I Would Not Let the Bitter In

Bitter knocked upon my door
But I would not let her in.
She pushed the door right open
And I felt her cold, dark skin.

“You can’t come in,” I said aloud.
She responded with a grin,
“You’ll let me in, I’ll have my way,
And with me come my kin:
Sadness, Anger, Broken Heart,
You’ll let us all come in!”

I looked into her steely eyes
And knew the choice was mine:
Either close the door or join her,
And I was running out of time.

How hard I pushed upon that door
To block that Bitter’s hold!
I knew she didn’t match my Heart–
Not mine that I behold!

I slammed that door right good and hard,
I pushed with all my might;
I slowly felt the cold subside
‘Til Bitter was out of sight.

Inside my heart, the warmth and glow
Of Love poured fast through me,
Healing and restoring peace
As I breathed and let it be.


Confessions of a More In than Out Bisexual Woman

I have read several blog posts recently about bisexuality, its stigmas, questions about it, the lack of understanding, and so forth. As a bisexual woman, I felt it was my civic duty to share with you my experience to give you one perspective of millions, I’m sure. Everyone has their own story about their sexuality, relationships, romance, etc. This is only mine.

I only accepted my sexuality after I met Her (my special friend outside of my marriage, for all of you just joining the conversation). We met online, then in person, but only established our “more than friends” relationship online later. There was no doubt I was falling in love with her, and very attracted to her. I had visited her, only as a friend, when she was here visiting family. We spent a weekend together, and I could feel something between us, but I thought it was because she was such a great person and we resonated in so many areas. It was only after she left for her own country that I noticed how much I wanted to talk with her constantly, and I was always thinking about her. I didn’t think it would go anywhere, except more friendship. She hadn’t even told me yet that she was lesbian. Then one day, she did. She could feel what was happening between us and wanted to talk about it. I denied anything at first, reminding her that I’m married, etc. She would have nothing to do with my denials, but that’s how strong the energy was getting between us. So I finally admitted it. I’m not sure what either of us were thinking at the time, we just knew what we were feeling. The next time she came to town, we had the most beautiful time together.

So that was the consummation of accepting that I am bisexual, but I have through the years been attracted to women, not always ones who were available to me. Being bisexual is a bit stranger than being straight or gay…Since I could blend in to the hetero mainstream, I didn’t think much about what I felt, except that those thoughts were probably not okay. No one talked about bisexuality when I was a kid, you know? I always would stand up against people talking bad about being gay, probably because of my own private feelings, but never applied that “right to exist” to myself.

I was mostly attracted to guys in high school and college; or, at least, those were the feelings I acted upon. The others I just tried to brush off. When I was 10 years old, there was a nurse at the Girl Scout Camp I attended. Her camp name was Birch and I had the biggest crush on her. She was the nurse and made announcements every morning. She had a sweet smile. My hands would sweat, and stomach flip every time I saw her. I shared in an early post that I wasn’t smart enough to hurt myself so I’d have to go see her. I’d probably be too shy anyway. When I was in college, I realize now I had a fan girl crush on Amy Ray of the Indigo Girls. I still do, actually. God, that woman is the perfect picture of hotness to me–my “type”–a little on the masculine side, but with definite femininity that shows through. I had a severe crush on my best-friend-who-is-also-lesbian, and we talked about my attraction to her when it was going on. I’m not her type, fortunately, so we just became close friends. I was married then, too. I’m not sure how I brushed that one off. I think I justified that I was misinterpreting the fun we had together, and how easy it was to talk with her.

I have always felt more compatible as friends with lesbian woman than with straight women. I’m a mom in the suburbs but can’t relate to other suburban moms. They are far too girly-girl for my taste. My experience has simply been that lesbian women are more interesting.

Even though I have only been with men before Her, my fantasy life has always been about women, with the rare exception. I read somewhere years ago that in advertising, women see women and put themselves in their place, understanding how she would feel; while men don’t. That is why there are more photos of women in ads in women’s magazines, and photos of women outnumbering men in men’s magazines. Women relate to women; men relate to how a woman makes them feel. Anyway, I brushed off my fantasies to that…but still kept them going! Nearly every time I have made love with my husband, I use my own fantasies to help me be with him. I saw an interview with Lady Gaga a few years ago, where she was answering the question, “What does your song “Poker Face” really mean?” She shared that it was because when she had sex with her boyfriend, she was thinking about women. Whoa! I’m not the only one??? That was the first time I ever felt that maybe something wasn’t wrong with me, that I was not repressed sexually, after all, and my fantasies weren’t a sign of some kind of mental illness or other sickness.  

