I’m kinesthetically orientated. I’ve always known that my whole world emanated from touch and feel. When I was little I was picked on for being “sensitive”. I still am—not picked on; just sensitive. I cried, I grew a thicker skin, hiding who I was on the inside and letting the world see who I became on the outside. Pat says that I’m inside out; that I should be showing far more vulnerability outside and to be harder inside; I’m only learned to crawl where that is concerned—I’m far away from walking that walk.
Being an alpha female—meaning that my view of the world is half masculine energy and half feminine energy and having the kinesthetic orientation is one of the only ways that I know it is easier for me to groom my feminine side and to vanquish my masculine as much as possible.
I’ve spent a lot of time over the last several years hanging out on mixed martial arts websites. I think it’s time that I let that go from my life; maybe for right now; maybe forever.
For those of you that are fans, you’ll know that the UFC bought out Strikeforce—which was a forum for women fighters to have bouts. The UFC doesn’t have women fighters and it has been said that they won’t.
I was recently asked how I felt about women fighters since they were losing a professional platform to engage in their sport. I told them that I’ve tried to watch women fighting—it’s weird to me and I don’t enjoy it all.
What I love about male fighters is the completely masculine aspect of it—that I can watch two warriors; gladiators, filled with a testosterone raged battle like great rams bucking and charging for supremacy; all to bear witness in battle for the right to mate with a female. It’s bloody and raw and muscular and sweaty; it is nature’s ultimate male challenge; watching it, for me as always been a sneaky prurience into the dominant male’s nature driven psyche.
What I’ve come to realize this week is that hanging out on that particular site has made me more masculine than I want to be. There’s a whole lot of keyboard jockey pompousness that brings out the tough girl in me and I don’t want to be that woman. Having my masculine energy to the fore means that my feminine energy is pushed to the back burner and I prefer being a more than woman; being a lady. While I’m there, I want to tell a whole lot of lesser men to go eff themselves. Yes, I’ll admit it, sometimes I’m a better man then the men that hang out there…and then the neurolinguistic orientation of who I am at my core, comes back to remind me that I’m a girl and being there isn’t making me happy.
I was reading something that a girlfriend had written a few years ago because she’s in a married relationship with a man who isn’t the touchy-feely type; although she’s elatedly happy that he does hold her hand and that’s the best she gets from him. She says that they have a different “love language”… I disagree. I think it’s a matter of non-matching neurolinguistic orientation.
Neurolinguistic orientation predicates that one of your senses is the primary one that you experience the world by. Most people are visual, auditory or kinesthetically orientated. Very few are taste or smell—although it does happen. It’s easy to tell who you’re talking to, if you pay attention—it will become apparent in a person’s verbiage. Kinesthetically orientated will say frequently “this is how I feel” or “smooth as silk”--touch; auditory people will say “that’s as clear as a bell” or “hear me out”; visually orientated will say “I see your point” or “picture this”. It’s easy- peasy- lemon- squeezy to find if you know what you’re looking for. (And yes, there are some people that are “neutral”, but it’s rare; they will say things like “I understand”.) Of course, everyone has their secondary and tertiary orientation—but a person’s basic orientation is the easiest to pick up on—after that it’s patterns.
I believe that when you meet someone and you have an instant connection, this is one of the reasons why—you speak each other’s language. When I think about how easy it is to be with others that are kinesthetically orientated, it seems to make the most sense to look for that in a man. But scratching the surface, I think the last thing that I want is a man who femininely “sensitive” and I don’t know if I can find the holy grail of a man who is both feeling orientated and masculine enough to tame me.
Therein lies the dilemma; either to find a man who doesn’t speak my orientation and suffer through the language barrier “happily enough” or to live unnerved by a man who understands “too well”.
My girlfriend who didn’t marry a kinesthetically oriented man has to consistently remind herself that no, he doesn’t touch her the way that she would want to be touch—having her hair stroked or being reached for, but he changes the oil in her car and makes sure that the tire pressure and gas levels are full. He doesn’t view her body as an asset to him in that he needs to her touch but he houses and clothes her. He doesn’t choose to dance with her to quell the desire of holding her close to him, but he takes her on cruises several times per year.
