On the Threshold of Intimacy
I’m really good at being open- to a certain extent. I can give honest answers to what’s going on in my life and share my personal experiences online without breaking a sweat. I can share intimate moments with strangers and I can love people freely. But when things get real (and real being someone who wants to love me, or someone I want to love), I clam up. Apparently being open isn’t a direct correlation to openness with vulnerability.
When a relationship gets too intimate my brain starts making me feel things- and not the pleasant, hormone-induced kind. It’s more like a barricade is placed around my heart with walls so thick very little love is able to be given and even less is received.
The level of discomfort is heightened and I begin to pull away from my prospective partner. I start to listen to the uneasy feeling in my chest. I can’t feel the love anymore and what’s left is uncertainty. Uncertainty if I should really let this person in. If whatever this relationship is, or could be, is really ‘right’. This manifests as a feeling that there’s something wrong with them because they’re causing me discomfort. It can’t be a ‘right’ relationship if I’m uncomfortable.
The funny thing is they haven’t changed. They’re the same person they were- kind, supportive, loving- before we realized there might be something ‘more’. Something with longer potential. Something that has the possibility to hurt me at the end.
Once we cross the imaginary line of my comfort level I’m the one who’s changing. Who’s putting up barriers, sabotaging my relationships, and letting fear dominate my decisions.
I’ve fallen in love twice, each time I’ve been abroad. I’ve been in beautifully exotic places that were new and exciting. The locations were the perfect distractions to keep the fear of vulnerability at bay.
They were also relationships that seemingly had a set end date. I could push through the discomfort because I knew it was going to end. I had my out. I could enjoy the good, ignore the discomfort because I knew how long it might last.
Apparently, these two things are the perfect blend for me to fall in love. And sometimes if I push through the murk, I can happily settle into it. The first relationship lasted 2.5 years after our expiration date. The second relationship ended just on time, even though I didn’t want it to.
Knowing that I have an out is one of the most reassuring things I’ve had in life. Feeling stuck, or trapped, or people having expectations of me makes me recoil.
I don’t want my ability to fall in love to have to be dependent on hyper-romantic situations with constant reassurance and distractions. It’s not healthy- it keeps me on the threshold of intimacy.
