When Chris was alive, I saw myself through her eyes. When we met, she was 34 and I was 51. We were together for 14 years and the difference in our ages was never an issue between us. I suppose the tacit logic of our relationship was that she would probably one day have to take care of me and that I would die first. In fact, our fates were the opposite of what we had imagined them to be.
Now she has gone, I see my reflection only in mirrors hanging on the wall. I expect to see myself as I was when she and I first met but, when I catch sight of my image, it’s as though I’m meeting someone I haven’t seen for a long time. I do a double-take: is that really me?
The cognitive dissonance between the person I expect to see (the one with whom Chris fell in love) and the face in the mirror, is shocking. I no longer know how the world sees me. Am I becoming invisible or am I still interesting and attractive and, if so, to whom?
I’ve known for a long time, because it’s much talked about, that invisibility is an issue for some women as they age. I hadn’t ever thought about it in relation to men, and certainly not in relation to myself. Arrogance perhaps, or maybe just the natural consequence of being in a mutually loving relationship in which each is seen by the other.
I felt profoundly seen by Chris. She perceived my weaknesses and wounds, but she also saw through them to the best and most expansive part of me. That generous gaze was her great gift as a partner, friend and teacher. Apart from her physical presence, being seen in that way is what I miss most.
So maybe this is what I’m striving to understand by writing this blog: I haven’t disappeared completely – I do good work in the world and have many friends – but in the absence of an intimate, loving gaze, I am learning what it is to be unseen. If I am not beloved, who am I? I look for glimpses of myself in the eyes of others but I’m realising that I have to find new ways to calibrate my sense of self.
Of course, Captain Midnight thinks I’m brilliant.
But that’s his job.
Coming Home to Story 
This really made me think, Geoff. As someone who has recently separated from my husband of 33 years, I am also acclimatising to living alone, but In my case it is also accompanied by a feeling of liberation. To feel unseen inside a relationship is much worse than being physically unseen because it began to affect the way I saw myself. I felt what he saw was not who I was, but who he wanted to see, and I am not sure I ever really saw him clearly. Now that I am alone again, I have also started to see myself as I used to be, and am rediscovering many of the things I liked about myself but that I felt were unacceptable to him. It feels as though for many years I suppressed important parts of myself and I am sure the same was true for him. People say living with someone ‘knocks your corners off’ but I realise I like people with corners. It sounds as if you were very lucky that Chris accepted you as your were, with all your corners, as you did her. As I get older I am inclining more and more to the HIndu view that this is a time of life when one needs to spend more time on gaining self-knowledge – though you seem to have a huge amount of that already. Your clarity about your feelings and your ability to express them so movingly is breathtaking. I feel as if I see you very clearly.
Thank you Umi. There is much wisdom in your words. I didn’t know you had separated after such a long relationship. I wish you very well in 2016. May you express all those unexpressed parts of yourself that have been longing to get out!
Thank you, Geoff and Umi, for both of your writing. I like the thought that this is the time of life for self-knowledge, very much (it takes some of the sting away that says, “Why didn’t I figure this out long before now?!) And Geoff, all you say about how profoundly Chris saw you, and how very much you miss that, goes right to the heart of my relationship with Michael and fear of this someday vanishing. As with all your posts, I feel your heart and soul in this, and such incredible honesty.