How I Found A Marriage That Was The Opposite Of My Parents’

This originally appeared on Undercover In The Suburbs. Republished here with permission.

I got married for one reason. I found someone I wanted to marry. I didn’t decide I wanted to marry and then find a man. In fact, it just as easily could have been a woman…or no one at all. And yet, here we are. The relationship I am in is nothing of what I pictured when I envisioned marriage—probably because I was envisioning my parents’ marriage (shudder).

My parents’ marriage was not only traditional in terms of gender roles, it was abusive. So for me, demanding to be treated as an equal wasn’t just a preference, it was a way to ensure I wouldn’t be a victim.

For a long time, when I thought about who I wanted to be, the answer was a resounding, “Not my mother!” I utilized many strategies to accomplish this goal including pretending boys didn’t exist, wishing I could take a pill to make myself a lesbian, and repressing any and all sexual or desirous impulses and feelings.

Many expensive years of therapy later, I was ready for an experiment. I had finally started dating, not seriously, just getting my feet wet. Then I met this kind of vile guy. He was arrogant and thought he was a huge stud. We’ll call him Russell. Let me provide some examples to illustrate his ridiculousness.

1) He lived in a filthy apartment with a kitchen where everything was covered in a layer of crust. Pots lay on the stove with rotting month-old food.

2) He had the nerve to tell me my sink was “disgusting” and needed to be cleaned. (He was absolutely right, it was the double standard that got me.)

3) After staying over the night at his place, he failed to offer me any food or drink in the morning, but proceeded to make coffee for himself. When I pointed this out, he sent me across the street to a convenience store.

4) He believed as the man, he should always drive. (Uh, hell no).

5) This is the funniest one: He did not believe in waiting longer than three dates to have sex.

This was the kind of person I had always feared, as though somehow his mere existence would turn me into my mother. And yet I ventured courageously into his web of double standards and sheets that had gone way too long without being washed.

I did this to prove something to myself. Russell wasn’t like some kind of disease that could be caught and turn me into someone else. Dating him taught me that I didn’t have to hide away because my self-respect could be lost just by his presence. I compromised some, and so did he. I let him drive a lot of the time, but you can be damn sure he waited longer than three dates. In fact, I would venture to say he learned something from all that waiting. Most importantly, when it was over, and I always knew it would be (poor guy, I don’t think he realized it was merely an experiment) I was still me.

A few months later I met my husband. On our third date, I told him I never wanted to have a television in my house, that I could never wear a diamond engagement ring, and that I was only interested in raising children if my partner shared the childrearing 50/50. Nothing I said seemed to scare him off. He took me bowling with his sister and some friends. His sister showed me her tattoos. He lost miserably. I had never seen a man so comfortable sucking at something. He had a blast. He let me drive. On our third date I blurted out aggressively, “I’m not going to have sex with you.” He told me I was presumptuous. The rest is history.

Lyla Cicero has a doctorate in clinical psychology, and focuses on relationships, sexual minorities, and sex therapy. Lyla is a feminist, LGBTQIAPK-affirmative, sex-positive blogger at UnderCoverintheSuburbs.com, where she writes about expanding cultural notions of identity, especially those surrounding gender, sexual orientation, motherhood, and sexuality. Follow her on Twitter @UndrCvrNSuburbs.

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