Civil unions, Berkeley, and my withering self-esteem

I attempted again last night to reach out for help. I tried to explain to A not only my “problems” but also attempted to direct him how I needed—no, not needed—how he could help me.

This was after a meeting last night that involves a brief check-in at the beginning. At the check-in, we state whether we want to talk about anything in particular that we’re having issues with, and I stated that I’m struggling with my self-esteem and could really use some feedback on that. I left without having been given the chance or opportunity to take up the space I was taking a risk and trying to take up. I left without getting the support I needed. I left without being able to purge myself of the words floating around in my head.

I left unsatisfied. Unfulfilled. I left feeling deeply unhappy. I had presented my vulnerability and it was ignored.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t put off by this. I recognized that I needed to say something. I wasn’t sure what, and I’m still not sure what I needed to say. Maybe I just needed to be heard…

Let me back track a bit, to Monday night. On Monday night, A’s friends, R and J, came over after C went to bed. R had been in California over the summer, and used to work for A. J still does work for A. At some point during the evening, J made the comment that marriages are religious, whereas civil unions are governmental. This was amidst a discussion about the legality of same-sex marriages. I disagreed strongly with J. He was wrong, and I thought, “Hey, I respect you enough to disagree with you; I think you are open to hearing a different opening and learning.”

I was wrong about J. What I took as a simple disagreement, J took as a personal attack.

At work yesterday, J commented to A that he was sorry he really upset me. A, having been in his own world the night before, said it was a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding on MY part.

WHAT?!

When A told me that he had said this to J when I got home last night, it took all my strength to stay calm.

“How could you know that I misunderstood him?” I calmly asked as I began scouring the wall behind the trash can. (Channeling angry energy by cleaning beats hurting yourself.) I then explained *my* interpretation of what had been saying, which was that people in a single sex marriage should just be happy with civil unions.

“Oh my god, he said THAT?” A exclaimed.
“That was what I heard, and how I interpreted it.” I said, and then I backtracked a bit with the hope of being tactful. “Perhaps I did misunderstand what he meant to say.”
“J is cocky and talks a lot about what he doesn’t know.”
”It’s okay, it’s not a big deal.” I said, standing up and examining the wall.
“Well…” A paused, “he is coming from a historical point of view. I mean, 200 years ago—”
“So am I, A. In Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome, marriage was a state-sanctioned rite or transaction, for lack of a better word.” (After all, I thought, women were a commodity and marriage was, to an extent, the acquisition of a woman.)
A nodded, seeming to understand.

Later, he mentioned that J waited until Tuesday at work to express his doubts about the validity of my claim in a completely different conversation Monday night. R had mentioned visiting Berkeley when he was out in California this past summer, and I, being the stupid person that I am, volunteered the information that Berkeley was named after a philosopher by the name of George Berkeley, but that the philosopher’s name was actually pronounced Bark-ley, not Berk-ley as we say now.
I do not claim to know much at all. But apparently, for whatever reason, J must question everything I say. I guess spending more than eight years studying a subject renders me ignorant in that field compared to someone who has never taken a philosophy class in his life. J didn’t even think Berkeley was a real person until R said, “No, dude, there are statues of him all over.” (Right, how did/do most places get their name were it nor for white, European males?)
A said last night that he stood by me in this…whatever…of J. HE told J that when I say something like that, he should check his facts because A has never known me to make a false statement. A also said that I am more than willing to admit when I’m wrong, because I’m so eager to learn. (Funny how this is obvious to him!)

So…I came home last night, feeling vulnerable and even rejected and this was my greeting.
I waited until C was asleep to explain my depression and that I just need A to listen to me sometimes, I don’t want magic words, there are none. I just get down sometimes, and it helps for me to vocalize it.
A’s response this time surprised me, yet again. I was expecting him to brush me off, to dismiss this. But instead, he said, “Well, most geniuses have depression.”
“Okay.” I said, pausing. “But I am in no way a genius, A.”
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped. “Oh my god, Whitney.” He stuttered. “Are you kidding me?! You’re fucking brilliant. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re just like your father—I mean, is there anything he doesn’t know? Come on, your knowledge intimidates me sometimes. I talk out of my ass about things I know nothing about, and you start talking about it so seriously and knowledgably. You’re a genius, okay?”
“Really, I intimidated you?” I asked, because I got hung up on that. I felt bad. I intimidate him? My lover, my partner, my friend? The person I want to marry—I intimidate? I paused. “Gosh, I feel like a pretentious asshole.”
“No, you’re not.” A said. “You just know a lot. There’s nothing pretentious about you. Or asshole-ish. You’re just fucking brilliant, a genius. You should be proud and you should look in the mirror and be like, ‘yeah, I’m the shit.’”
I laughed. That’s never going to happen.

So even though I still don’t think he understands my mind as much as I’d like him to, he’s learning. He’s slowly becoming more receptive.

Although I feel the need for this disclaimer: I am in no way a genius.