skinny dipping

(the deep end, part 2)

Have you ever been skinny dipping? No…don’t answer that. Well, unless you just want to.

A few months ago, I found myself in a situation where I thought I’d been invited to a skinny dipping party. When I arrived at the location, I was the first one to show up. The gate was unlocked, and the water looked inviting. Feeling fairly confident, I went ahead, undressed, and got in the pool.

Not long after, the owner of the pool showed up – fully dressed in his business casual attire. He immediately started yelling at me. What the hell are you doing in my pool!? Who invited you!? Nobody ever said anything about a party, and certainly not a skinny dipping party!! Get out! Get out!!

I was so confused and not a little humiliated! So, of course, after I regained my composure, I got out, grabbed my clothes, and ran!

Later, when I was processing what happened from the safety of my couch, I felt pretty confident that it was, in fact, the owner himself who invited me! I mean, that’s sure the way I remembered it! My wife was there, too, when he gave the invite. I checked with her. Yup. He did invite me! It was clearly an invite. And there were a lot of other people there at the time too!

This all took place several months ago. I decided the best thing I could do was to just move on. Clearly, there was some sort of really poor miscommunication. Better to not dwell on it. I tried to just forget it.

Just last week, I learned that the owner of that pool decided he needed to warn others about me. He took it upon himself to tell someone I interact with frequently that I was unsafe. He said it was for the other person’s best interest – and also others’ best interest as well. People should approach me with caution – in case I decide to go jumping in other people’s pools all willy-nilly in my birthday suit with no invitation.

All of this really happened. I just left out one word. It’s an important word.

Emotional.

In a large group setting, someone of prominence and power – a leader of leaders – invited the entire group to go emotional skinny dipping with him. This guy gave a presentation and asked for feedback. Everyone is welcome, he said. I look forward to receiving your honest responses, he said. I believed him, and gave what I thought he was asking for.

My dad was not terribly approachable during my formative years. I couldn’t just ask him “how would you suggest I handle this situation?” Especially when it had to do with relational issues. He didn’t have the tools for handling relationships in a healthy manner. So he simply could not impart what he didn’t have. He was not safe.

As a result, I didn’t learn how distinguish safe people from unsafe people. Based on the abuse and emotional abandonment I endured, one might think I would become extremely frightened by intimacy and connection. As I wrote on my previous blog, the deep end,

“I’m passionate about connecting with people in authenticity. Shared experience. Vulnerability and transparency. Real life. Not the highlight reel stuff seen on the socials. The deep end.”

I’ve done this my whole life. I tend to trust quickly. Sometimes, too quickly, or based on my perception alone. A lot of my recovery journey has focused on learning to be vulnerable and transparent – within healthy boundaries. I felt pretty certain, this time. This guy had all the appearance and credentials to be credible, to be believable. Trustworthy. Safe.

He. Was. Not.

The irony is that he is now throwing shade at me, saying I’m the one who is unsafe. And, I guess in some ways, what this experience is teaching me is that I’m not always safe – to myself. This intimacy disorder doesn’t just affect how I relate to women, it also messes up how I experience connection and community with other men. It’s still the deep end effect, and I’m still learning to swim.

Yesterday, after learning what was happening, I reached out to a couple of guys from my recovery group. I shared what happened, and asked for their brutal feedback. They helped me understand where I went wrong, and also helped me to feel seen, soothed, safe, and secure. I know it would’ve been better to reach out to them first – months ago – before I made the mistake of trusting this guy just based on his perceived qualifications and abilities.

So, as a 50-something year old trauma and abuse survivor, I’m not only learning to swim, but I’m also learning it’s pretty important to keep my shorts on! However, I also know how important it is to extend a lot of grace and compassion to myself, and ask for help when I find myself over my head or notice my shorts are slipping!