I took a class in college on LGBTQ issues as an elective, thinking that, since I was such a goddamn accepting person, that it would be an easy class for me. I learned more for life in that class than any others. As well as myself, even if I didn’t admit it at that time. My instructor was lesbian and dating someone who identified as female-to-male (f2m). She disclosed a few of her own challenges with the process her partner was going through. When they got together, he hadn’t decided to become male yet. She fell in love with a woman, she shared with us, and isn’t attracted to men, so she was having a hard time accepting his process as far as their relationship went. She broke up with him by the time the semester was over.

Also during that class, we had a heated discussion about bisexuality and monogamy. Is it possible for someone who is bisexual to be satisfied with committing to one side of their attraction possibilities? In my self-righteous younger days, I argued yes, of course! It is about commitment, love, respect. I mean, if my husband wanted to have sex with someone with bigger boobs than me just because that is what also turns him on, no thank you! There is no difference!

Well, now that I am not a woman/woman virgin anymore, I can tell you that it is very different. Being intimate with Her was vastly different than being with a man. Part of my difficulties that I have oozed all over this blog the last five months is because I love being with her as a woman. I miss that a lot. I miss her in all, but that’s not what this post is about. I miss the softness of a woman, inside and out. I am having to let that go because of my decision to remain with my family. Yes, I love my husband, sex is good, he is a good person. But my fantasies about women continue.

My best-friend-who-is-also-lesbian said to me after hearing about my affair (and after offering me a toaster saying “Welcome to the club”), “You can’t unknow what you know.” And that is so true. If I had never been with Her, I wouldn’t know what I was missing. I could have continued to deny my thoughts and feelings as just “stupid fantasies”, and “if I was really faced with having sex with a woman I would probably not truly be interested.” But those days are gone.

That said, I still believe in monogamy, as many of you do. My affair wasn’t only about sex. If it was, I’d have no problem finding some local woman to have sex with whenever the urge arose. And, as I recently wrote to a new friend I found here, “It is still more a matter of love, acceptance and happiness with life that is important, and to achieve that, we all have to make choices, you know? And when we choose one thing, we close the door to something else. That’s life. And, sometimes our choices get made for us. That’s life, too. This is cliché now, but it really isn’t what happens to us in life that makes or breaks us, but what we do with those experiences.”

Thanks for reading. Thanks for your interest in one small story out of many billion that are out there.

My Mind Has Two Faces

My mind has two faces…

One is present in my body.

The other is 8000 kilometers away.

One bears the responsibility of children, career, wife and home.

The other so easily forgets.

One is sensible and thinks through her decisions, her feelings.

The other thinks with the heart of her skin.

One knows how much she has hurt him.

The other knows how much she has hurt Her.

Both sides just hurt.

One side anticipates all the talking he will be doing upon her arrival home.

The other checks and checks and checks email for any signs of Her,

knowing that there will be none.

One side is irritable and quick tempered today.

The other withdrawn, shut down, and thinking far too much.

One side tries to comfort the other.

The other side will have nothing to do with it.

One side is where I know I belong.

The other side is where I am.

A (Too Many) Roads Scholar

(Chock full of poetry, this one…just not my own…)

This is from Her, regarding my hide-and-seek behavior with Her over the last year and a half and reuniting with Her online last night, then trying to weasel out of the situation once again this morning:

Too late My dear, no more goodbye
It is time to recover consciousness
Time to face what has to be faced
My time is running through my fingers
Nope. Not again
We can’t consider Yesterday
Only an occasional re-encounter.
You were looking at my photos
I was writing the poem to you
Asking for a signal from above
To guide me about what to do
With the Poem
Then I saw the 22 comments
You posted on my photos.
I blinked my eyes: Oh could it be true?
Are you there? I could not Believe…
I danced
I laughed aloud and alone…
You were there…
Oh I am very sorry, lady!
Nope and nope
Love you Soul and Heart
You can leave your computer off,
You can make yourself not visible
I will know that you will be there
I always will know,

No more hiding from these feelings. No more putting them aside to have the perfect life. When one of Us is missing the other, We both are affected. She was missing me, writing another poem about Us after months of silence between Us. While She wondered, “What should I do with this poem? Send it to her, or keep silent?”, I was hovering over Her in cyberspace, inserting comments on photos She had posted of Her new apartment, a quarter of the way across the planet from me.

Synchronicity. It happens between Us as if We are One. I have talked about my relationship as an affair, and it sure fits the definition. But what accounts for how tuned in to the Other that We are?

I have been away from my home for a week. Reality easily slips through my logical mind, blurring the details, the major details that I am going home to in two days.

