And in this chapter of life, we’re vulnerable.

A few weeks ago, I started a blog on vulnerability and learning to be alone, versus feeling lonely. My computer crashed, losing the draft. I guess the universe had a way of telling me I wasn’t ready to write that blog yet, I had to do some more "research." This one came much more naturally and authentically.

I’ve been dating someone for the past few months, and last night that relationship ended. It was not a serious, committed relationship in the traditional sense of exclusivity and monogamy, but the relationship itself, despite its label of “casual,” got intense and heavy, resulting in some real, deep, and confusing feelings all around. That, paired with some external forces, was essentially a big boot stepping on a seedling that had just started to emerge from the ground. Clearly, labels mean little when it comes to matters of the heart, and short and intense relationships can elicit strong feelings just as long relationships can and do.

This will seem like a LOT of introspection for a short relationship, but first of all, I hate my brain, but this is how it works. I've also done a LOT of therapy, am a therapist, and have working on understanding myself and my needs and values for many years. Finally, this relationship, though short, was intense and filled with opportunity for self observation and growth. I also probably need to get out of my own head a bit, but that's another blog post. Plus, I'm trying to be vulnerable and authentic here, people. While I've dated other men during this time, I've probably learned the most from this experience.

In retrospect, I was not ready for the level of intensity and depth of emotion that I experienced and how quickly much of this relationship felt “right," but also how much of it felt wrong. However, I don’t think we are every truly ready for when the universe decides that we need to have certain experiences. I was not ready, he was not ready, but I learned a lot in the course of the short time we spent together.

It was, however, the first time in many years I had allowed myself to be vulnerable. I was not as vulnerable as I could have been (see, not ready for a relationship), but I was more vulnerable than I had been in the past. I have work to do. It was also a situation where I spoke up about my needs and shared them with kindness and respect (at least, that was the intention, I hope the other party feels the same). I spoke my truth, and I did so with care. I let him in. I shared things with him that I hadn’t shared with anyone else except my therapist. I got hurt. I woke up the next day and while I’m not functioning well, I’m functioning.

I learned a lot about myself. I learned that I am not polyamorous. I tested it as a hypothesis, but I figured out that the exploration into polyam, for me, was truly just my fear of emotional intimacy. It was interesting to try to date someone who felt that they were, and I learned that I don’t have to always challenge myself for the purpose of self- exploration and personal growth. I don’t have to try to experience compersion, and jealousy is a normal human emotion just like anything else. I will likely not date someone who identifies as polyam again, although this is not the reason this particular relationship ended. It was an interesting exploration into my own values and fears.

I do think, though, that I would have been able to give more of myself if I knew I would get the same investment in return. I needed to feel secure and I don't think I could without the commitment, and I think it reached a point where it had to go to the next step. Which in retrospect I probably could have done, if things were different.

I learned what relationship trauma looked like in reality, and how secure attachment can be foreign, scare, or confusing. (see more here: https://theswaddle.com/why-safe-relationships-can-feel-boring-after-abusive-ones/)

I learned that I want to be in a relationship where I feel valued and important – all the time – and want to share that experience with someone else, not a series of people. I learned that I am going to be much happier investing my time and energy into one person and frankly, I can’t imagine ever having the emotional bandwidth to try and invest the level of intimacy that I want. That’s my choice and that’s ok. I don’t judge others for making their choices and I know I can separate my needs from the needs of others. I know that I am worth the investment, and I am valuable for all that I bring to the table. I know now that I want my future partner to do the same.

Jury is still out on if I want to be remarried in the future, or live with a partner. Perhaps that is all fear and learning to communicate my needs better and will come with time.

I learned that I don’t have to know the answers to all of these things today and it’s OK to let that be tomorrow’s problem.

I learned how much I valued intimacy and safety. I want a deep, emotional intimacy with someone who is willing and accessible for our growth individually and together, whatever that level of commitment looks like. I learned not to date potential, but to date the person who is right in front of you. I learned that I am more comfortable with emotional intimacy than most, but I need to work on my sexual intimacy. I am learning to experience grief and loss as growth (ok, universe, enough with that this year ok?). I am learning to speak my truth. I learned that I still have so many walls to break down, and my patterns of protecting myself can sometimes be necessary but also detrimental. I learned to be more open about my feelings, but that I could do better. I withdrew when this man became vulnerable, and I will forever be sorry for that. I learned that you can care deeply for someone, and have to let them go. I learned that some of my values I seek in a partner can present in someone differently than I would have expected. In fact, I learned to throw the entire idea of what I thought a partner would look like out the window. I learned that sometimes, I take on a role as a healer when I shouldn’t. This I need to examine a little more, because I am not sure where it is that I cross from intimacy, connection, and communication into healer, or if this is even really an issue. Is it bad that I am supportive, but know how to communicate that better than others?

I learned that I can, and did, step away when it wasn’t serving me anymore. I learned that I can accept support and want to be provided for, and I’m learning in what form. I learned that my hesitance to get into a relationship is less about the amount of time I’ve been separated (at the time of writing, 7 months) and more about the need to establish my new identity more solidly before I try and integrate someone else into that life. I learned that I am still desirable and attractive, something I feared when I chose to leave my husband. I learned that I have the most patient friends on the planet, and they all deserve medals. I've also found that it's really sad to leave behind someone who you care deeply for.

