While I’ve never had a romantic partnership, I’ve thought a lot about them and what they require to be successful. Since I was 13 or 14 I was thinking about partnership, not just dating… but partnership. The kind where each person’s weaknesses are complementary to the other person’s strengths. A lot of my energy went into dreaming about being in that kind of partnership. Not so much into finding it – instead I always felt as though getting good at dating would be a double edged sword. If you’re good at finding relationships you’ll be more likely to be sifting through, frankly, trash. As such you’d be more than likely willing to move on and find a new relationship as soon as you get scared or overwhelmed or rubbed the wrong way. The sort of situation wherein the better you are at something, the more likely you are to do that thing.
I tried to find relationships, but I wasn’t very good at it – friendships included. I did want to improve at building connections, but crucially I did not want to get good at dating still. Since I wasn’t very good at building new connections, I had to make do with what I had. Since I had some strong friendships that could withstand me exiting and re-entering over the course of years, I made do with those. Then, over the course of many years, I learned how to be vulnerable within those friendships. Ultimately revealing my deepest secrets, my most vulnerable parts.
Sometime ago, in my late 20s or early 30s, my posture towards romantic relationships shifted. By this point, while I still wanted a partner, I had gone so long without anyone choosing me in that way that I had to learn to cope with the idea I might never find someone. I learned how to accept the idea, and live with it, that I might die alone. To do that, your identity has to become so independent that something inside you shifts. Fear of being alone morphs into fear of losing your core identity, of being changed into something you can no longer recognize.. fear of being trapped. The idea of needing someone to complete you becomes a fear of them needing you to complete them.
As I learned to embody that posture my dating attempts became both easier and harder. Easier to find willing dates, harder to find something worth the energy. I was no longer just looking for someone with similar interests and values, in fact I don’t care too much if we share interests. What I care about instead, is posture. Do they act as if they need me, or a relationship? I’ve come to be attracted to people with strong boundaries and deep independence.
In short, I’m attracted to people who don’t need me. People who show signs of intelligence as well as low effort to force things. In other words, I’ve built high walls to prevent people from entering my life. Similar to my closest friendships where everyone is fine with not talking for a year or two if that’s how things go. While that is the posture I’m attracted to, it isn’t quite the posture I maintain in relation to them after realizing I have an attraction to them. After all, this is about finding a partner.
When I first meet a new person I am hyper aware of signals that match those of my best friends. I look for particular signals, their presence in particular. Are they detached? Are they clingy? Do they have a nervous energy or show signs of being anxious? Often with new people in my life I pick up these signals and calibrate myself according to them. With detached people, I’ve found, I can often be extremely vulnerable and build connection rapidly. With people who need me, my skills or knowledge, I know to be less open and simply focus on their need(s) instead without letting them into my world too deeply too quickly. As with nervous energy types, I usually can’t connect with them beyond the surface. They usually are too nervous or anxious to be vulnerable enough to expose their needs openly, and so there isn’t much I can connect with them over except superficial things.
It’s a funny thing because I often don’t want anything from any of these people except their presence and their acceptance of me for who I am. The more I receive that, the more I offer to them as if to earn what I receive from them. I try to find ways to offer advice, provide my skills and knowledge for free, but most of all I offer my care for them as a human being.
Recently I’ve met someone who reflects that back to me, as a strong boundary. They claim to literally want and expect nothing from me. When I try to force myself into being helpful they shut it down because it didn’t show up naturally. More than anything else though, the intensity of my vulnerability forces them to create distance. I’m used to utilizing my vulnerability as a shortcut to deepening bonds. More than that, I think, I’ve grown accustomed to processing my emotions out loud inside of a relationship (friendship). I learned that not talking about my emotions causes pressure to build up slowly until it explodes out somewhere in my life as depression or some kind of event. I’ve learned not talking, or in some way expressing something, causes me to ruminate on it. I mean that’s part of why I’m writing this blog post actually, though I will ruminate long enough for the thoughts to fully form.
So this person I’ve met, they have the exact signals I look for. When I began to realize this I started to care, to become truly curious about them. Unfortunately for me, whether most secure or not, they seem to have a somewhat avoidant attachment style. So I reveal vulnerability, they retract. I ask a question to resolve ambiguity, they withdraw. None of my methods of bonding deeply are allowed into the connection.. I’m left with the almost boring intimacy of presence alone, of showing up, sharing time and space, and letting connection exist without trying to make it prove itself.. without trying to prove myself to her.
Perhaps the tragic part of this is, she came in looking for friendship, and I came in thinking no problem she seems kind of boring anyways. The Universe: Surprise mutha fuckas!
For now I’m resigned to not expecting too much from someone not ready for a real connection and respecting boundaries. It kind of sucks though cause vulnerability is like the oxygen I breathe, and distance and space seems to be that for her.
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