A Return to Intimacy: An Attempt at Least.
I haven’t continued my Intimacy series because, every draft feels unfinished … like we weren’t going anywhere. But I think that’s the point. It is and will always be unfinished. I sent this to my boyfriend because he edits for me, but also out of respect because he’s costarring.
“Heavy. Beautiful. Needs a through line. What's your North Star? It seems like you're navigating swirling waters, both internally and with me. I don't think there has to be an ‘ending'. The vulnerability of sharing is part of the catharsis you seek…”
I didn’t answer immediately. Until I realized: My north star is me.
Draft 11
I’ve been playing with the idea of longevity, surrendering to possibility, less outcome more experience. less defined, more becoming. even while running. Pace > Race. Less plan more perseverance. My run this morning, void of plan, mile five became ten once I surrendered. I stopped pressuring how far or how fast, I just kept going.
Pace > Race is my goal in all things, but I easily forget said goal in my daily routine. I long to be further in love, in business, in knowing, fixating on the finish line, the big company, the book, the wedding. Marriage and babies, a business with impact, land with some animals and plants growing. Planning or dreaming of the long game comes easily, staying present has always been more challenging. The anxious little girl in me never felt safe here, playing, instead planning or overcompensating. I’ve always tried, to be seen — or played small because I was too much energy. Morphing into different versions of me, compromises my integrity by accommodating others instead of honoring, me. All this self work is about learning me, without succumbing to others, staying in my heart and body instead of over thinking.
Cue intimacy: this relationship thing is challenging — I haven’t mentioned much because a few months ago we got stuck, trying to “figure us out” — questioning everything, pressuring the ending. After we moved in, we stopped dating, we stopped playing.
Nine months ago We fell into each other quickly. Sure he chased me momentarily, but I surrendered, a trust fall into me, didn’t worry about defining us, just let energy lead. I didn’t think about the future, I Felt everything, without knowing anything. With him, time passed quickly, I felt safe, held, heard, seen, all new feelings. Until we signed a lease, my mind in future planning: “Well, I’m 35. After five months if we’re not ready to live together, we should probably break up.” Ahh, the imaginary finish line.
Last week, the night before our nine month anniversary, instead of celebrating, we got lost in arguing.
“I just want to confirm you broke up with me before I go away, he said, And if / when you did, when you walked out — I thought I’d be sad, and I wasn’t. I felt a sense of relief. No more nagging.”
Mic Drop. Deep Breath.
He went to Dallas, and I took up space — a 24 hour break from discussing, me, him, us. I ate some chocolate mushrooms in the safety of my own space. Of all the plant medicines, a small dose of mushrooms are the most powerful tool to bring me back into integrity. Trust the fungi, Super Mario wasn’t kidding.
Nor was he. My boyfriend, I mean. He revealed his truth, honestly, shared his aforementioned relief with love and sprinkled with a bit of anger undoubtedly. It’s been a while since we’ve felt steady, more often fighting than flowing, and both assume knowing what the other is thinking. Expectations become the thief of nearly everything. Attachment theory is a thing, we can be anxious or avoidant, operating from past wounding.
He returned from Dallas, and we listened to each other patiently. He shared his thoughts and I expressed my fears, clearly:
Communication: We speak different languages.
Cohabitation: If we weren’t living together, would we have already separated?
Relief: When you thought we broke up you were relieved.
Resilience: We’re both resilient to a fault. I suffer from “last man standing,” meaning I always wait until they leave me. Big victim energy. Are we in a standoff waiting for the other to leave?
He received my honesty. For me, Love is uncharted territory. Most of my former relationships were the result of trauma bonding, choosing those who closely resembled my perpetrators, because the body goes back to what the body remembers. But this isn’t where my story ends, I have a new beginning! I love love. I want love! I’m trying — (minus the nagging). We can’t rush our healing, but we can choose levity. We’re trying.
In the throws of the moments that are saturated with more intensity, He pleads with me,
Can you give me the benefit of the doubt? I love you, I’m not going to hurt you.
I don’t know, I think internally. I want to say, I miss my best friend, it sucks to feel like I have to run away because I’m not sure you see me fully. And I also want to say, I think you love me, but how can you love me if you don’t love you fully? Do we ever love ourselves fully? Isn’t that the goal? Again, overthinking.
He says, I wish you’d take your own advice, find ease through resistance instead of making this so hard.
I agree, It feels hard. Keep trusting, stop thinking. Stay here.
We moved quickly. Five day third date in Mexico, met families, and became one another’s support, more than anything. I explored intimacy as I continued healing, so did he. It would be challenging to date me if you weren’t also willing to learn yourself more intimately. He saddled up for the ride and together we’ve faced some serious shit personally and collectively.