I learned that instead of allowing someone to show me they are worthy of my trust, I am starting out looking for reasons not to fall, not to trust. I need to do a lot of work in this area.

I have many questions that I have not answered. Am I afraid to be alone? How do I manage my fear that I will be alone forever? How often do you meet people you truly connect with AND are attracted to? How is all of this supposed to work? Trying to do this in my late 30s is significantly different than it was when I met my ex-husband at 23. What is companionship and love? Where do I draw the line at vulnerability? What, exactly, would inspire me to open my heart up to someone else again?

Finally, I realized how much I miss doing therapy. When I was in the shower this afternoon, the thought crossed my mind that I am always daydreaming about retiring and opening a private practice. In fact, just a few days ago, I had said how good I am at it and probably should pursue it. Maybe it’s time, since I have a lot more free time on my hands and will, in a bit of healed time, have a clearer head on my shoulders.

I miss his daily communication already. We were aggressive communicators, and it was always something to look forward to. Texts, tiktok videos, thoughtful memes, emails. I looked most forward to his phone calls. He was a master story teller, regaling me with detailed stories about his past lovers and loves, life experiences, and thoughts on many things. I had often wondered how he might tell our story when we ended. I’m not sure I’d make the “list” of stories he would tell, but it would be interesting to hear…eventually. We used to tell each other we had the same brain, and it’s really hard to separate from someone who understands you in a way that you’ve been starved to find. But, now I know it’s out there, just in a different form.

I am still formulating how I will tell his story, but I imagine it will be some iteration of “the man I first dated post marriage.” A man with a personality designed to be so big that it hid his insecurities, but also hid his wild, soft, and open soul, who believed in me and cheered me on with unbridled enthusiasm. I’ll tell of the ridiculous dates we had, how he made me laugh so hard I cried, and told stories so compelling that you felt like you were there with him. I’ll speak of his brilliance and depth, his interest and curiosity in the world. His hugs that felt so warm and strong that sometimes I swore I’d just disappear into him. I can’t tell the story without explaining how we had the same brain and intuited more than two people who only dated for a few months should have been able to. I’ll talk about how I could see his walls go up and down, and I’ll always speak with a little sadness because I think we could have been more, if not for a whole lot of personal growth that needed to happen individually on both sides. I’ll speak of just as I saw the walls go up, I saw the pained and traumatized little boy inside of him. I feel like this man was going through a transformation that he wasn’t even aware of the depths of yet. I have a feeling I know what his struggles were, since they seem similar to my transformation before I left my marriage in many ways. I'll talk about how much I learned about myself from my short but impactful time with him.

I know that the story will always end with, “I hope someday he sees in himself what I saw, and I miss him.”

The story will have a few other details, but those details won’t be shared here so as not to identify him.

The point of all of this is that we have experiences in our lives that are opportunities to inflict trauma AND healing. I am changed because of this experience, in some bad ways, and in some good ways. I will not, however, allow this or any experience to prevent me from loving people. I will soulfully never allow myself to close up so completely that I refuse to love. I think we could all do with telling people we love them. I told this man that I loved him as a human being and wished strongly for his happiness. We should be exhibiting more kindness to people. I often tell my daughter, “I might be mad at you, or sad, or having a bad day, but I always love you.” Perhaps we could do a little more of that to each other, as adults. Relationships end, but they don’t have to end with ill intent. I will always do my best to treat people with dignity.

I don’t know that I will speak to him again. He wants to remain friends, but I’m not sure that’s in the cards for us. I know that I still have feelings for him, and I need to let those flames die before engaging, if ever. I wonder if we could ever actually be friends, given the way our relationship developed.

I harbor, the day after the end of our time together, a tiny fantasy that one day we will meet happenstance and he will have done the work to be the man and the partner I know he can be, and I will have done the same work, and we could give this a real and true chance. Silly Kori, but I’m working on being vulnerable and we all kind of harbor these fantasies, right? I also imagine the more likely outcome is that if we run into each other, it will hopefully be at a time where we can catch up and leave on good terms, as friends. Sometimes I hope I never see him again, but I hope with time that feeling diminishes. I’m leaving the door open to the universe to decide what this man’s role, if any, will be in life moving forward. Interestingly, he is leaving my life opposite of how he came in, which actually mirrors his personal transformation and journey. He came in blazing, and is leaving quietly. I wonder if this is a situation where the foot crushed the seedling but the possibility exists to grow again another day, as resilient seeds sometimes do. Or, if this was a dandelion blown into the wind, off to sow seeds elsewhere but never to return.

To be honest, I am not looking forward to dating, but I also want companionship and love in my life. We all have the capacity to do hard things, and that takes vulnerability and support. We have to know when to hold, and when to fold. But if we want things in life, we have to work for them.

I think it’s important to share vulnerable moments, and to try and make the process more transparent. My education and training don’t preclude me from being a human who hurts, loves, loses, and wins, but I embrace the opportunities to be vulnerable and authentic.

At least sometimes. Later, I’ll probably cry into a glass of wine. Highs and lows, right? I'm looking forward to reading this blog again in 6 months to see where I am. I'm trying to embrace the pain, and the power that comes from that. With mixed results, at the moment.

Thank you, darling, for your life lessons, your time, and your affection. Be safe.