Can I juggle two relationships? One functional and the other divine?

I always resonated with this poem. Since my senior year in high school, it has been embedded in my soul. I leave you with it tonight:

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

[Please tell me you have at least heard of this poem…]

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Her Wise Response Melts Me, Reveals Me

Here is Her beautiful, wise response to my last post:

Petals just flow with the wind
Reaching new lands while
Shells stay on the sand
Sometimes are taken
by the ocean waves
Returning to home
Against their will.
To return home
Just “a let it be”
Because Wave
Are easy to face
they come and go
If you don’t fight them
They cause you no harm
No harm on your shape, your Persona
But them You miss the petals that was around
And you start to feel an inner wave of missing feelings
Bigger than the ocean waves that reach the shores
Those are your real being, your wish to live
These can drawn you into “comfortable socially accepted” sadness
Inside you feelings of rage and impotence coming in short
But strong waves, devastating waves that you have to deal with.
They keep you in a wilderness land inside you, arid land
And you do not show it to nobody, but to her!
You want the flower to be near to calm the feelings
You feel inside, in the innermost of your Soul
But there is no more flower but petals
That wind blows away, leaving them
Unable to give you any help
There is nothing petals can do
To transform your wishes
They are yours
Your decision has nothing
That she can do.
She is calm
Sad, yes!
But calmly
Flying in
The wind
The breeze
Sent by God
To take her away
of the empty Shells
Till them can find their real way.

Ah, isn’t She amazing? Even when She points out my issues, my heart flutters. This is why I am so deeply in love with Her. 

But before my heart fluttered when I first read this, I cried. Her words opened my heart like a book and She read me as if in Her own language. She peeled me down to the deepest layer I have.

Ah, damn. She is right. I run from my grief of letting Her go. I do not want to. I want to be able to take care of my responsibilities as a wife, mother, career woman, and so forth–then come home to Her every night, share about Our day together, sleep in each Other’s arms, make love every morning, and go about our business. I want to be able to walk to Her house and visit Her every day.

When the pain of the grief comes up, starting below my stomach, shooting all the way up to my heart, I want to run to Her and have Her make it better for me, by reassuring me that She will always love me and will always be there. Not exactly a fair or permanent solution for either of Us.

In my last meeting today, I had a picture flash through my mind, around the time She sent an email to see if I was busy. It was of a woman crawling out of the ocean, crying, hand reached into the air, trying to grab something–or someone–who was no longer there. It was symbolic of my horrendous grief and fear of losing Her. I run from that pain, I know.

Would I really rather stay in this Please/I Can’t montanha russa, than face that pain, release it, and trust what I felt a couple weeks ago that Our love will be fulfilled some day? Part of me doesn’t trust it, doesn’t want to be patient. Ah, but it is patience and trust, or feel trapped where I am. Damn.

So, in Her poem this morning, She tore me open and revealed me to you more than I have been willing to in 42 posts since March. 

What can I say? Making peace with myself not easy.

Vive la France! …Except, I Don’t Live There…

Ok, a break from the dram-o-rama poetry for today.

So here I am today, with my kids, hanging out because spouse is working. Well, actually, the kids aren’t even hanging out with me…they are doing their own thing in other rooms. It is our first beautiful day in a long time, so later I will take photos of the buds on the trees. She is busy, and We are confused–Ok, I’ll speak for myself–I am confused.

Maybe “unreasonable” is a better word for what I am  (and nicer than others that could be used to describe me).

I have securely duct-taped my inner, raging feminist and prude (can both be true simultaneously?) and am now dreaming of 17th Century France, where men and women would be securely married and have their true loves down the street, visiting regularly.

Really, it was a good set-up, if you think about it. Everyone was taken care of, every survival need met, every social stigma silenced, every booty call answered.

No one had to choose between their family and their lover, who was also often their Very Best Friend. Children’s lives weren’t disturbed by even the most cordial divorces. Spouses did not tire of each other’s antics, since all they had to do was get along, play their part, and keep their end of the bargain. 

Searching for an image for this post, I came across several articles on why having a mistress is good for a marriage. All the reasons previously listed here were part of the defense reasoning. Interestingly, all of these articles discussed men (French men, to be exact) having mistresses, not women having mistresses, or whatever the male counterpart to mistress is called. [Please leave it in the comments if you know…I’m curious. Lover?]

This is where the duct tape came loose on my feminist side. And what about women having lovers? [I’ll go with this until you give me a better alternative.]  Perhaps there was a double standard, and that was a reason for the lack of lovers for wives. But think about it…17th century daily hardships, woman married to self-important man, taking care of God knows how many children…plus a lover/one more individual demanding something of her? Yeah, I’m sure it happened, but probably not quite as much as we’d like to believe. 

