'But will you love me tomorrow?'

Maybe (probably) it was lack of much tangible mother-love in both childhood and later in my life that left me with a residual fear of rejection. I don’t write this to assail my mother; not at this late date, rest her soul, but just as a statement of fact.

So, my fear of rejection and long-time lack of trust was invariably transferred to other females in my life, such as my first two wives, and many females with whom I shared intimate adventures.

I never feared rejection by males because my father, as tyrannical as he could be at times, generally loved me and cared about my well-being. Even when he was being a prick, that was largely because he cared and didn’t want me making boneheaded decisions that would hurt me. Hey, ‘level-of-care’ is ‘level-of-care’ regardless of how it manifested. I always knew that if I were in a jam, the old man would help out. Mother, not so. Jams put her into full-bore, self-indulgent panic mode.

Anyway, my first wife (with all her virtues, and they were many) was probably more similar to my mother than I realized. She didn’t drink, which made her seem different. But, otherwise, she had a similar aloofness and rendered it difficult to get to know her completely. I was never really allowed ‘in’, in the metaphorical sense – the physical one was just dandy, thank-you. After we had decided to separate I once said to her: “You know, I have been with you for many, many years and have absolutely no idea who you are. You’ve never invited me in.” I still don’t really know who she is.

My second wife, beautiful, flamboyant, hyper-sexual (or so I thought in our courting days, since that was the message she gave. I was wrong); mercurial, and sometimes downright scary, gave me a different message. It was a message that indicated ‘I must not trust this woman’ because she makes it all seem so wonderful. Again, a post-separation conversation in which she said: “I always figured you believed I always had one foot out the door in our relationship. In that you would have been right.” That was all I needed to know.

As for other relationships, intimate and non-intimate, there have been a few. I always tried diligently to not fall in love. That would leave me vulnerable. It gave me the right to leave in a non-codependent manner. Didn’t always work. Anyway, I still have an important group of non-sexual female friends and I cherish them all deeply. I am happily and resolutely faithfully married, so my friends are no threat. But, it remains important that they are there. They offer something that Mom was obviously unable to offer. Wendy does likewise. In that I am finally blessed and have moved on.
Wendy also knows me well, and she knows my sensitivity to rejection. Therefore she has often wondered about why I chose a calling that lives and breathes on acceptance/rejection, and that is being a writer (or anybody in any of the related creative arts). And, I find that most writers and artists I know are very similar to me in their rejection angst. Yet, they masochistically do what they do. I do it because I ‘must’, for whatever reason. I have no choice but to write, others of you here who either write or create art strike me as remarkably similar, which is why we have our ties with each other.

I like to tell myself that rejection of a created work doesn’t bother me all that much, provided I think it’s good. But, that’s a lie. Acceptance is just ever so much better. Acceptance is a validation of sorts. Acceptance means that Mom really likes me.

So, currently I have a manuscript off at a couple of publishers and still hope for either acceptance or the will to send it out again (and again, and again etc.) if it is rejected. If I fully believe in what I’ve done, I will do that.

Like I said, masochists.