I’ve spent a lot of my life believing that people are busy and I’m lucky if I get their attention because other things are more important than me. I grew up as an only child, latchkey kid (came home to an empty house and my parents got in late.) Now I live in New York City, where the rhythm of life often means I don’t see dear friends for months. So this story started to really feel true. I believed it’s safer not to need other people emotionally because they aren’t emotionally available.
The incredible men in my life have started to crack open this story. They have been vulnerable enough to need me. They have pointed out when my “independent feminist persona” comes out as a guard to shield my heart and push them away. And it often gets expressed as “I’m busy.”
Cracking this open has been uncomfortable. It feels awkward when I don’t know how to receive what I’ve asked for. Why do my eyes dart to the ground, my breath stop? Why do I back off my requests or suddenly leave the room because staying feels too vulnerable? And when I come back in the room, and he’s there looking into my eyes… how do I release my pride… because being right is so much less fun than being loved. I wish I could write the answer. All I know is that when I breathe and I remember he loves me, the discomfort feels less relevant.
The things I remember are not necessarily the orgasms. They are the ways my beloved sees me. He sees where I stop myself from receiving love and he gets angry at me. It’s the most loving anger… because he’s actually on my side, he’s speaking for my heart. He’s trying to get my fear to back off so I can receive his love. The things I remember are not necessarily the orgasms, no, I remember where he listens from when he asks me how I’m feeling before and after the orgasm.