I have a problem, of course. It’s a big one, and you might not know how to
handle it, but I don’t know where else to turn.

I have lots of friends that have been sexually abused by their parents, but
I’ve always considered myself lucky that I wasn’t among their number.
Recently, however, it’s occurred to me that I might just be blocking some
truly unpleasant memories.

A boy that’s one of the nicest, most healing, most special boys ever (and
we’re just friends, although we sleep together sometimes) told me recently
that he’s always suspected that I actually have been sexually abused. The
reasons he gave: (1) for years after I met him, I was afraid even to touch
his back or arms, let alone do anything sexual. I was frozen with fear
during our first few sexual encounters. (2) While I’m articulate and
chattery in general, I couldn’t voice anything I wanted or didn’t want that
related to sex. (3) My best childhood girlfriend recently described to me
how she and I played around sexually when we were eleven years old; although
I’m now bisexual and have no problems accepting that she and I did that, I
have no memory of it at all, even after intense reflection. I remember lots
of things way back to age two (I’m 27 now), so that’s not a problem. And I
totally believe my friend; that’s not an issue.

Since the sweet boy and I had this talk, about a week ago, two strange
things have happened. First, right after our talk, my vagina started to hurt
unbearably bad, as though someone were pinching and bruising me. This lasted
about 24 hours and had no physical cause. Second, whenever I’ve thought
about my dad (only a couple of times; we don’t get along well or have much
of a relationship these days), I’ve immediately had really disturbing sexual
images of the two of us that are, well, just gross, as you can imagine.

On the one hand, I think, “Well, my friend told me I have certain symptoms
of sexual abuse, and then I reacted…so what? That doesn’t mean anything.”
On the other…the coincidences are a little strange. I’m just not sure what
to do. Am I overreacting? (I haven’t breathed a word of this to anyone else,
certainly including my dad (now remarried) and my mom (now with a long-term
female partner). I have no memories of my dad or anyone else hurting me like
that.

But…what’s up? Am I crazy, or was I abused? Or, well, both? And
what should I do? I’m otherwise happy; I just moved to a new city, have a
job I love, et cetera.

Anonymous, obviously

After several years of identifying as a lesbian and dating only women, I have recently met and become attracted to a man. I’m quite sure that he’s interested in me and there’s a good possibility that he and I will hook up/date/have a significant relationship. That’s not the problem. It’s scary and confusing, but not the problem.

The problem is much less important, in a way. If and when Mr. X and I get together, and assuming that it works out and we stay together, what do I tell everybody?

I work in a male-dominated field; I’ve always felt it was very important to make my sexuality clear to my colleagues. Also, I grew up in a conservative, religious home, and it took some time for my family to be accepting of me and my sexuality. So I’ve been a very out, one could say dogmatic lesbian for some time.

So what do I do now? Keeping it a secret (being in the closet, I guess) is not an option, at least with my colleagues, since Mr. X works in the same field as I do and we have many common friends, aquaintances, and professional connections. Also, I don’t like lying or hiding my true feelings. So do I make a joke out of it? (“You’re seeing Mr. X? But I thought you were a lesbian!” “So did I.”) Or do I patiently explain to my friends, family and colleagues that sexuality is a fluid thing and can change over the course of one’s life, and at this stage, Mr. X is what I want in a relationship? Or do I just try not to pay attention to what other people think about my love life (since it’s none of their business, after all), and worry about my own problems?

Also, I am REALLY dreading the snide comments (“So all you needed was a good fuck after all!”), and how happy my dating a man would make my mother.

So, Sars, what’s your advice?

Love,
Wishing I Hadn’t Been So Dogmatic In The First Place

First, some background. I
finished grad school last winter, and because my fiancé was not yet finished
with his grad program on the other side of the country, I decided to move in
with my family (close to our current address) to save money on rent while I
looked for a job and planned the wedding. Gak. I know — big mistake. But
we were short on money and it was for a defined amount of time — six months!
Not that long! And I love my parents and I missed them after living so far
away for so many years. I had lovely, friendly fantasies about our time
together, involving The Daily Show and close reading of the latest Martha
Stewart Weddings. And it really, truly started out that way.

Unfortunately, things began to sour after about two months. Mom started
making some nasty remarks about me and the wedding. About how I was being
“selfish” and “self-centered” because I didn’t want to do things like have
all my college friends stay with her and my dad (instead of in a hotel
closer to me and fiance and the wedding site), and how she was going to get
stuck with entertaining boring Aunt Zelda all weekend. She felt I needed to
realize that the wedding wasn’t all about me, but about the whole family.

Now, I totally agree with that idea — I really have little truck with that
“but it’s MY day” crap, but she seemed to think it was HER day to the extent
she frequently got very angry when I rejected her ideas. One particular
clash — after she suggested serving a cocktail called a Blushing Bride —
resulted in us not speaking except in screaming for three days. I know it
sounds awfully, awfully Bridezilla, but when I told her I thought the whole
“blushing bride” archetype was a tool used to reinforce norms of female
virginity, she took the chance to tell me that my relationship with Fiancé
might not last because I had slept around before I started dating him. She
said this crap to me THREE WEEKS BEFORE THE WEDDING. When I was already
stressed out and unhappy and unable to talk to Fiancé much because he was
finishing his thesis two thousand miles away. So you’ll understand that I
was angry.