At her soul and spirit, she’s miserable. I would be too. Pat asked her to decide if it was more important to her that she be loved or touched. She has no doubt that she is loved. Pat said that a woman will die of not being liked, of not being loved, but she won’t from not being touched. Pat asked her if she was willing to give up her lifestyle and her marriage in order to meet a man who was willing to touch her.
This is sort of stunning to my sensibilities. In my life, I’ve had many opportunities to marry rich—but who those men were, weren’t enough. I believed the fairy tale that I really could have it all; a husband who I couldn’t wait to make love to, children whom I adored, a career that I enjoyed so much that I would have done for free every day for the rest of my life. I waited and ended up with none of it.
When the neurosurgeon wanted to marry me, my mother sat me down and it was only time in my adult life that she had this conversation with me. She said to me “you need to decide how you want to live”. She knew I loved Puerto Rico (my top spot for the most handsome men in the world!) She said to me do you want a home there? Nice clothes, great jewelry? Marry him, because if you wait to be deeply in love, even if you love him now, ten years from now you won’t be in love anymore anyway. She said to me if he’s lousy in bed, go find yourself a lover on the side—he’s working all day; he won’t know what you’re doing”. I said “oh ma” and poo-poo’d her advice off….I remember thinking how stupid she was for having said that to me. Wealthy men were easy to find—as easy a finding a penny on the street. They were everywhere and it took absolutely nothing for me to find them—they found me. I thought that someday I’d find that magic combination. A man who was smart enough, strong enough, sexy enough, wealthy enough, whole enough, good father material enough to welcome me with pride into his world. That I was the prized he was willing to fight for. That he was man enough to have me let go of my control of the world and let him lead the way for our life together, that I could trust him enough to turn my sails into his wind and let him take me on a journey that I wouldn’t have had, had it not been for him. That someday there would be that man that I could walk away from who I was as “me” to begin a new life as “us”.
I don’t know if I could do what my girlfriend did. She sold her house in Washington, moved down South and made a life with a man that wasn’t perfect, but good enough. She struggles with the reality of what she lost and told me, that given a choice, with all of the pain she feels, the love that she has for her husband makes it all worth it and she would make that choice of him and his lack of touch desire all over again. I don’t know if I could do that. I think it would be agony for me to want all of a man, and only have part of him. But Dr. Pat says to stop wanting; I don’t get to want, I get to “not want” as in I don’t want to spend the rest of my life promising to man that I chose you to be my lover every day for the rest of my life and then not have that. Maybe my girlfriend more evolved than I am. Maybe the fantasy still lives in me and is much more pleasurable than the reality; and yet there is a part of me that’s lonely without sharing the day to day with someone.
I watched the orange county housewives last Sunday. Alexis lives some dream that she’s in a wonderful (second) marriage with a wealthy man, and she claims he treats her well. I watch his actions, he isn’t kind in the least. He humiliated her by making her stand with 10 pieces of luggage in front of a hotel while he took her picture. She said she was embarrassed, he didn’t care. There were five in the family and ten pieces of luggage for three days. Considering that she has twin toddlers and the luggage wasn’t big, I didn’t think it was excessive—he did. They, as a couple went shopping for jewelry; the husband bought himself two watches totaling 27 thousand dollars; she tried on an eight carat diamond. He told her to give the ring back, that the ring would hurt the children. Crappy excuse—he didn’t want to buy her the ring and he didn’t. She didn’t end up with anything but she was pissed off and said that “she worked hard for her diamonds, she deserved that ring”—but she didn’t say it to him. Bingo.
She’s lying to herself. She tolerates all of his crap for money. She chooses lifestyle over happiness—or maybe it was that money can bring you a level of happiness that you are willing to sell your soul for. Humiliation traded for eight carats of diamonds and a wealthy life in Orange county California. Maybe I have a happy enough life that I wouldn’t put up with that crap. Maybe I’ve yet to really understand on a gut level that no one gets it all and that is what Pat’s teaching. Maybe they just chose one kind of unhappiness and I chose another. I’m not sure that I have the answer. Maybe the real question is am I willing to trade?
