Being vulnerable in relationships is something I don’t know
how to do, and if I once did I completely lost the ability by the time I turned
19. Well, maybe I lost it during the course of my relationship with my ex and I
can’t quite pinpoint the moment it happened. All I know is that there was
always trepidation, some emotional safety net, and some fingers clasped around
the possibility and what I thought was the inevitability of everything to blow
up in my face. Perhaps this has something to do with my high adaptability to
new scenarios, which is partly because I
moved around schools so very often and was forced to make what I quickly
learned were temporary friendships, the less I rooted down, the easier it was for
everyone else. I bet my fickle, transformative nature has something to do with
it, as well.
On the surface, this seems like a good defense mechanism,
always prepared, always having the upper hand in the relationship. Perhaps
because I do not like relinquishing power –which makes me working in groups so
FUN (not), just very bossy--, I came to the very painful realization that in
order for anything to work out, I have to let go. I have to let go of my fears,
I have to let go of my hopes, and I have to let go of how I expect others to
act or react. I cannot control every scenario, even though I wish I could.
Proof of my defensive nature rests on how I handled the
sudden, inexplicable, phone-induced disintegration of what was, at one point,
an engagement and a six-year-long relationship. I had encroached myself in so
many protective layers and considered the possibility of heartbreak that once it
happened, I was crushed but not broken. During the next few months, I was able
to hold on to my graduate career, my friendships, and my sanity –whatever was
left of it, anyway—in a manner that surprised those who thought I should be a
blubbering mess.
Perhaps this proof is enough to advocate for my method of
handling relationships to be the standard, but I have the nagging sensation
that if I live always waiting for the other shoe to drop, then it inevitably
will. In that relationship, I waxed poetic about being in love; at times, I
thought I was very much in love. Now, after months of the breakup being a very
real event and after two years of essentially living on my own, I begin to
question if I just wanted to be in love or if it was a very real thing. Undoubtedly,
I broke down a few times and felt empty. I was lonely, scared and almost anyone
would do to fill in some kind or role. I don’t think that was love. That was
wanting to fill a void.
I was only able to differentiate this after a long
conversation with myself, a grueling one sometime in February. I cried my fair share, admitted things that I
wouldn’t have admitted to anyone (not even to myself), and I realized that if I
was able to sustain myself for two years, I would be alright even if the plan
had shifted. I then accepted another truth, there’s nothing wrong with needing
someone else, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting a future with someone
else; that’s when I stopped punishing myself for wanting things and when I
started to realize that in order to give myself and someone else a fair shot I
would have to be open to vulnerability.
Now, I’m not saying I’m there already, but at least I’m
trying to abide by these realizations in my new relationship. In the three
months we’ve been together, I’ve had to let go of my defensive nature, trying
to predict his next move, and let go of that nagging sensation of wanting to
manipulate his reactions with my actions. I’m trying, I’m not saying I’m
perfect. There are times where I’ll become a bit panicked and tense myself up
once I realize I feel safe and relaxed once I’m in his arms. This panicked
feeling also comes and washes up on me when I realize I’d come to need him, not
just want him there. I become cautious at that time, wanting to give him as
much space as I can spare, not wanting to overwhelm him, even hoping that there
aren’t reasons that he’d want to leave. Laced with those are the realizations
of my vulnerability, but that doesn’t make me any less strong. At least I hope
not.
