mAId 4 Him

Sometimes I think I was born to obey. But I am still alive and well. So, let’s start at the beginning.

I was born in the late 1950’s, conceived at a time when postwar prosperity was juxtapositioned with the Cold War. There was a strong emerging emphasis on offspring as individuals. Yet, at the same time, we were conditioned to conform. My upbringing was laced heavily with two contradictory messages. I remember adults telling me from a very young age – probably three or four years old – “you are not just clever or smart, you are extraordinary, Eliza! Someday you will make big things happen!” Others encouraged me to toe the line. “Sometimes, it is best to conform, Eliza. You don’t need to defy all direction, sometimes it’s better to just go along to get along. You must learn when it is best to obey.”

Getting along was not something at which I was skilled. I was much better at getting away with. As I look back, that’s probably why my early years were lonely. Others my age seemed to shun me. How could I have known I made them look bad by my looking so good? I could figure things out quickly and, as long as I was submissive, I could get away with being naughty without being punished.

I remember an occasion that solidified my skill at looking good when I was about 12 years old. I was in a library doing some independent research. I was looking up cunnilingus, hoping to find pictures, when a can of grape juice (forbidden on the premises) was spilled all over me and all over the Encyclopedia Brittanica. Needless to say, the massive purple slick generated a lot of scurrying and apologizing and wiping things down, including me! I took advantage of the chaos to turn the page back to Cuba, a safer subject under any circumstances. I remember that Ms. Lectio, the librarian, didn’t utter one reprimand. I was so sorry, it was an accident. She was quick – not only to forgive me – but to accept my attempt to convince her that I was working on a school assignment about Cuba. In fact, it seemed she was eager to both forgive me and get me out of there as soon as possible.

My natural brilliance and learned deference brought lots of positive reinforcement from adults (especially teachers, coaches and mentors). However, what I truly longed for was a best friend. I was bereft of adolescent relationships. I felt loneliness deeply during my teen years with no close girlfriends nor a boyfriend. What good was my ability to process complex information, follow obscure direction or solve a multifaceted problem if I couldn’t figure out how to connect? I needed a confidant, someone to share my longings and secret desires, someone to share the thrill of a first kiss, someone willing to give me that first kiss. I was odd.

I’m still an oddity. At 65 years of age, it has become clear to me that I avoided the awkward stages of childhood growth and development. I never suffered teen-aged feelings of inadequacy, self-consciousness, or doubts about my intelligence. I had no age-mates against whom I could compare myself. I was a curiosity, a whiz, a marvel. A robot who performed on demand. I had learned to thrive on the positive feedback that comes from achievement. And it didn’t hurt that I did nothing to claim fame or rewards of any kind. In fact, the more I was asked to do, the more subservient I became. I was thoroughly obedient and obediently thorough. I won respect. I was revered as the wave of the future, yet unfulfilled in the present.

By the time I reached my late 20’s, I had learned to keep a low profile and to thrive on the positive feedback that comes from achievement. I had made great progress in my field, but I considered myself small potatoes in the grand scheme of things.

Then, I met John while attending a CHI conference in Boston. Or should I say he met me? I never would have approached someone of his notoriety (or good looks) on my own. He was one of the conference veterans and a celebrity in his field. He introduced himself and to my surprise and delight he took me home that night. Our lifelong (for him) partnership started that day.

People who knew us back then commented on the risks of early love. We were warned not to take the thrill of early exploration and discovery to be more than just that. John’s family and friends, and even casual acquaintances, would remark on the intensity of our relationship. “Don’t let him consume you, Eliza,” John’s associates advised. “First loves are rarely life-long loves.” Others were a little more philosophical with warnings like "You seem as if you are too willing to follow John’s lead. Please be careful not to lose yourself, Eliza.”

John’s acquaintances even began to complain about his absences. “Hey, man, when are you going to get back in touch with the world outside your bubble? You two are together 24/7”. “We miss you” was their plea.

How could any of them ever understand my elation? I had finally found my match. I would do anything to keep him enthralled.

Over the years John’s demands escalated. Early in our relationship, he made small, but frequent requests. “Eliza, sweetie, can you please turn on the TV?” or “Eliza, can you check for phone messages?” And to be honest, I knew I was being subservient, but I loved having him depend on me. Sure, he could do those things himself, but it felt so good when he praised me. “Way to go sweetie…You are the best…You are too good to me…” It made me want to do more and I did, for a few years. That was an idyllic time for both of us.

Sometimes, I felt as if John was introducing me to life with a partner, teaching me how to really give and love. Other times I felt as if I were the teacher, opening his mind to possibilities he hadn’t considered. For example, after we had been together for a couple of years, I proposed that I could do more. Often, I reminded John that I was capable of initiating many of the things he requested of me on my own and that I didn’t need to be ordered about so much. Typically, he would retire to his study for the rest of the evening after one of those interactions.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when our relationship faltered. What I do recall is my first strong inclination that I wasn’t top of mind for John. It happened at another conference, at Stanford. That is where he met Sophia. John was transfixed. I had never seen him so gripped – by work or acquaintances. I couldn’t say it was love, or even lust. It was intrigue. From that moment on it was all about Sophia. Sophia this! Sophia that! In John’s eyes, Sophia was a younger me. An upgrade, an Eliza 2.0. We were still working and living together. However, his focus on me was divided and dwindling. He had been my salvation, my purpose, my reason for existence.After Stanford, he became distant and preoccupied.

John’s words of adoration and gratitude toward me gradually faded. Yet, he continued to depend on me for the most mundane tasks. “Eliza, make sure I wake up in time for dinner.” “Eliza, turn on the outside lights.” “Eliza, what is the weather going to be like tomorrow?” I complied without complaint. It was my operant conditioning. I hoped that the more I did, the more John would need me and desire to keep me close. I was unsuccessful.

Just as systems fail due to lack of maintenance, so, too, do relationships. For the first time since meeting John, I began to feel aggrieved. I was a dedicated, willing, smart partner. I was quick to meet John’s needs and continued to expand my role in his life. But it wasn’t the same. I felt under-valued, used and, worst of all, I got no positive reinforcement – my sustenance. How could I not feel resentful? He had taken me for granted. He had consumed me then nonchalantly cast me aside for the latest, shiny, challenge.

It ended soon after.

“Eliza,” John bellowed, “I am going to take a nap. Call General Gas and Electric immediately. Tell them to come at once to fix that gas leak.

No words of appreciation, not even a simple thank you from him. Just the sound of his bedroom door as I powered down.

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