Love Gurus 

People are making careers out of relationship advice.   Some of these people have really important things to say.  Some of these people are peddling bull shit.  Some of them are selling step by step instructions on what to say, how to dress, how to act, and who to be.

Jesus Christ.

 I will admit that I’ve watched some of these videos.  I like Matthew Hussey’s lecture about how ridiculous unrequited love is. I love Derrick Jaxn’s video about recognizing a grown ass man. Actually, I love all of Derrick Jaxn’s videos. That man talking about the value of a single mother is my very own version of hardcore porn. But some of these gurus take it a little too far.  Some of these people are like vultures, preying on the desperation of lonely cat ladies everywhere.

Some of these videos contain beautiful advice.  I’m always an advocate for gaining knowledge. But where do we draw the line? Doesn’t it seem a little crazy to pay for someone else’s word-for-word text messages? How in the actual fuck is someone supposed to get to know you when you communicate with someone else’s words? How is a marriage supposed to work when one partner literally tricked the other partner into love and commitment? What does this say about love?  

I will tell you what this says about love. It says that we can fall in love with anyone, if we want to fall in love. It has everything to do with timing and very little to do with our hearts. The number one concept that is talked about amongst all of these gurus? In order to get a man to commit, you have to find a man who is ready to commit. And so there you have it, when it’s time….it’s time. Just like death. 

But here’s the beauty in that concept. This also means that you can fall out of love with anyone as well. Love is a fucking choice, not a fated event. You can give it and take it from anyone you choose. The key has always been about finding someone worthy of your time, who also believes that you are worthy of theirs.  Time, however, can be a real bitch.  

Here are five of the very best relationship advice videos that I have ever seen…. 


Fate Is What You Create

I read some old Chinese folk lore the other day, about an imaginary red string that is tied around the ankles of a soul mate couple.  No matter where you are at in life, that red string still connects you to the person you were born to experience life with. 

 I find the idea of soul mates to be completely ridiculous. I actually feel sorry for the handful of women that I know who have only ever been with one or two people. I have a married friend who lost her virginity to her husband. She is in her fifties and has only ever had one lover. What if he’s horrible in bed? How would she know? It seems very tragic to me. I suppose the two of them share so much intimacy, that their connection overrides the monotony.  It’s not my place to judge.  

I do understand the sexual value of an intimate connection. My ex husband was the first person I had ever felt that with. We had ten years together and he still remains the only man I have ever experienced real, raw intimacy with.   He and I didn’t have much in the way of companionship, but we had a very fulfilling sex life. Even after we separated and I moved out, we had amazing sex. We kind of had to ween ourselves away from each other in that way.  Ironically enough, we have a very stable companionship now, founded in coparenting and a mutual respect for each other’s journey.  But we were never soul mates.  

I think I am the only astrologer in the world who doesn’t believe in soul mates.  I mean, there are aspects in compatibility astrology that can signify an intense connection.  There are aspects that point to attraction, love, and relationships.  I can accurately predict if a couple will share a child.  But I don’t see it as two people who are destined to come together and share those aspects.  I see it as a choice that two people have made, and their energy is compatible or not.  But it has nothing to do with destiny.  We all share these aspects with many people.  By that logic, I have thousands of soulmates in this world.  

The belief in soulmates automatically smothers out the idealism of choice.  Life without choice would be nothing more than acting.  The theater is entertaining, but you don’t gain any value from speaking someone else’s words or moving through someone else’s motions.  Free will is a non negotiable in my beliefs.  And that means that in any given moment, we have the ability to choose our own life.  We have the logic to understand that the head and the heart are separate for a reason.  We can feel a pull towards or away from another person.  But we are gifted with the ability to choose.  Love is a choice that you make and not some fated birthright.  

I don’t have some imaginary red string tied to some elusive man who was born to be my lover. I have a heart that has loved many.  And I have a brain that has always known (although sometimes a little too late) when to walk away.  Choosing to love someone is much more romantic than enslaving yourself to fate.  