Being an alpha female—meaning that my view of the world is half masculine energy and half feminine energy and having the kinesthetic orientation is one of the only ways that I know it is easier for me to groom my feminine side and to vanquish my masculine as much as possible.
I’ve spent a lot of time over the last several years hanging out on mixed martial arts websites. I think it’s time that I let that go from my life; maybe for right now; maybe forever.
For those of you that are fans, you’ll know that the UFC bought out Strikeforce—which was a forum for women fighters to have bouts. The UFC doesn’t have women fighters and it has been said that they won’t.
I was recently asked how I felt about women fighters since they were losing a professional platform to engage in their sport. I told them that I’ve tried to watch women fighting—it’s weird to me and I don’t enjoy it all.
What I love about male fighters is the completely masculine aspect of it—that I can watch two warriors; gladiators, filled with a testosterone raged battle like great rams bucking and charging for supremacy; all to bear witness in battle for the right to mate with a female. It’s bloody and raw and muscular and sweaty; it is nature’s ultimate male challenge; watching it, for me as always been a sneaky prurience into the dominant male’s nature driven psyche.
What I’ve come to realize this week is that hanging out on that particular site has made me more masculine than I want to be. There’s a whole lot of keyboard jockey pompousness that brings out the tough girl in me and I don’t want to be that woman. Having my masculine energy to the fore means that my feminine energy is pushed to the back burner and I prefer being a more than woman; being a lady. While I’m there, I want to tell a whole lot of lesser men to go eff themselves. Yes, I’ll admit it, sometimes I’m a better man then the men that hang out there…and then the neurolinguistic orientation of who I am at my core, comes back to remind me that I’m a girl and being there isn’t making me happy.
I was reading something that a girlfriend had written a few years ago because she’s in a married relationship with a man who isn’t the touchy-feely type; although she’s elatedly happy that he does hold her hand and that’s the best she gets from him. She says that they have a different “love language”… I disagree. I think it’s a matter of non-matching neurolinguistic orientation.
Neurolinguistic orientation predicates that one of your senses is the primary one that you experience the world by. Most people are visual, auditory or kinesthetically orientated. Very few are taste or smell—although it does happen. It’s easy to tell who you’re talking to, if you pay attention—it will become apparent in a person’s verbiage. Kinesthetically orientated will say frequently “this is how I feel” or “smooth as silk”--touch; auditory people will say “that’s as clear as a bell” or “hear me out”; visually orientated will say “I see your point” or “picture this”. It’s easy- peasy- lemon- squeezy to find if you know what you’re looking for. (And yes, there are some people that are “neutral”, but it’s rare; they will say things like “I understand”.) Of course, everyone has their secondary and tertiary orientation—but a person’s basic orientation is the easiest to pick up on—after that it’s patterns.
I believe that when you meet someone and you have an instant connection, this is one of the reasons why—you speak each other’s language. When I think about how easy it is to be with others that are kinesthetically orientated, it seems to make the most sense to look for that in a man. But scratching the surface, I think the last thing that I want is a man who femininely “sensitive” and I don’t know if I can find the holy grail of a man who is both feeling orientated and masculine enough to tame me.
Therein lies the dilemma; either to find a man who doesn’t speak my orientation and suffer through the language barrier “happily enough” or to live unnerved by a man who understands “too well”.
My girlfriend who didn’t marry a kinesthetically oriented man has to consistently remind herself that no, he doesn’t touch her the way that she would want to be touch—having her hair stroked or being reached for, but he changes the oil in her car and makes sure that the tire pressure and gas levels are full. He doesn’t view her body as an asset to him in that he needs to her touch but he houses and clothes her. He doesn’t choose to dance with her to quell the desire of holding her close to him, but he takes her on cruises several times per year.
At her soul and spirit, she’s miserable. I would be too. Pat asked her to decide if it was more important to her that she be loved or touched. She has no doubt that she is loved. Pat said that a woman will die of not being liked, of not being loved, but she won’t from not being touched. Pat asked her if she was willing to give up her lifestyle and her marriage in order to meet a man who was willing to touch her.
