Being Assertive is Scary!

Grab a snack or something, this a long one.

I just did something that is incredibly assertive -- at least for me.

You know how you meet (or re-meet) someone and you just feel a connection with them straight away? I had that happen to me toward the beginning of last year. I started talking to someone who I hadn't spoken with since high school. We'd both had crushes on each other in high school, but never got the chance to act on it because one or the other of us was always involved. We lost touch after high school and hadn't spoken to each other in seventeen or more years.

Enter MySpace. All you MySpace naysayers, pipe down. I agree that it's a bit (or a lot) juvenile, but I'll always be grateful for it. It reunited me with someone who brought me a lot of joy last year. Even though I went through (what will hopefully be the) most traumatic time of my life (not with him lest that be confusing), I can still count last year as one of my favorites.

Since I'm a commitment-phobe, I didn't allow for any possibilities of it evolving into a more committed relationship. It seemed that was how he wanted it to be as well. We were both coming out of long-term, serious relationships and we both needed some time to be free. Additionally, he lived (and lives) in another city and it would be impossible for me to move there. He could move here, but I would hate for that to happen. He lives in one of my favorite cities in the world (and it's obviously one of his as well), and I just couldn't allow anyone to move away from it for me.

As it happens, even though I tried my best not to develop any feelings for him greater than friendship, I did. But I never acted on them. I didn't want to take a chance of ruining what we had. We were great together as we were and there wasn't any reason to voice what was going on inside of me.

I'll probably always wonder what would have happened had I voiced my feelings. I didn't, and he eventually started dating someone with whom he fell in love. We maintained our friendship, but it was a bit hard for me because I didn't particularly enjoy hearing how wonderful this other person was and about all of their future plans together. It didn't help that he started dating her just as I sunk into one of my deepest depressions ever. I don't know that we would've drifted apart as much as we did if I hadn't been depressed. Perhaps it wouldn't have been as difficult as it was to listen to him sing the praises of this other girl.

One week this past March, I found myself in his city a few times during one week. This was to be the first time we would see each other since he started dating the other girl. It was also the first time to see each other since we'd decided to only be friends. We failed miserably. (An aside: I've dealt with the guilt surrounding that and it's not pertinent to the story. But I will say that she had moved across the country since they had started dating and somehow that made it seem okay. They were definitely dating, but not definitely committed.) It was also when I realized that I could fall in love with him and that I had already essentially lost him.

One night while I was in town, he told me that he was about to take it to the next level and truly commit to her and talk with her about moving back to his city. He asked me what I thought about the situation, and I gave him the standard "I'm really happy for you and I think it's great" party line. I meant it because I really wanted him to be happy, but at the same time a part of me cried because it wasn't me that he had wanted to commit to. But why should he have wanted to? I gave him absolutely no indication that I wanted that as I was always saying that I wanted no commitment at all.

He said something to me that's resonated ever since. "Your opinion means so much to me, T, because if it wasn't her, it would have been you. You were number two." Or something to that effect. I can't decide if it's the must fucked up thing anyone's ever said to me or if it was his way of saying, "Speak up now before it's too late."

Once again, I didn't speak up.

Instead, later that week when I was there for what would be the last time I saw him (to this date), I wrote him a letter in the middle of the night telling him goodbye. I walked away from it all. And I did it in the cowardly way of leaving a letter behind on the table as I walked out the door. He was blindsided. He was pissed. And hurt. He felt as if he'd lost one of his best friends.

He tried for weeks to get me to come around, and I pushed him away every time. Unbeknownst to him I was trying to mend my wounded heart.

A few weeks ago, one of his friends wrote me out of the blue (and in the midst of the situation with Z) and told me that she didn't know what had happened between him and me, but that if I thought that I had made a mistake, I should speak up and tell him.

I waffled as to what I should do. Was this fate giving me one more chance to see if what we had was as special as I thought it was? Or would I be an evil bitch if I stepped in knowing that she had since moved back to his city? I wrote him a letter, but didn't send it. In the interim, I sought advice from my friends who knew about the situation. The majority thought that I should send the letter. I still waited. But I turned over their advice in my head constantly in trying to decide what to do.