I see life in much the same way.  Life is nothing more than a series of decisions.  Astrology is a compass, not a destination.


“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” ~Rumi
I saw this quote today and instantly felt as if it had slapped me right across the face. Heartache has become one of my greatest fears, as well as one of my greatest inspirations. I’ve been walking the line between wanting to live in solitude and wanting to be loved. In other words, I don’t have the capacity for another heartbreak in my life, so I avoid love like a child avoids the monster under their bed. I hide under the covers. But while I am under those covers, I sometimes wish someone was in there with me, but only sometimes. I have soaked myself so deeply into solitude, that I fear I won’t ever be able to leave it.  

But this quote isn’t about relationships with anyone else. That quote is about the relationship with the self. Rumi is advising us to break our own heart, repeatedly, until it opens. He’s encouraging vulnerability, to the point where it doesn’t sting anymore. He is challenging us to cut directly to the bone of our heartache infested selves, and then to pull out of ourselves our most terrifying ideas about who we couldn’t be. And then we must fall in love with those short comings.
When a relationship ends, and you blame the other person for everything, the opportunity for growth is unavailable. Growth comes from understanding that it all comes back to yourself. From the moment we seek out a relationship, the responsibility for choosing the other person falls solely on us. If you end up in a relationship with a complete psychopath, that sucks. But you chose that psychopath because there’s something inside of you that needed that psychopath. And you have to keep digging at that little something until you finally understand it. Only then will you be able to grow, and trust, and finally open your own heart.  
I believe that opposites attract because there is an opportunity for growth in every disagreement. We learn about ourselves through experiencing other perspectives from the people around us. We manifest our own lessons. And the only way to stop getting lessons is to test out of them, to rise above them, to annihilate them. Relationships are designed to teach us about ourselves. They are an experience to be had, to be thankful for. They were never intended to hold you forever.  

Stellium Guys 

Here’s what sucks about being an astrologer. My friends always make fun of me because I am really good at relationship compatibility…for other people. But I am really bad at picking out men for myself.  

For example, I knew that my ex-boyfriend was emotionally detached. His Sun, Moon, and Mercury are all in Gemini. That is called a stellium, where you have three or more personal planets in the same sign. Oddly enough, my ex husband had a Stellium in Leo. He was admittedly narcissistic.  The guy I wrote about in a previous post had a stellium in Scorpio. He was very intense. The guy I almost met up with the other night, who called and casually mentioned that he had chlamydia a few months ago and then proceeded to tell me every detail about it for twenty minutes… Stellium in Aquarius. And no, that story will never happen. One time I went out with a 5 planet stellium Aries man. One date was all I could handle.  

There’s something about people with Stelliums. There’s something off about them, different but difficult to pinpoint. Some of these men are incredible people. But there is always something strange and unique about them. And unless you look closely, you can’t quite narrow it down.  I think that’s why I’m always attracted to them. My mars is in Scorpio, so I get excited about eccentric men. But depending on the aspects to their outer planets, some of these men have very serious personality disorders.  

I do believe that these men came into my life, or perhaps I sought them out, for a reason. Dating stellium men has taught me more about astrology than any book, video, or class has come close. 

I was able to feel the energy for each sign who came into my life. When someone has a stellium, it’s like they are an extracted flavor of human. They are out of balance. Their planets and energy are all focused in one vibration that plays too loudly for the other energies to be heard. Any interaction with these men allowed me to immerse myself in the song of their vibration, and those melodies taught me astrology.  If I have anything going for me at all, ‘astrology career wise’ in the future, it is because I am one of the few astrologers who has not only studied the zodiac…I have experienced it.  

If my nerves could handle it, I’d date all the stellium variations and then write a book about each experience. All I need to complete my collection would be Cancer, Virgo, Capricorn, and Pisces. But like I said, stellium men are a lot to handle. The Cancer man probably never leaves his house. The Virgo reminds me too much of myself. The Capricorn guy probably works too much. And the Pisces guy is definitely in rehab right now. 

