Hey Doc: 
I was in a relationship with a woman that lasted for two years (including a year of living together until financial obstacles ended that arrangement) and then a further two years of on-again-off-again. Most of the time, I was the one who ended things, until recently.  The most recent started when we had gone to meet some friends of mine at a women-only gay bar that was having an open night for guys. While I was in the bathroom, my girlfriend had kissed another woman. When I confronted her about it, gently letting her know that although we hadn’t discussed our situation properly, I considered that close to infidelity. She said she thought she might be lesbian, something I was aware had been a possibility before we got together all those years ago. I had even prided myself on “turning her”, dumb as that sounds (we had joked about it).

Now, to be honest, I felt relief, believing that what was obviously not a sustainable relationship could now be ended through circumstances beyond our control. I offered to remain friends. And we did, for a while, until I started feeling like our dynamic seemed unchanged except for the absence of intimacy. I told her that I wanted to scale back our friendship and that I could not be relied on to be her go-to source of comfort and validation. She made it clear that she wasn’t interested in meeting up once in a blue moon and hanging out superficially, so we agreed to keep our distance.

And then shit got bad. Due to both missing her, family problems and some escalating drug and alcohol use, I got what I’m pretty sure in retrospect could be classified as depressed. So when we bumped into each other in a bar a few months later and started hooking up again, I foolishly told myself that it was on again and all my problems would be solved. She did give me plenty of signs and indications that she didn’t want to keep hooking up until I finally took the hint. At the time I felt like she was ghosting me as if I was a persistent Tinder-date, and I resented her for not having “had the guts” to say it explicitly. Now, I realize I should have understood the situation (or rather, admitted to myself what was going on), and that I had no right dumping mye mental issues on her. So I stayed clear, avoided gatherings with mutual friends and cut off contact.

Then she got a boyfriend. My lesbian ex-girlfriend found a handsome, adventurous, charismatic, man’s-man boyfriend who she started a long-distance relationship with. This caused a personal crisis in masculinity on my part. Even though I knew that sexuality is a fluid and difficult thing that’s rarely black-and-white, even though I knew we had slept together after her coming out, it made me feel incredibly emasculated. Hearing hints and tidbits of information from mutual friends (who on the whole tried to not mention either of us to the other), taught me more than I probably needed to know about her sexual experiences with women and her relationship with him.

When they broke up, circumstances had changed for me and life seemed a lot better. I had a new job and was hanging out with a larger group of really great people, including our mutual friends. I felt ready to start meeting her again and catching up like old friends. However, her break-up being very recent, those conversations revolved around him, for which she apologized several times.

So here’s the rub, Doc, if you’re still with me. Cognitively, I know that her sexuality is her own business, and her experiences both sexual, romantic and otherwise have fuck-all to do with me or my own insecurities. I know that the characteristics of my “successor” do not diminish my qualities or impact on her life. I know that passing judgment (on either myself or her) after the end of our relationship is toxic bullshit.

But even though I’m not really heartbroken anymore, I can’t shake this feeling of emasculation. Of being the Best Actor in a Supporting Role, rather than the romantic lead in the movie of her life. Meeting her again, I realize that we are incompatible, and that all I really have left is a sort of muted affection – but the jealousy and insecurities and the need to prove my manhood bubble up.

So what did I miss? How do you move on from knowing that you’re projecting, that there’s this black little cloud inside you making these Madonna-Whore intrusive thoughts burst through? How do you find long-term interest in someone else when there’s this constant voice telling you to “re-conquer” your ex so you can validate your identity as a man?

How do you turn that knowledge into practical change?

Sincerely,
A Neutered Housecat

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