After this particular blow-up, my dad took me aside and told me (well,
screamed at the top of his voice) that he couldn’t deal with the strain
around the house and that I had better “stop acting like a four-year-old.”
Now, I know I hadn’t been a total angel — my mom and I have issues that go
way back — but this was taking her side to the extreme. She gave as good as
she got, and I couldn’t believe that he would take her side so squarely when
I was all alone in the house — no support from her, or from him, my sister
gone, and with my fiancé in another state. Because I was so alone, and so
tired of the stress, I basically capitulated — said I was sorry, gave hugs
all around, shut up about the fact that I was still amazingly hurt and
angry. And the wedding came off fine and I moved in with my now-husband and
everything is (apparently) peachy-keen.

Now, though, I can’t decide whether I want to talk to them about how hurt
and alone I felt for those last few months due to the one-two whammy of my
mother’s relentless accusations and my father’s total abandonment of
impartiality. In an ideal world, I would like my mother to acknowledge that
she wasn’t totally blameless in the emotional carnage, and I would like my
father to apologize for making me feel worse when I needed some
understanding. However, if I confront them, I think it might just end up
opening up a big, nasty can of worms, and I also have an uneasy feeling that
I have no right to be angry with them. Yes, my mother was mean to me. But
she was stressed out by the wedding, and by problems at work, and I wasn’t
particularly nice to her all the time, either. And I was living under their
roof, planning a wedding they were paying for.

The alternative to confrontation, of course, is to keep my feelings to
myself and play nice when I see them (which is about once a month). This
option (which I have been living since I returned from the honeymoon three
months ago) involves a lot of emotional fakery and a small amount of phone
screening. Truthfully, I spend a lot of time not wanting to talk to them
because I’m still mad and hurt. My sister (who is very sympathetic and
knows that I did the bext I could under the circumstances) is appalled by
the current state of affairs and thinks I should talk to them as soon as I
feel ready, but the sooner the better. But part of me feels that I’m
twenty-seven years old and maybe I’ve just gotten to that part in my life
where I don’t need my parents’ emotional support anymore. After all, they
showed themselves to be fairly unreliable when I was going through a rough
patch, so why chase after them now? Maybe it’s better to keep things
nicey-nice.

So, my questions boil down to: should I tell them how I feel? And, more
philosophically, is there an age when you can reasonably be expected to stop
depending on your parents for emotional sustenance? Or is that crazy talk
reserved for severely dysfunctional families?

Thanks so much —
Ungrateful Adult Daughter Who Never Should Have Moved Home

Here at the workplace I regularly walk past a framed poster on the wall that I dislike for a number of reasons, including the art and the self-aggrandizing sentiment. However, the cake-taker in terms of sins of the poster is the text: “Noblesse oblige: To whom much is given, much is expected.” This makes no sense at all. If you switch the awkward word order around, you get “Much is expected to whom much is given.” Utter nonsense. The only way I can make it work is to change it to “Much is expected of those to whom much is given.” Still not delightful, but at least understandable.

I guess my question is, does the original statement work for you? I think it’s making us look foolish (not to mention self-aggrandizing, but that’s another matter). Am I missing something here?

Thanks —
Pain in my Brain

I have this ex-boyfriend. T. Worst relationship of my life. We were
together for almost a year, and broke up three months ago, the nastiest
break-up you can imagine. The thing about him is that he’s crazy. Just
mentally unstable, in scary ways. Our last encounter ended with him
literally chasing me out of his house, screaming all sorts of profanities at
me. I seriously do believe that, had he caught me (I managed to get into
the car in time, thank God), he’d have physically injured me. He never did
hurt me when we were together, but I often felt threatened, physically, and
he was always very manipulative and irrational and had no control over his
anger whatsoever. I really don’t think I’m exaggerating to say that he’s
not well.

We haven’t spoken since that day, and I’m fine with that. Moving on,
feeling good. But. Today I got an email from my brother, R. Apparently T.
wrote to him today and and said that when we were together he’d always
wanted to get to know him, and now, even though we broke up, he’d still like
to. R. asked me what I think about that, and if there’s anything he should
know. I really don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m nervous about it — the
whole time we were together, he never made any effort to get to know R.
They’ve never met, or spoken, at all. It was mostly situational — they live
across the country from each other — but still, you’d think that if it was
that important to him, he’d have made the effort then, right?

My brother’s
quite a bit older than T., they have very little in common, and I can’t
imagine them being friends. For what possible purpose does T. want to “get
to know him”? I just don’t trust T.’s motives at all. I think he’s
dangerous, and it freaks me out that he’s contacting my family. I mean, he
hates me! He’s pretty vocal about it to our mutual friends. He’s always
saying that he doesn’t want anything to do with me, and never wants to see
me again, and then he goes and writes to my brother? Too weird. It makes
me uncomfortable.

But that’s where I’m caught. Because, okay, sure, I feel weird, but do I
really have the right to tell my brother not to talk to him? Who am I to
say who’s allowed to talk to whom? And what if I’m overreacting? What if
it turns out that T. is much healthier and happier now, and has nothing but
good intentions? I’d end up looking like a paranoid psycho myself. If he’s
doing his best to lead a good life, I don’t want to stand in his way by
turning people against him. And my brother really is a cool guy, and I’d
hate to begrudge someone the opportunity to know him. Still. It’s weird
for me.

So is it unreasonable for me to ask R. not to write to him, or not? And if
not, should I email T. myself and tell him to leave my family alone, or is
it better not to initiate contact, since I’ve been so much happier since
he’s been out of my life? I guess I could just tell R. what happened
between T. and I (I never told him anything about the circumstances of our
break-up. He doesn’t know about T. being kind of crazy) and leave it up to
him to decide whether this is someone he wants to talk to. What do you
think?

Signed,
Who’s the psycho here?