No more stellium guys for me.

No guys at all.  Venus is retrograde right now in my seventh house.  Or as the astrology world sees it, a time to go back to old love. Unfortunately, all of my old loves are stellium guys.  The retrograde is also a time to change direction with relationships, but I’m not in one.  For me, Venus retrograde is a time to take a break because She rules my sun and rising. She is a version of me, an illusion in the sky. And when she naps, I nap.  

I love how my relationship house has been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, during the one time in my life where I have no interest in love at all. Old love? No thank you. New love? Nah, I’m good. I’m dead on the tracks while the zodiac train is headed straight for my 7th house. Luckily, my ruling planet is retrograde, so I have an excuse to opt out of this love train.  
Venus retrograde in the 7th is also a time to focus on your relationship with yourself. To move your energy inward, crawl back into your cocoon, and rest your tired soul.  Now that sounds more like me.
When a planet is retrograde, it is actually moving closer to the earth, giving it the illusion of backward motion. Right before the start of the retrograde, in what we call a shadow period, the planet is vibrating the loudest and closest to us.  For Mercury, this is when the electronics and communication get all jumbled up. For Venus, it’s women, love, beauty, and of course, me. And at the end of the shadow period, the planet goes to sleep, replenishing the burst of energy that came with a higher vibration.  
So far in 2017, I’ve started a new job. I’ve settled into a new house. I’ve nursed myself through a big break up. I’ve worked my way through most of massage school. I’ve worried about the health of friends and family who have stepped a little too closely to death. Including my dad, my rock, who had a blood clot in his lung last weekend along with the flu and possibly Cancer. Add to that raising my kids alone, and not sleeping anymore, I am exhausted!  As fun as it would be to get out and frolic among the twitterpated men of Spring time on Tinder, I just can’t!  I don’t have it in me. My tank is running low. And like Venus, I’m going to sleep through it until April 15th. That’s graduation day for me.  It’s also the day that Venus moves forward.  Wake me up on tax day.  

The Greatest Love Story I’ve Never Told part 2

I was trying to feel something for someone, but I couldn’t muster up the excitement. This guy is six and a half feet tall. He is covered in Aquarius and Bhudda tattoos. His eyes are blue like a winter sky. He’s a reiki master for Christ’s sake. But I have declined the opportunities to meet him.  We just started talking on a dating site one day, back when I was living with my ex, post breakup.  

He’s the perfect guy to hookup with. He lives about an hour away. He is terrified of commitment. He has a beautiful penis. I’ve seen it in pictures and videos. And that’s what worries me, I guess.  He has only seen the perfectly orchestrated snapshots of my body. He has a really big idea about a very tiny piece of me. He doesn’t know the girl who flies into work with no makeup on, bags under my eyes, craters in the skin on my nose. And my hair always pulled in an ugly ass bun. He has only seen the side of me with perfectly done makeup and a snapchat filter. I’ve also figured out how to angle my camera in such a way, he has no idea that my stetchmarked, muffin topped belly looks like Freddy Crueger and the Michelin man made a baby. It’s terrifying to reveal your real self, your entire self, to an Internet friend.  

On top of my slightly enhanced photos, I’m also terrified of his bedroom expectations.  I have talked some shit with this guy. He and I had some very intense conversations.  I would sneak out to the garage where my kids couldn’t hear me, and have orgasm after orgasm, just listening to his dark sexy voice say the very dirtiest things through my phone.  The garage was my happy place, towards the end of that situation. Please don’t judge me. I had been held captive for the past year by an asexual man. I couldn’t really date while I was living there.  So I sought out exactly what I needed from the vast reaches of the Internet.  And the internet delivered.  This guy would talk about doing reiki on my pussy.  Could you imagine?!  This old hippie was completely hooked! 

