland meal of beans on toast. So we are left craving more nourishment, because in the long term, baked beans and bread just isn't enough for our bodies to thrive. 

We continue adding our own pepper, frying off a bit of bacon now and then, sprinkling the same meal with cheese, in a bid to provide ourselves with the nourishment that we deserve. Yet when you strip it all back, the meal is essentially the same: baked beans on toast. 

And our men all say the same things:

"But I've always been beans on toast!"

"I like beans on toast!"

"You once liked beans on toast!" 

And they can not fathom that we have had more beans on toast than we can stomach. So now and then, when we turn our noses at beans on toast for long enough, they give us something fancier: spaghetti bolognese or maybe spicy paella. Our bodies devour the nutrients that we have so missed and plates empty, we hungrily return for more the following day and the meal we are given? 

Yes, beans on toast. 

Eventually, many of us become intolerant to baked beans on toast. We begin making our own meals from scratch, adding our own spice and nourishment in a bid to stay healthy and alive. We find ways and means of colouring our lives in other ways, whilst they continue to sit with their baked beans, wondering why they aren't being served fillet steak. So in our healing, we begin to keep the best ingredients for ourselves because they never appreciated them anyway. He perhaps now sees us as a selfish. 

In protest, our men may say:

"I don't have time for more than beans on toast!" 

"I'm too tired to give you anything more than baked beans." 

But together, as a team, creating lamb tagine or spaghetti bolognese isn't much extra work. Yet, he's frustrated because he can't be bothered to chop the vegetables and he doesn't see why he should have to because afterall, he quite likes beans on toast (unless you're eating something nicer of course!)

We are left wishing that we had never settled for beans on toast in the first place, perplexed as to how we accepted such a basic offering. We know that our bodies deserve more nourishment. So we have to nourish it ourselves whilst he continues to routinely load up his own toaster, as he looks over at our plates, resentfully, wondering why his meal still tastes the same as it always has.