After five months, we moved in quickly— Prior, he spent most time at my apartment. I felt safe in my environment. But when we moved in, my PTSD was triggered, like salt in a gaping wound. I was frozen, without knowing why consciously. One week in, the end of January, I called my healer crying. She offered support and powerful therapy revealing: He moved one day prior to me, and my wires crossed, psyche cluttered, the master bedroom felt unsafe for me, considering all of the times I’ve been raped in strange bedrooms. The victim in me, young Olivia, retreated. Subconsciously, I couldn’t separate my present environment from past wounding. Post therapy, I checked myself back into reality. You’re ok. My body was just stuck in previous conditioning. My boyfriend is safe, our apartment is safe, The past is not my present. Stay here.
Sharing space has been challenging. We have separate wings, I’m used to my own things. When we lived separately, I got excited, anticipating. I’d make things pretty, make me pretty, more control less flow. Living with a man is new for me, it doesn’t offer that opportunity. Dare I say, it’s not in my control, entirely. OLIVIA LET GO. I don’t know how to be fully me around him, so I end up Nagging I point at his messy but alone I’m just as messy, but the perfectionist in me, cleans up after me. And the angry feminist in me resents cleaning up after him, even if he does most of the cleaning! If I raise my voice, it’s ok, but if he does the same, I back away, because I’ve previously allowed masculine energy to overpower me. I didn’t become a fighter for no reason, or a runner, for that matter. Since moving in, I’ve really only had one foot in this relationship, to protect me. You’re safe. Stay here.
There is love here. We’ve leaned on each other and pushed each other away, but when we surrender to the moment, we’re bound tightly. He’s been my rock and me his anchor, and also mirrors reflecting our own insecurities and desires. We’ve never been just lovers, we’re puzzle pieces. But our edges have tattered, worn, but not torn, just fitting a little less perfectly. Leaving us both reevaluating, do we still fit or are we just forcing? Even wondering invokes too much pressure. We’re mirrors, both controlling who gets stuck planning instead of playing, untrusting. Stay here.
On our recent trip to Mexico, we piled on pressure again, assuming that this trip would either be the breakthrough or breakup, the glue sealing us or the scissor to cut to our ending. We reconnected momentarily, vacation energy, sharing space peacefully without criticism of anyones messy. Our last day, he got stuck in work anxiety and I took one for the team, changing my schedule, delaying departing. I’m learning to compromise, even if I was pissed briefly that I had to reschedule my things. We missed our flight the day following. Surrendering, I looked at him in the airport and knew we were safe — together, we had everything. But as soon as we returned to our apartment, the energy changed.
I will always be learning — me, to love me, date me, and stop running when things get challenging. I love challenge, when its me vs. me, but I get tripped up on things externally. He’s learning too. No ones pushed him to dig like I do. He admits we’re both guilty — he gets stuck in the past and we both push ahead to what’s next. This nine month anniversary actually felt like a celebration for me not running. When I slow down, I realize I’m still healing, that my journey into remembering began less than two years ago, September 2020. But I no longer choose victimhood.
This relationship is about taking my power back, not From him but For me. From all that was taken from me. Empowered, saying never again will I feel small or deflated, lose my footing or not say what I mean. I am worthy of love unconditionally. As is he. I will keep working to integrate the shadow parts of me. I will keep loving and holding me, forgiving me, to set myself free… And take responsibility without reacting or self sabotaging. The rest — what’s next — isn’t up to me.
So I am left wondering: Is it ok to just not know? To play — without worrying about the ending,
and honor my feelings (and his) without overthinking? I think so. Or am I just so addicted to pain and mistrust that I can’t accept love — that I prefer chaos and incongruity rather than exploring true intimacy?
Fuck, I hope not.
What would It feel like to surrender? To let go of outcome or plan, past victim and be the warrior that I am? And still feel everything? What if surrendering means just loving unconditionally and trusting that no matter what, I always have me. That Is intimacy.
…
Fast forward two weeks to yesterday, running around the lake, a break from thinking, a return back into my body. I checked in with me, seeking support, or reminding, from my intuition.
“Are you with me?”
We’re here!
Why can’t I get grounded?
No answer. I always shut off my music when I return to my building -- you know, to say hi to the neighbors in the elevators. But yesterday I just let it play. Spotify shuffle, Norah Jones’ Beatles cover, and my answer:
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be.
I’m my north star.
I think I miss us.
There need not be an ending. Just keep trusting … your answers are coming.
Let it be.
Love always,
Olivia