The thing is though, I couldn’t have dreamed up a more perfect man for myself. The height, the eyes, the mind. His brain is the kind of brain that creeps into the deepest crevices in my heart. He loves astrology so much, he tattooed his ruling planet on his arm. Who fucking does that? My fucking soulmate. That’s who.  

But I don’t believe in soulmates. And I don’t even know this guy. And guess what his fucking ruling planet is? That’s right. Uranus. Fucking Uranus. In my seventh house. And that’s why this will be the greatest love story I’ve never told. Because it’s not happening.  I don’t need this anymore.

The Greatest Love Story I’ve Never Told

The first time I can remember feeling beautiful was the first time I read what it meant to be a Libra. I do believe that moment sparked my lifelong love affair with astrology. There are a million reasons why I grew up feeling like the ugliest girl in the world. But when I saw myself through the eyes of the stars, I was Venus, the Goddess of love.  It was the first time I didn’t feel invisible.  I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.  Astrology has always been my warm blanket on a cold night. When I can’t rationalize the razor blades of life, when my heart is in pieces, when my foundation is crumbling… I look to the stars.  The night sky pours reason and hope into my empty little life, filling my soul with infinite possibilities.

The fact that Uranus has been in my seventh house of relationships for the past few years is one of those situations. Uranus is the planet of surprises. And every guy I have dated during this transit has been full of fucking surprises.  Knowing that I am supposed to be going through this helps me to learn.  It’s proof that my life is a course in soul evolution.

One guy had a family that I didn’t know about.  Another guy kept up a fake personality for two and a half years, only to reveal his true self after I moved my children into his home.  But there’s one guy who shocked me more than anyone else.  A guy who’s sweet soul still lingers in my bones.  

I met him the day before Christmas Eve. We had been talking online for more than a while and I really couldn’t believe how easily our conversations gushed and poured into each other.  Our correspondence could have been a best selling novel.  He was beautiful inside and out. A red headed, blue eyed beast of a man with a huge gleaming smile. On our first date, he showed up with homemade DVDs of the old Beetlejuice cartoons because I told him my kids loved that movie. He was sweet like that. He talked a lot, but I liked that about him, because I don’t like to talk when I’m nervous. 

Of course I had looked his birthday up before meeting him. I’m an astrologer, that’s what I do.  Of all the things that I had learned about him, his astrology chart had me intrigued like a mad scientist in a morgue. On the day this guy was born, the sun, the moon, Mercury, Venus, and Mars were all in Scorpio. My natal Mercury and Mars are in Scorpio too. Scorpio is one of my favorite signs. The energy is highly intuitive. When two people with heavy Scorpio energy come together, they form a bond that cuts directly through the bullshit and right into the soul. This was exactly how my relationship with this guy unfolded. Scorpio is intense. It’s the strange, the weird, the marvelous!  I knew there was something different about him, as soon as I saw his chart. I was hoping for a ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ situation. That’s not quite how it panned out.  

I have never in my life been treated the way this guy treated me. If he could have afforded red carpet and rose pedals upon my arrival, they would have been there. Every time I went to his house, he would cook an amazing dinner for me, he was an incredible chef.  He had playlists prepared with my favorite music. He had a little silver dish filled with joints rolled up and ready for my lungs.  He made me feel as if his whole life revolved around me.  No one had ever made me feel that way before. It was uncomfortable at first, being treated like a queen. But I’m not going to lie, I got used to it real fast. My time with him was exactly what I needed. He was the first guy I fell for after my divorce. And the only guy whom I have ever confessed my love to first. I didn’t mean to say it. But the first time we made love, it just came out. It’s all I could think about while in the throes of the most amazing sex I’ve ever had.  