Jump to modern day: I came across an article from PschCentral about polyamory, which is the hip word for “open relationship”. The article was about a couple for whom this seemed to be working. Both partners were bisexual (one male, one female), and they each had lovers come and go, sometimes living with them. As long as the other partner approved of the new mate, everything was good. 

And here is where the duct tape slips off my prudish side. No thanks! [Shudders.] If I wanted that, I would have made different decisions long ago. For me, love is for someone I am in love with, which–with the exception of a few years in college–is more of a long term situation. I never married thinking, “This is great, and someday I will find someone else who will help make this set-up ideal.”

I didn’t realize I was bisexual when I was first married, either. [See this previous post for more on that topic.] It never crossed my mind that I would be walking away from a side of me that would come to call 20 years later. 18.5, to be exact.

That brings me back to today. Here I am. There She is. If I started this blog today, I would rewrite each post I have posted here, from the beginning. Missing Her. Loving Her. Wanting Her. Lovely Her. Impossible Us.

My fantasy is that 17th Century France life, where She and I could walk hand-in-hand, disguised as Very Best Friends, able to write love letters to each other without a single eyebrow raised towards Us, able to go off in nature and have Our way with each other, walking home completely satisfied and ready for the next move in Our individual lives. The Kids Are Alright [Have you seen that movie? You should.], no boats are rocked, and love remains in the air.

Then I snap out of it and realize that I am here, with family. She is there, without me–perfectly fine, but without me. Ah, damn. I guess I will go take some photos, even though it makes me think of Her ~Image.


Love, Courage, and Fire

No, not silly at all!
She recognize the child
She loves as much inside you
She she also fears
That for being such a young child
You play with dangerous things.
Do you really think that 
You are prepared For what
You are looking for?
You are naive or are you not?
If not, are you trying to play with fire?
Are you prepared to play the fireman
If the house burn inside?
I do not believe you are, are You?
Ah beautiful child,
Why have  you had to rebirth from the ashes?
       ~ Her

That was the poem She wrote to me, in Her sweet English, after my 101 emails to Her while She was away. It was one piece of the sparse response I received from Her.

She’s right, you know. I have been playing with fire–a hot, passionate Fire–that I’m not prepared to put out once it has its way. I won’t leave my family for Her, even if there are moments that I would drop everything to go to Her. Overall, I won’t.

I promised Her I would not pull on Her again, yet I did. So unfair.

In one of our “Go Away” times, She scolded me for not being courageous enough to acknowledge my feelings, my heart, my desires and leave for Her. In some ways, She was right. And, my feelings did indeed become more public than I preferred, when my husband found our emails to each other. He would have let me go to Her.

But I said no. And this is where She was wrong. It is easy to be with Her. My kids aren’t around, my husband’s needs aren’t around, even my career was set aside during those beautiful days I was with Her. That was easy. No one knew but She and I that We were sharing the best moments of Our lives together. It was so easy, so lovely.

No, that wasn’t courageous. Amazing, but not courageous.

What takes courage is for me to look at my children and realize I need them more than they need me, and that perhaps losing me would alter their life course in some devastating way.

It takes courage to be my husband’s wife, to live up to his expectations that I do the best I can for myself in this life I have been given. He doesn’t need me to be perfect. He needs me to honor myself.

And that takes courage.

Here’s the deal: I had a choice of two wonderful lives: One with Her, and one with my family.

Choosing one, I lose the other. Neither one is better than the other, although my best-friend-who-is-also-a-lesbian would think I was losing part of myself if I chose to let Her go. But if it was appropriate to ask my children, what would they say?

No, I have said before, I don’t have the constitution to do both. She now knows everything I wanted her to know all these months, why I blocked all contact with Her. The last two weeks has been pent-up anxiety splashing all over these pages. It’s out. It’s done.

Her small response to my huge outpourings tells me She is done, too. I gave Her 101 opportunities to be strong. She gave me 101 opportunities to release Her.

I will never find anyone like Her again, and I certainly won’t go looking. Perhaps I will keep my pseudonym email, just to keep in contact with Her, to see how She is doing. I just won’t check it everyday. It’s too disappointing.

Time to courageously let go. She’s right. I am naive. No more fire.


Thank You for Helping Me Clean out my Closet

Today I am feeling grateful and uplifted.

She is still away on Her training, but managed to check a few of the 67 emails I have sent to Her while She has been there. She can only check and reply from Her phone, after hours of all day training. The least I can do is cut Her some slack. She’s typing with Her sweet thumbs, for Christ’s sake.