In the end I listened to this advice which came from several people, "Nothing you can say or do will damage the relationship if it is a strong and happy relationship. If that is the case, he will receive your words (in whatever form they are to take), take them in, and go on about building his life with the other girl." And it's true. I don't have the power to change their relationship. It's not in my control. Though I'm not sure I would have written the letter if I knew without a doubt that he was happy in the relationship. In fact, I'm almost sure that I wouldn't have written it.

So, I sent the letter. The beginning of the letter refers to a conversation we had earlier in the summer about my being in his city over Labor Day weekend and him wanting me to meet the girl while I was in town.

This is what I said:

I did end up coming to [his city] for a night on Labor Day weekend. I wrestled with the fact that I was supposed to call you and meet [the girl]. In the end I decided that, even though we're adults, I'm just not ready.

Please don't take that to mean that I'm not happy for you. I truly am. I'm glad that you've found someone that makes you happy and with whom you want to spend the rest of your life. You deserve it and you've earned it. That's all I really want for you -- happiness and contentment.

My wanting happiness for you doesn't necessarily mean that I'm ready to meet the person with whom you've found it. I don't think you need my approval in order to move forward. I hope that you'll try to understand my side of things as well.

You are an awesome, amazing addition to my life. I was so excited to find you again because I'd always enjoyed our time together back in high school. I hoped that it would carry over to adulthood and, sure enough, it did. I have a blast with you. It is almost like there hasn't been a seventeen year (or more) gap since we last saw each other. It was comfortable from the first moment. We were great together. We had great conversations on the phone (and, contrary to appearances, speaking on the phone for hours really isn't my thing) and became better and better friends because of those conversations. We also had great sex. Things were, well, great.

We both knew going in that this probably wouldn't grow into anything more than it was because of extraneous circumstances (i.e. we lived in different cities, [and another issue that's identifying], etc.) and I was okay with that. I was just getting divorced after being married [for a long time], and I had a lot of life to go out there and live. Starting a relationship with someone wasn't on my agenda. You seemed to be in the same place. Our intention was to have fun together without either of us feeling like we were bound by a relationship. Things seemed (and were) perfect. But it was hard not to wonder how things would've or could've been had the circumstances been different. Would we have been a great match if we didn't have the obstacles that we did?

In time, we made a joint decision that perhaps we should be only friends. I think part of that was to ensure that our friendship would endure any other relationship we found ourselves in. In theory, it was a great idea. Hell, it was a great idea. At the time (and to this day), the thought of you not being in my life in some way, shape, or form was very upsetting to me. I loved that I felt completely comfortable with you and that we were able to talk about anything. You make me laugh on a continual basis and that's a fantastic quality. You are someone who I want in my life for many years to come.

Fast forward to this March ... I hadn't seen you in months and we were finally going to hang out and test the whole "only friends" concept. You know how that went. I'm grateful that we had those times together. That week, until its climactic end, was one of the best times of my life.

One night, you asked me what I really thought about you and [the girl]. [Your friend] had mentioned to you that she didn't think I was very happy about it. I don't believe I ever said anything to her that would've given her that indication, but perhaps she's good at reading people. I don't think I knew myself how much I was struggling with it. I told you the truth -- I was very happy you'd found someone that you had fallen in love with, I truly hoped that everything would work out as you wished, and that you had my full support. (And that is all still true.)

That same night you said something to me that's run through my mind hundreds of times since -- "What you think is important to me because ... you were 'number two'." I took that to mean that (at some point) you had developed feelings as well, but put them aside because of our obstacles with the main one being [the identifying issue]. It still hurt to hear those words. It hurt because I never had a chance to be "number one" and because, until that week, I didn't even realize I would want to be "number one."

I can't tell you with certainty that things would be different if we hadn't had those last days together, but I think it's probable. Something changed that week. Those days were the end of something great between us (at least from my perspective). They also made it clear to me that as much as I wished you the best because I did care about you so much, I wouldn't be able to stick around to see it. And then I wrote that damn letter. It came off completely different than I intended it to (and I hope that the same thing doesn't happen with this one).

I'm sure that one day in the future I'll be able to see you and [the girl] together and be fine with it. I really hope that's the case because I would hate not having you in my life after being lucky enough to find you again in the first place. Right now, I just feel it is too soon.

I hope you understand. I miss you a lot and I will do my best to get over this hurdle as quickly as possible.

Take care.

And, once again, I wait. No matter what happens, I feel relieved. I let him know how I feel. I won't wonder what would have happened if I had said something. I don't have any regrets. (Yet.)