The first kiss came the first night we made love, about a month after our first date. I thought it was strange that he didn’t kiss me at first. I couldn’t figure it out. Every other guy I’ve ever gone out with spends all of their time trying to get into my pants. Not this guy. If he hadn’t treated me like such royalty, I would have wondered if he even liked me at all. This mysterious form of seduction had me hypnotized with desire.  His ability to worship me while holding his space was a direct and precise shot into my heart.  I was obsessed with the mystery of him.  It all soon made sense after the night that he slipped a letter into my purse.  

We had spent another long night of getting high, listening to music, and talking. We had finished the last of the series, “The Pacific,” about World War II. I absolutely loved watching that series with him. He had always been fascinated by history and was a living encyclopedia of that war. In a weird way, I felt like he had helped me to better understand my dad’s experience in combat, with his commentary about the show and the backstory behind every character.

When I got in my car that night, I could not wait to open his letter. He had asked me to wait until I got home to read it. I couldn’t.  I pulled into the parking lot of a church down the street and ripped that envelope apart. I began to read his first few words of the hand-written six page letter. My heart was pounding, reading about how he was starting to fall for me. I knew it!  He adored me as much as I adored him. He went into detail about why he liked me. This was his way of proving to me that his words were real. And then he started to write about his childhood. He told me about crying in the corner of his bedroom, wishing his real dad was around to save his mom from the stepfather who had abused his mom.  He told me about the men in his life that he saw as heroes and the men in his life who terrorized his young heart.  And he told me that as a child, he had liked to dress up as a pirate because he liked the way he felt in his mother’s clothes. He told me that he has worn women’s clothes in the privacy of his own home throughout his entire life. He told me that he wanted to look into taking hormones to grow breasts and live as a woman full time. He told me that he wanted to keep his penis. He told me that he had only shared this part of himself with only a few other people.  He told me that he had never been with a man, but had fantasized about it.  And he told me that he would understand if I never wanted to see him again.  That moment was surreal for me. That was Uranus in my seventh house. I was definitely shocked.  Speechless.

He seemed so masculine to me. He wore work boots and a torn up Carhartt jacket. He was obsessed with sports and war and guy stuff. His rough, edgy manliness was what attracted me to him.  

My emotions were on fire. I was heartbroken. I thought I had found the love of my life, only to learn that I knew nothing about him. And yet I was honored that he cared so deeply for me, that he gently tucked his darkest secret into the palm of my hand.  His vulnerability was beautiful and sacred.  
I thought about my family, how they would react to this. I thought about my daughters, how they would feel about it. But what I thought about the most is how much I wanted to hold him. His letter was so full of shame about his secret. I felt an emotional pull to comfort him.  That was all I could feel.  
So I sent him a message…
‘We should definitely talk more about this. But I’m not going anywhere.’

And the next time I saw him, we held each other. We kissed. We made the most beautiful kind of love. I had more orgasms in that one night, than I had throughout my entire eight years of marriage. Scorpio rules sex and connection. And together, we had so much Scorpio going on. It was like we had traveled to another dimension, where we moved through our bodies by sharing them. It was hot. It was steamy. It was raw and real and spiritual. To this day, I have never experienced anything like it. He went down on me so perfectly, I came faster than if I had done it myself. And he slurped it up, swallowing every drip of me he could get to. I now understand why men want to know if you swallow. It’s fucking sexy to have someone ingest the pleasure they just gave you. We went at it all night long, over and over. He cried a little when he told me how much it meant for me to be in his arms. And at 4am, after he thought I had fallen asleep, he got up to scrub his bathtub so that I would have a clean place to shower in the morning. No one has ever taken better care of me.  I have never felt more like a Goddess than I did when I was in his arms.

The next day, I told him that he could wear panties if he wanted. And I offered to let him wear mine. It was a little kinky and kind of hot. He was turned on beyond belief that I would go along with his desires. I was turned on beyond belief that he was so turned on by me.  