What a gift it has been that She has been unavailable this weekend. I have poured my heart out here. I have poured my heart out to Her in emails. I have embarrassed myself in both places.

But today, I feel a freedom. Her unavailability has given me the “loneliness time” I needed to reflect in spite of my blubbering all over the place.

When I first began this blog, my intention was to release Her. Then all my deepest, unresolved feelings for Her rose to the surface like birds let out of a cage. It was messy. It was painful. It was filled with longing, willfulness, selfishness.

I began to think this blog was not such a good idea, that it has just reinforced how much I want Her.

Perhaps it did. But it was what I was feeling anyway. I had been trying to hide those feelings to spare my husband any more hurt. Trying to hide it from myself, lest I run back to Her again, only to say, “No, no, I can’t”, even if I did want to.

But today I feel a peace, an acceptance, that I have not felt any of the times We said good-bye. I feel so grateful for Her, so grateful to Her. I know I always will. I will always, always, always love Her.

I don’t know what more I will be writing here. I don’t know what else to say. Maybe there will be more, once She responds to even a few of my 100 emails to Her.

But for now, I’d like to thank you. First, the writer(s) of Mabel and Evelyn. You won’t ever know how much your story has affected me. Even if my ending is different from yours, your courage, integrity and love have been important to me this past week. You both are in my heart, despite the fact that we don’t know each other. But I feel like you have been my companions this week.

I’d like to thank my husband, for his forgiveness, acceptance and willingness to go forward. I’m obviously not an easy person to live with, but he still wants me around, so…Thank you.

I’d like to thank Her more. But that deserves its own post.

Today, I am glad I started this blog. I had a closet to clean out. Sometimes cleaning out the closet makes more of a mess than just leaving the door closed. But it’s always worth it. Then we can find things when we need them, like love, friendship, memories, open hearts.


Thank you for reading these entries, indulging my madness. Thank you for your compassion that I felt when you “liked” a post. You validated my feelings more than I tend to do for myself. I am grateful. Thanks for helping me clean out my closet this week.

Krishna, Arjuna and My Broken Heart…or, Eject, Obsess, Love

So, while She was gone,  I promised to send Her 100 emails. She is not responding to my passionate advances, but is responding in Her characteristic gentleness and compassion. I was naive and inconsiderate (read: stupid) to expect anything else.

Last night I had a vision during meditation. It felt great nine hours ago, but this morning…not so much.

Here is the vision, shared with Her in email number 38:


My heart is aching this morning. I went to sleep last night, prepared to let you go once again. Not altogether, but enough to free you. A vision came to me: In the Bhagavahd Gita, Krishna talks to Arjuna about the inevitability of war against his family members. Arjuna doesn’t want to hurt his family, but Krishna says he must. Krishna gives Arjuna a choice between having on his side the strongest of warriors, or Krishna’s help. Arjuna wisely chooses Krishna, and of course, wins the war. Within me, my feelings for you, my oh-so-human feelings, are represented by Arjuna’s family members. The battle is imminent. Krishna is my Soul, and my Soul Love for you. That will always win. I can’t release you altogether. I have tried for nearly half a year. I just don’t want you out of my life, if you can at all stand that.

Someone remind me…Didn’t I write in my first entry that this blog was about releasing Her? I was trying to evacuate these feelings from my heart and soul. I thought projecting them onto this screen and having them lost in cyberspace would get Her out of me. I felt like the cat in the Pepe Le Pew cartoon–do you remember it? She was always trying to get away from his stink.


For six months I have been trying to release these feelings, but managed only to suppress them. Then, as I wrote about Her, how lovely She is, all those feelings rose to the surface as if only yesterday We said good-bye.

Now, She hesistates. And understandably so. She is intelligent. She sees the situation. How has it changed? I am still married. I can’t leave my family for someone thousands of miles away. Or, I haven’t been willing to.

I was so excited to be talking with Her again. I feel so happy around Her, even if that means (mostly one-sided) email conversations. My repressed feelings blew up all over. I acted as if nothing ever happened. She is being the strong One. She is being the wise One.

“Eject, Obsess, Love” has been my version of “Eat, Pray Love.” I have to accept this deep love for Her, even my desire to be with Her physically, sexually, closely. I have to neither reject those feelings nor act them out all over the place. The balance is to be with them, share them with Her, and be satisfied to still have my Very Best Friend.

I wish I could just cry until the pain goes away. I am not just releasing Her, but this whole side of me that loves being with a woman. It’s a big door to close.