Last week in a bout of momentary sadness and frustration, I called my mom and told her that no matter how hard I tried I wasn’t able to write anything. She asked me, “why don’t you write about him?”
It occurred to me as she said this that I had been sitting on quite a large amount of inspiration, on the part of this boy who recently came into my life. A boy who is different from any boy I’ve ever met. The reason that I haven’t already written a post about him is the same reason that there are next to no posts about people I have feelings for on my blog- the risk that doing so might scare them away.
See, I’ve recognized in the past couple years of dating that people come into your life for all sorts of durations of time and leave you with different degrees of impact. I blog about the non-reoccurring interactions (bad hookups, belated recounts of ex-boyfriends) because they pose no risk, and I stash the more romantic excerpts away in journals, telling myself that I’ll eventually compile them into a book. I figure that enough time will have passed by then that I can comfortably bare my feelings on paper. It’s my fear of losing people now that continues to stop me from publishing present romantic content on the blog.
That was, until I met this boy. (My current boyfriend) has made me realize how much of myself I’ve been holding back in romantic contexts, including in my writing. By storing romantic pieces away for later, I haven’t been “saving” them, i’ve been hiding them; catering to the insecurity that my thoughts are “too much” for other people. Too much for him. Each time a relationship hasn’t worked out for me in the past, I blamed myself for being too emotional, too attached or sharing too much. Next time, I told myself, I would be less of those things so I wouldn’t scare the other person off. Less emotional, less attached, less open.
Less hopelessly romantic.
I thought that I was learning how to be in a relationship. It didn’t occur to me that I was simultaneously learning how to filter myself.
I grew accustomed to holding back parts of my personality to the point where I forgot what truly being myself felt like. The reason that I’m able to acknowledge that fact now is because I’ve met someone whose helped me to re-learn that feeling.
Before I met this boy, I thought that I was an anomaly of romantic thought; that no one else in the world was capable of feeling the way I do about love. I found out that I was wrong when this boy said something about relationships that I have never heard another person say. I won’t tell you what it was, only that it echoed word for word a thought that I’ve had countless times. To have someone, anyone, tell you that they understand a thought you’ve expressed to them, is relieving. To have a romantic partner do it is an intimacy that I didn’t know was possible. And I keep finding intimacy with him in places I didn’t know it could exist. In laughter, and conversation.
In a short period of time, this boy has shown me a lot in our relationship that I didn’t know was possible. I could say that he’s broken all my rules but what he’s really taught me is that there were never any rules to begin with. With him, I’ve discovered what it feels like to be understood romantically and creatively, to be supported unconditionally and to share myself so authentically with another person that there isn’t anything I could naturally say that would change his perception of me. He’s taught me what it’s like to have a friendship inside of love.
To this boy, what can I say other than thank you. Thank you for helping me remove the filters.
I’ll write you into a book one day.