I feel like you have one foot in and the other out when it comes to us.
“I feel like you have one foot in and the other out when it comes to us.”
He sat across from me in my office chair, and I sat in our new bed. He was doing that thing he does requesting a response by searching my face. I, on the other hand, made a point to avoid giving him the eye contact I knew he was looking for. It had been two days since the blow-up about our dresser but the blow-up wasn’t really about the dresser. Doors were slammed, voices were raised, and after two days of bare minimal conversation, he decided to break the ice.
“Us ending is never a thought of mine. But it’s a viable solution for you. Maybe I’m just naive, but breaking up isn’t something I see for us.”
Again, I avoided eye-contact. This wasn’t Petty Jackie coming out to play, this was Jackie ashamed that this conversation was even happening.
We sat in uncomfortable silence. Him staring at me. Me staring at our comforter. He was waiting to be proven wrong. And I was trying to build up the courage to deliver it. He was waiting for me to state that this wasn’t the case. And I tried to, I really did, but my pride couldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not because what he was saying was definitely true, but because letting him know that I have my feet firmly planted within our relationship means dismantling a wall around my heart. Giving him 100% means stripping myself of the protective layer I have struggled to maneuver into place. Standing hand in hand with him in this relationship means standing with him bare, mind and heart wide-open.
It means I must come undone.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I responded, finally making eye contact. He got up and left the bedroom.
I’ve come undone for a man once before. Laid out all of my secrets, my insecurities, my fears, and my dreams. I gave him my all. I trustingly stuffed it into his palms where he promised to protect it, and he ruled my heart from my late teen years to my early twenties. I loved that man more than I loved myself and he knew it. And he abused it. And after transitioning from heartbroken to full-blown crazy, I created a distance I should’ve created many moons ago and made a promise that I would never put myself in that kind of situation again.
But I landed in Love’s Den once again, wanting to prove to the universe that I can have the magic of love while remaining absolutely whole in the process. To be honest, I had slowly become comfortable with the thought of being single indefinitely.
Dating was hard, and managing the anxiety that came along with it was even harder. But then he happened, and he happened swiftly. He came in with the intention of a relationship, bypassing all that extra hard stuff of trying to figure out what we were and if we both were on the same page.
In fact, I played coy the first couple of weeks, dodging the exclusivity statements instead of simply going with the flow. I had prepared myself to remain in control no matter how our situation may pan out. I had trained myself to protect my ability to bounce back and be okay if love decided now wasn’t the time again.
But being in control for my own selfish reasons and being rooted in our relationship doesn’t work. It’s either one or the other.
That night I committed to being 100% in, and he accepted my apology. He understood my need to protect myself and didn’t push me on when the barrier would fully come down. And as he made peace with my skepticalness, I promised myself to be better for him and to love him the way he ought to be loved.
I promised to make peace with my insecurities of happily ever after. I committed to learning to unravel with him while not losing myself in the process. Something I’m honestly still not sure I’m doing properly. I guess this is one of the responsibilities of being loved: making sure the love that ties both hearts together is pure, selfless, and fearless.
I think I can commit to that.