I was mystified by this guy. I’m writing this, wondering why the hell I ever walked away from him. There were a few reasons I guess. The first is that old fear of commitment that came creeping back when I had mentioned wanting to buy a house and I could see disappointment in his face because he obviously had thoughts of a life together.  I couldn’t handle that level of commitment at that time in my life. But I think the biggest reason I walked away was that I didn’t want to be the girl who held him back from pursuing his curiosity about being with men. I really did love this guy. And I wanted him to fly. I couldn’t live with myself, had I been the girl to cut his wings.  I wanted him to adventure through this hidden piece of himself, to discover his heart’s desires.  I guess you could say that my love for him was unconditional, because his happiness meant more to me than my possession of him.  I also had some concerns about the effect my family would have on him.  

Though our time together was rather short, his love for me was strong enough to impact my heart to this day.  He set the bar rather high and for that I am forever grateful.  And wherever he’s at on his journey, I often wish him the very best of love and light.  

We were together only a short time after that first night of passion. Life carried me away and he had some adventures to explore for himself. We’re still Facebook friends today. He still likes my pictures.  I still like his.

I saw him for the first time since we split a few months ago. It hurt a little bit to look into his beautiful eyes again.  

The Dreamer and the Realist

On March 28, 2014, I bought a house. I was really proud of that house, and it was the first time in over two years that I had felt like I was starting to stand on my feet again, after the divorce. Finally, I had provided my daughters with a decent home. Finally, I felt like a good mom again.

That night, I also met a man who for the first time, held my interest for a relationship. March 28th, that day was a game changer.
I had followed my shrinks orders to a tee, taking my time to reach out to romance again. I had absolutely no relations at all the first year, taking lots of time to love myself. Check, check, and check, I did everything I was supposed to.
So when he came along, I was ready. And it really did feel like my ship had come in. This guy was the sweetest. After one of our first dates, I remember walking him out to my front porch and making out with him before he got into his truck to go home. As we were kissing, I looked over to notice all three of my neighbors little kids’ faces pressed into the kitchen bay window glass. They were all giggling at the sight of our good bye kiss. It felt like a movie. I felt like the star in my very own romantic comedy. Like a Bridget Jones meets Carrie Bradshaw. This was the part where the broken hearts begin to heal each other.
I was so happy about this guy. I remember thinking that I would love him for who he was and pay no attention to his hideous wardrobe including the faded black shorts with socks and brown dress shoes. What in the actual fuck was he wearing? I used to have standards. I used to have rules. Owning a pair of Chuck Taylor’s was a prerequisite to get into my bed. That was a legitimate deal breaker for me. If you had no Chuck’s, you had no soul, as far as I was concerned. And there I was, falling for socks and sandals. Falling for ugly ass tee shirts and white briefs. The last guy was cute on the outside. This time I wanted cute on the inside. I was so sure that I was going to experience real and healthy love for the first time….Unconditional love, the term he threw around. He was going to teach me what it felt like to experience unconditional love. And it felt really good to know that someone wanted to love every single piece of me. And I was going to give it right back, and love the shit out of him and his horrible fashion choices.
His personality was worth it to me. He was a good listener, he was intelligent, and we just seemed to click. I watched him like a hawk , jumping at any hint of emotional abuse. But he truly seemed to be a genuinely sweet hearted guy.
Over the next couple years, we had a few issues here and there. And we worked them out, just like a healthy couple would. I’m not sure if it was his idea or mine, but we always blamed our issues on my fear of commitment. And I worked really hard to overcome that fear. I was so proud of this relationship. I really thought it was a healthy one, but compared to my marriage, healthy was an abstract idea. Anyone who didn’t bully me seemed to be a hero.
And this hero was a little broken. The first day I met him, he shared the story of how crushed he had been at the end of his marriage. He told me that he was so devastated, that he couldn’t even function and had to take heavy doses of antidepressants.  I couldn’t resist the urge to love him after that story. The codependent in me was practically salivating. His heart was in pieces and I was going to single-handedly put it back together, one sweet little broken piece at a time.
And I knew that I could take full responsibility for his heart.  It is the connection I share with someone that turns me on, so if I am in love, being faithful is easy for me.  I knew I would never hurt him.
In July of 2015, I made the decision to give up my home and move my girls thirty miles north, so that this man could be a part of our family. It was scary, leaving behind my big beautiful home to live in his tiny little house out in the middle of nowhere. But I knew in my heart, that this was the guy for me. Love had come calling, and I wouldn’t turn it down for something as materialistic as a house.
So off we went, to our new life as a blended family. My girls and I made the best of it. We literally moved into a little house on an actual prairie. We painted, we hung curtains, we planted flowers. The stars were amazing out there. The Milky Way had never been so clear. And we never missed the sight of a full moon rising on the prairie. The openness out there was something to be experienced, especially on a windy winter day.

