I was an expert at choosing unavailable people to love. Where the relationship was built on the inevitable, insurmountable obstacle of “not more than this”. It was upfront – this is where the limit is, this is how far we will grow. Very beautiful, sexy, joyful containers for the relationships, and once it reached a certain size that was all.

I chose this, over and over. Sometimes it was deliberate, sometimes not. And I had a really good time, mostly. There was a certain glamour, definitely a feeling of freedom, and maybe even a little smugness for taking a road less travelled. For wanting something different than the suburban nuclear family dream. It was kinky, and thrilling, and unexpected. I didn’t do laundry or groceries or bills with my lovers. Our time was intentional and intense. We weren’t distracted by anything real life.

I never played house as a girl, didn’t play bride. I read The Story of O waaaaay too early. My dad got distant when I hit puberty and he stayed that way until he died. I had no examples of “normal” romantic relationships that lasted. I had lots of influences that set me up to choose these unavailable people, these limited relationships. It seemed safer, given what I learned early.

I also learned early how to pick friends. I picked good ones, relationships that lasted. (I have a constant, tender heart.) I built a collection of friends and committed to them, grew with them, worked through things, made mistakes and made amends. I got clear on my values and ethics, I had hard conversations and mundane times and a crapload of fun with them. I built deep trust and the connection between humans that is soul food.

Sometime in 2018, there was a switch that flipped and wouldn’t flip back. I became completely aware of the pain caused by these beautiful, sexy, limited containers of the relationships with my lovers. I became intolerant to the lack of growth, the lack of possibility, the lack of commitment. I was starving for the depth and trust I had built with my friends, which was missing with my lovers. I had been uncomfortable before, I had felt shitty, felt shameful even, but I hadn’t been present to the pain.

(There’s a whole story here, but the switch flipped in San Diego, at a Days Inn that had seen better days in.)

It was horrific. Demanding all of my awareness. When that switch flipped I was surrounded, permeated, buried in the pain. The pain of not being chosen. The pain of being the last priority. The pain of knowing that I could not stay in the container, and the grief of losing what little there was. The pain of loneliness, of ripping my heart away from them. The pain of being the author of this pain. I cried until I was empty and exhausted. I raged. I cried.

And still I did it. I stopped all of it. The longest relationship took the longest to end. And it ended.

I haven’t been looking for anyone else since. It’s taken a long time to get through the grief. It’s taking longer to unpack the beliefs that set me up to seek these containers out. I still haven’t found my way to being able to trust my instincts in romance, so I continue to be single and I (actively AND subconsciously) repel any potentials. I don’t see them, even though my friends tell me they exist. I’m in a different kind of self-imposed container, for safety.

And here’s the thing – I think I would do (most of) it again. Including the pain, including the grief, including the solitude. I would take the road less travelled.

Because I know myself so much better now, and I had to go through it to get here. I am so proud of myself for being brave, for being resilient, for being so willing to love. I forgave myself for acting on what I learned early. I think that when I stopped engaging in these relationships I was being my own champion. I didn’t turn away from the truth when I saw it, and I acted like the person I want to be.

And I believe I had to go through the process to uncover the beliefs that made these containers the default. I had to figure out that the “safety” wasn’t safe or good enough for my heart. My tender, constant heart. And I believe that one day, I will find a relationship that doesn’t have a container of limits.

But as I write this, I can’t even imagine what it looks like. I can’t imagine what it is that I want. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be in a romantic relationship that I can be fully myself in, the way I am in my friendships. And if I can’t imagine it, how can I find it?

That’s the work.