My Year of Blogging Boldly, Part Three: My Needs

I decided to be bold and name it. I told the Dude that I was “all in” if it were to sit on a couch, watch TV and cuddle. But knowing such situations as I know such situations and knowing myself as I know myself, it would probably lead to sex. He asked what would be wrong with that? (When he did, he had a sweet tone of sincerity that I appreciated and admired.) I replied there was nothing in principle. Honestly, there was a part of myself that would have liked nothing more than to have sex with him. But in my case, it would be too much, too quickly. I countered with the possibility that if we wanted to shift gears and go down the casual road, then let’s do it. But we had both been moving past that in our lives and hoped for something more. His response was that if we had sex, it wouldn’t be casual. Still, the prospect felt overwhelming to my emotional circuitry. I was proud of myself for knowing what I wanted, and what I needed to make that happen.

I cannot overstate how huge this was for me. I was quite taken with him: at moments giddy, enchanted, twitterpated. A side of me wanted to dive into the rapture of the moment. I pride myself on being a spontaneous romantic. But I knew enough about myself and my history, that without some of the structuring of a relationship and some time getting to know each other in person, there were likely two outcomes from my end. And neither one was good. Either I would feel raw and become suffocatingly needy. Or I would bolt in about a month’s time leaving scorched earth in my wake. There was enough of a wise adult operating that knew—even though the child inside of me didn’t like it—that I was saving her from unnecessary and likely damaging hardship and heartache. She was just going to have to trust me on this one.

I like to use a bank account analogy when I think about such situations. When I am in a relationship where there is serious comingling of money, I like to have a personal bank account from which I contribute to a joint account versus the two of us putting all our money in a joint account and taking out personal money as we each need it. It is about boundaries. I needed to first establish boundaries before I would have the trust to allow them permeable. (Or maybe this is just another way of saying I have to put my own oxygen mask on first before I put another’s on.)

The fact is: I knew I wasn’t ready. I didn’t like that I wasn’t ready. I wished I were ready. I hated myself for not being ready. But I knew I wasn’t ready. Having sex with him, while I am sure would have been absolutely and positively great that night, would have been more about keeping him and keeping the possibility of a relationship going. Not because it was fully right for me. I would have felt resentment.

We talked as we walked out to our cars (which happened coincidentally to be parked beside each other). We hugged. As we did, he said he didn’t know if he should kiss me. I replied that he shouldn’t. Ughhhhh! But as I said so, I took his hand. I wanted some way of showing him that I felt earnestness and affection toward him.

The thing is: I desired him. If we had kissed, it would have made the fact that weren’t having sex harder. I would have likely felt weaker in my resolve. Plus, I was feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable with having asserted my boundaries. Everything was a stimulus overload at that point and I needed to get home, to regroup, gather myself. The last thing I said before we parted, I told him I really looked forward to seeing him again.

It is a cruel ambiguity. Yes, I yearned to sleep with him: both because I was deeply attracted to him and because I wanted to keep him, make him happy. But no, I no longer want to live where I sell what I want short. I want to learn how to give of myself without losing myself at the same time.

After that evening, he slowly started to pull away from me. I was crestfallen. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I had been falling in love with him. It is hard for me to use those words. In the big picture though, I was proud of myself for finding the courage to hope again. I was letting my heart out into the warmth of the sunshine after a seemingly endless stint in solitary confinement. And I knew there would be many more such chances in my life. But in that moment, it was hardly consolation.

I did send him one last note teasingly asking him if I’d properly conveyed to him how much I liked him. To which he responded yes, apologizing that his life was so busy. But I already knew before sending it that there was nothing I could do but “watch” him walk away. Watch him while I stood tall on the sacred ground of myself and my enoughness.

I watched him walk until I couldn’t see him anymore.