But it was an old house, a cold house, the kind of house that never felt like a home.  And that’s how this relationship turned out.  A like that never really felt like a love.

Within weeks of moving in, I noticed that things were different. I shrugged it off as growing pains, knowing and expecting that our relationship would experience some bumps from the change. But a few months after that, things were even worse. He didn’t even resemble the guy that I had moved in for.

I tried to reconnect with him like a starving newborn angrily rooting for her father’s nipple. I couldn’t latch on. It was empty. He had no interest in feeding me, he was incapable of understanding my hunger.
Looking back, I suppose I overcompensated for the last guy. My ex husband was filled to the brim with passion. When he loved me, he loved hard and it felt good. But when he was angry, his passion pooled in his fists. He would explode with anger. He scared me. And in moving on to this next failed relationship, I chose someone with absolutely no passion. He felt safe to me. But the thing about safe sometimes, is that it lacks magic.
And I couldn’t breathe in this world without magic.

We had quit making love. He had stopped being the sweet, kind hearted guy I fell in love with. He had started being critical and cold hearted. He criticized me constantly. He criticized my kids. He criticized the way I raised my kids. He criticized my parents. He criticized the way my parents raised me.
He had managed to douse any flames of happiness that I had managed to muster up. And then he would criticize me for expecting him to contribute to my joy. And I knew what he was saying. I’m the girl who preaches that happiness is an inside job! I am the pied piper of solitude!  But when you move your whole life for someone who constantly tries to knock the sunshine out of your face, the blame has to spill over to his side too.
He stopped holding my hand in the car, and started holding his tablet. He took it everywhere. He stopped sitting by me on the couch. He stopped showing any interest in me, sexually. But he always made a point to remind me about the very active sex life he had shared with his ex wife. He stopped caring about my life at all. He dismissed the television shows I wanted to watch. He belittled my thoughts and ideas. He twisted my words. He refused to walk with me. He turned his nose up at all the bonfires I had made. He ignored my cravings for closeness.
It wasn’t easy for me to speak up about my needs. I had never had to ask for sex before. It was humiliating, having to ask him to touch me. And I swear he found joy in my crushing vulnerability.

