Letter to My Future Partner: Running - #3

Photo by Allison Melnik Photography

I think I’ve been running from you my whole life. As much as I say I want us to find each other and be together, my feet have been moving in the other direction turn after turn.

It’s like right when I get an inkling that I’m getting closer to you, my body pivots and turns away. And as I think back, I can see all these lies I’ve told myself to justify and fuel my running away. 

“I don't need anyone.”

When I was a teenager, I never had those dreams and fantasies of having a life with someone I loved. I come from a divorced family, and no one in my extended family had what even closely resembled a successful relationship, so it wasn’t really something I wanted at all. 

Intimacy? Let people get to know me? Never heard of it, no thanks. I was fine with just me, my drugs, some booze, and my journal. I was angry, and my refrain was, “Leave me (the fuck) alone.”

I didn’t really have any close relationships in my life, even friends. I didn’t even want a pet. I didn’t want anyone to be responsible for, and I didn’t want to let anyone close if they could one day die and break my heart. I was convinced that I didn’t need or want anyone. I was in so much pain, I couldn’t see any way out. 

That’s until I got clean and started healing from some of that frozen pain. Only then did I start  opening up to the idea of having a close relationship with someone, but I had strict parameters about who it would not be. 

“Fine. But definitely not a woman.”

Soon, the running sounded like, “Fine, maybe I could be open to having a partner. BUT HELL NO IS IT A WOMAN. THERE IS NO WAY I COULD BE GAY. AND THERE IS NO WAY MY PERSON IS A WOMAN.” (Really convincing, right?)

For the longest time, I even refused to accept that I could even be attracted to–nevermind be in love and want to build a life with–a woman. I ran in the other direction fast and hard. There was no way I could be gay. 

When I realized that you might be a woman, I thought, “HELL NO. Not me. Those people are going to hell, and that can’t be me.”

Then I realized that you were most definitely a woman. Being open and accepting about my own sexuality has been a great gift. It took me a while to undo some of that religious programming and internalized homophobia, but then I finally got okay with the idea that yea, my person is definitively a woman. I don't run from that any more. But I still ran in other ways.

“Fine. But definitely not a nice woman.”

And then the story goes, “Fine, I can love women. I’m gay after all.” But then I found myself only accepting “love” from women who weren’t really what I would call kind people. I’d been with partners who were narcissistic, emotionally abusive, and just plain not nice. 

They were not you. They were women I had to constantly be proving myself to. I got really good at it, though. And really good at convincing myself I wasn’t wearing myself out in the process. 

Until eventually, I realized that I was the one with the bad picker. And I realized I probably deserved someone who was kind to me. 

“Fine. But definitely not an emotionally available woman.”

It took me a little while to recover from all that. But then I decided, “Fine, I’m not gonna run anymore. I deserve a nice person.” So I stopped dating narcissists and mean people. 

I dated nice people. 

But though they may have been nice, they weren’t emotionally available for me. Either they weren’t accepting of themselves on some level, not accepting of their own sexuality, or they were not in a position where they knew what they wanted or were willing to commit.

Yep. I was still running. I’m looking pretty busy, but really, I was running.

“Someone healthy, kind, who wants me? Nope–something is wrong with her.”

But then, when I thought of you being a woman who is loving, kind, and focused on your own growth and being the best version of yourself, I ran again. I said, “Nah, that can’t be my person.” It’s intimidating, to be honest.

Because by this point, I’ve become so used to a love that required me to constantly be proving myself. Constantly trying to make my case for why I’m a good partner.

And yes, it was exhausting, but all of a sudden when I don’t have to do that anymore–it’s freakin’ scary. 

When it’s someone who can stand on their own, who doesn’t need me for anything, but who chooses me just because I add something to their life just by being myself…

I run hard and fast from that shit. 

There must be something wrong with you to really want me, I’d tell myself. 

It’s uncomfortable to accept that you–anyone– could love me just as I am. And I mean, I have friends that are so close and intimate with me, they’re family. They know everything there is to know about me. It’s even taken me a while to really let people in like that. 

But a partner–like you? Someone who wants to build a life, and chooses me to do it with? That’s possible? (It’s freakin’ scary is what it is.) And even then, I still want to run. Back to the familiar pain of people who don’t fully see me or get me, and needing to prove myself to someone who isn’t even a good fit for me.

I don't want to live that way anymore 

So yes. Long story short. I’ve been running from you my whole life. And the thing is, I don't want to live like that anymore. It’s exhausting. I’ve come way too far to only come this far.

I’m working on not running anymore. It’s really hard sometimes. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin. But I know it’s in a good way. It’s me not knowing how to take in the good.

So please, bear with me.

I know you’re not trying to hurt me. You’re loving, kind, and you see me. And the truth is–coming from where I come from, that’s scary shit. (Maybe it’s me who hasn’t fully seen me yet.) 

So I just wanted to let you know, if I cringe, if I start sweating a lot, if I get awkward, if you see my hands gripping onto my chair, it’s because everything in my body is telling me to run, that something is terribly wrong because you’re showing me a love that’s so foreign to me. 

It’s just a lot for me; I probably need to move slower than most. But I’m telling you now, I’m  done running away. 

Hope you are, too.