This is sort of stunning to my sensibilities. In my life, I’ve had many opportunities to marry rich—but who those men were, weren’t enough. I believed the fairy tale that I really could have it all; a husband who I couldn’t wait to make love to, children whom I adored, a career that I enjoyed so much that I would have done for free every day for the rest of my life. I waited and ended up with none of it.
When the neurosurgeon wanted to marry me, my mother sat me down and it was only time in my adult life that she had this conversation with me. She said to me “you need to decide how you want to live”. She knew I loved Puerto Rico (my top spot for the most handsome men in the world!) She said to me do you want a home there? Nice clothes, great jewelry? Marry him, because if you wait to be deeply in love, even if you love him now, ten years from now you won’t be in love anymore anyway. She said to me if he’s lousy in bed, go find yourself a lover on the side—he’s working all day; he won’t know what you’re doing”. I said “oh ma” and poo-poo’d her advice off….I remember thinking how stupid she was for having said that to me. Wealthy men were easy to find—as easy a finding a penny on the street. They were everywhere and it took absolutely nothing for me to find them—they found me. I thought that someday I’d find that magic combination. A man who was smart enough, strong enough, sexy enough, wealthy enough, whole enough, good father material enough to welcome me with pride into his world. That I was the prized he was willing to fight for. That he was man enough to have me let go of my control of the world and let him lead the way for our life together, that I could trust him enough to turn my sails into his wind and let him take me on a journey that I wouldn’t have had, had it not been for him. That someday there would be that man that I could walk away from who I was as “me” to begin a new life as “us”.
I don’t know if I could do what my girlfriend did. She sold her house in Washington, moved down South and made a life with a man that wasn’t perfect, but good enough. She struggles with the reality of what she lost and told me, that given a choice, with all of the pain she feels, the love that she has for her husband makes it all worth it and she would make that choice of him and his lack of touch desire all over again. I don’t know if I could do that. I think it would be agony for me to want all of a man, and only have part of him. But Dr. Pat says to stop wanting; I don’t get to want, I get to “not want” as in I don’t want to spend the rest of my life promising to man that I chose you to be my lover every day for the rest of my life and then not have that. Maybe my girlfriend more evolved than I am. Maybe the fantasy still lives in me and is much more pleasurable than the reality; and yet there is a part of me that’s lonely without sharing the day to day with someone.
I watched the orange county housewives last Sunday. Alexis lives some dream that she’s in a wonderful (second) marriage with a wealthy man, and she claims he treats her well. I watch his actions, he isn’t kind in the least. He humiliated her by making her stand with 10 pieces of luggage in front of a hotel while he took her picture. She said she was embarrassed, he didn’t care. There were five in the family and ten pieces of luggage for three days. Considering that she has twin toddlers and the luggage wasn’t big, I didn’t think it was excessive—he did. They, as a couple went shopping for jewelry; the husband bought himself two watches totaling 27 thousand dollars; she tried on an eight carat diamond. He told her to give the ring back, that the ring would hurt the children. Crappy excuse—he didn’t want to buy her the ring and he didn’t. She didn’t end up with anything but she was pissed off and said that “she worked hard for her diamonds, she deserved that ring”—but she didn’t say it to him. Bingo.
She’s lying to herself. She tolerates all of his crap for money. She chooses lifestyle over happiness—or maybe it was that money can bring you a level of happiness that you are willing to sell your soul for. Humiliation traded for eight carats of diamonds and a wealthy life in Orange county California. Maybe I have a happy enough life that I wouldn’t put up with that crap. Maybe I’ve yet to really understand on a gut level that no one gets it all and that is what Pat’s teaching. Maybe they just chose one kind of unhappiness and I chose another. I’m not sure that I have the answer. Maybe the real question is am I willing to trade?
I have a question...my ex is making contact with his ex girlfriend Lisa-the one I hate and he breiended her on facebook and all I want to do is scream at him and cry and I don't know what to do...not so much jealousy but I still care for him and I hate this bitch and I don't want her screwing up his life again...what do I do?
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