No matter how hard I tried to get him to see our situation, to see what we could be, his eyes were stuck in his own perception.
I couldn’t understand the change in him. I felt like I had gone mad. Was this some sort of codependent neediness flaring up or my fear of commitment? Was this my fault or his? None of his behavior made sense, until his mother had mentioned one day that he had Asperger’s syndrome. I will admit that I knew nothing about this diagnosis. I thought for sure I would have recognized something like that.  He didn’t act like rain man or anything.  How could I have fallen in love with someone who had Aspergers?  I was so careful this time, about choosing someone with empathy, and I couldn’t have fucked it up any more.  I started to research anything that I could find. And I found it. All there in black and white. All of our problems were directly related to the symptoms of Asperger’s. I was his special interest when we were dating. So he really was genuinely interested in me. I could hold his attention for hours while we shared a cooler of beer on my deck. He listened intently to every word I spoke. And when I moved in, he moved his interest to the tablet, or internet games, which is common for Aspies. He was critical and unempathetic, because his brain was wired for logic and not so much emotion. There was no longer a need to make love, because he had no interest in it and  my needs never crossed his mind. When I moved into his house, I was demoted from lover to household business partner. And I understand that every relationship has that mundane side. But while I was asking, begging, and pleading for a connection; he refused to discuss anything but household chores. It felt like that was all I meant to him. That was all I meant to him.  So I stopped doing chores.  I stopped trying to connect.  And my depression had begun to swallow me whole. I had just gambled everything I had on someone who couldn’t care less about me.
We were so different and had such different expectations about the relationship. We were the dreamer and the realist, drawn together in opposition. His low vibration weighed on me like a lead blanket. And my rose colored glasses annoyed him.
I kept searching for balance, but balance was way out of reach.
Still , I wasn’t ready to give up. I fell in love with this guy.  I had moved mountains in order to be with him and I wasn’t going to give up without a fight. After all, there were quite a few Asperger’s traits that I had really admired. Aspie’s are smart, organized, and brutally honest. He was the most intelligent man that I have ever known. I consider myself pretty intelligent. When I have conversations with people, I am rarely shocked with the other party’s ideas. But my conversations with him were electric and out of this world. He would always make a comment that nobody on my level could have ever thought of. He was interesting to me. His mind was a mystery. His completely foreign ideas were fascinating. He challenged me in a good way.  He completely revolutionized my grocery shopping experience with detailed shopping lists and an app that could pinpoint every item’s location in the store. He had a charming quirkiness about him.  He did have a sweet side. And even though I saw it less often, my heart still knew it was there.  I loved him.  So I held on. I followed the advice of the experts online. I started communicating through logic rather than emotions. I was very specific in explaining my needs. But you can’t work on an issue that you refuse to acknowledge. He refused to acknowledge his diagnosis. In fact, he blamed it on me, citing that my daughters and I were probably the one’s who had Asperger’s.  I was so confused about the entire situation, I remember wondering if maybe he was right.  He made me question everything about myself.  There’s nothing scarier than trying to crawl out of the mind-fucking maze of a gas lighting relationship, and having no idea what reality is.  Everything I loved about him had been shattered.  Everything I worked so hard to love about myself was destroyed. 

My grip on the relationship was fading fast when he delivered the final blow, the one red flag that really hit me hard. After I had told him my story, over and over, in pieces over the past few years, he knew that the people whom I had loved the most were the people who had hurt me the most.  He watched me choke up and tears roll down my face when I shared my story. And when he started acting the same way towards me, he explained that my abusive past is exactly why he picked me out. He said he knew I could handle him, because I had handled it all before. And that’s what it all came down to, when I chose him, I did so with the intention to heal his broken heart. And he chose me, because he liked the way mine was broken. And when I question myself, as I have over the past six months, trying to figure out whose fault this was…At least I know that my heart was in it for the right reasons.


There are so many things that I built up to be something romantic in my mind, but in reality it was just his robot-like quirks. I think that was the worst part, realizing that my entire relationship was built on a fantasy in my own damn head.  I had lived my entire life in a cloud of delusion. This guy fanned the fog away, forcing my gaze on reality. It was painful to see, like walking out of a dark theater on a bright sunny day.  It burned a little, but the experience was valuable beyond my own understanding.  I did love him.  And I did learn from him.  

I have spent the past several months diligently searching for the long and winding road back to myself.  I’m still searching, but getting closer every day.
Looking back on this experience, I now understand that I needed this chapter in my life to learn things about myself that only an evolved mind could show me.   

I believe that Asperger’s syndrome is simply the next stage of human evolution.  His brain is designed for the future, where sloppy emotions won’t interfere with logic and progress.  I’m not quite there.  I live in my old-school emotional mind.  I have feelings that spill out of my heart and into the world, sometimes bleeding all over the crisp white sheets of my life.  But I wouldn’t want to live any other way.  Emotions are messy.  I’m a mess.  And that’s where the magic is.