It happened more than once during my single years after the divorce.
I'd awake, startled, in my bed as I felt a man's arms encircling me, then squeezing me so hard I gasped for air. In the inky darkness broken only by the white digits on an alarm clock across the room, I'd bolt upright, heart pounding as if I'd just sprinted a 5K.
"Who is he, where is he?" I'd say to myself, reaching frantically across the bed to feel the coolness of the undisturbed sheets. Nothing there.
I'd then toss and twist and will myself back to sleep with the slowing rhythm of my heart beat. By morning, I told myself it was just a bad dream.
But in the blank vacuum of night, "he" was there, faceless and nameless.
I try to analyze what happened: Have I become so secure being single that by letting someone in, I'm afraid I'll suffocate?
Or is it because I sleep on my left side and rarely change position--maybe my body goes numb and that's the pressure I feel.
Or, going down the ol' rabbit hole as I often do, was my ex still holding a grip on my emotions? I was done with him after the final standoff in divorce court; we were never in the same room again. And I hadn't talked to him since we sold our house, and I moved to California.
But I did see him once.
As I took my morning walk near my summer rental in Kansas City, I looked up just as he looked across from the other side of the four-lane street and recognized me. Pausing, he screwed up his face in a scowl and then thrust out his chin to mouth something. I was too far away to hear, but it looked like, "Fuck you."
The words landed on my cheek like a slap. I picked up the pace and by the time I reached the parking lot where I left my car, I was running. My hand shook as I turned the key and drove back to where I just saw him--and spotted his lanky stride yards ahead.
Could I catch up and pull close enough to the curb to scare the shit out of him?
I swung my car Blanca around for a perfect u-turn (she has a beautiful pivot) just as he veered left off the sidewalk, and all I saw was his back going through a gate tucked into the hedge surrounding his apartment.
He never saw me gripping Blanca's steering wheel.
Operation Bump-the-Ex was over before it started.
My friends all asked when I described the scene, "Would you really run him over?" There was some concern about my mental state.
"Noooo, but it sure would have been nice to give him the same shock and awe I felt after I opened his computer," I said. By the time I closed that laptop and confirmed my suspicions of his cheating, disbelief and fear had scooped out my insides, and the marriage was DOA.
I'm now of the mindset that it's not my job to bring my ex-husband down--that's a job for my good friend Karma.
I still think about a man's arms around me, though, and decide to look at my dreams from another angle: Am I feeling the literal pain from what's missing in my life? I had a date once who said that when he reached out to hug me, I re-coiled. "You're not ready for a relationship that includes physical touch," he told me.
He was probably right.
As I continued to look for answers, the ache for romantic touch became a craving I couldn't satisfy.
I head to my book shelf and re-visit Dr. Gary Chapman's, "The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate," and decide to take the personal profile test again. Characteristics one might seek from a partner include words of affirmation; quality time; receiving gifts; acts of service; and physical touch.
Voila, the thing that's most meaningful to me today in a relationship is physical touch!
That knowledge will certainly help me navigate the waters if and when I find a suitable partner, I think.
But that wasn't the case in my marriage. There was perfunctory touching--the deep, slow kisses we shared when we first dated quickly became pecks on the cheek for the duration. I learned early on that what I wanted from my ex, I'd never get. For most of our years together, he held back--his emotions, touches and ultimately, his love--and eventually, I pulled back, too.
I blamed myself at first. Maybe I didn't deserve loving touch, or maybe my walls built up from an unhealthy childhood with an alcoholic parent prevented me from receiving what I desired?
I thought my smooth-talker husband gave me words of affirmation in the marriage--until I discovered the emptiness of those words. He was also a regular gift-giver, particularly after he'd gone outside the marriage for what he needed--physical touch from anyone but me.
It was time to reach out to Paul, my trusted therapist, who guided me through the divorce and all the detritus that came with it. I described my dreams, and asked what he thought about my ache for a tangible connection.
After talking about the many things that dreams may represent, he told me something I'll never forget: "Be careful you're not just longing for nostalgia."
It was like a whack to the side of my head. Ahhh, the longing for a close-knit family, kids gathered and holding hands with us at Thanksgiving dinner and the reflection of the Christmas tree lights dancing in the picture window of our forever home...
Yes, that was exactly what I craved as a newly-divorced woman who wanted nothing more than a stable nuclear family where I felt safe.
But Paul's right--nostalgia can wallpaper over the cracks and crevices in a marriage until the picture is as smooth as a Botox'd forehead.
And we all know that's not real.
After my session with Paul, I realized I was long past nostalgia and criminal mischief with a car.
I was on the lookout for a relationship built on truth with someone who says what he feels and knows how to hug without squeezing too tight.