Usually, our post-sex silence is almost as intoxicating as the sex. Our bodies remain blurred together and magnetized by some type of cosmic energy that floods my spirit with warm sensations of "yes". That type of hushed connection feels absolutely delicious and completely non-threatening... for awhile. But, as time lingers (um, let's say, a year), that tender connection is left up to (mis)interpretation and that's where the murkiness of our relationship lies. That comfortable silence could just as easily be translated as something deep and meaningful, or simply satisfying our individual needs for intimacy and touch. I, personally, was veering toward the deep and meaningful which is why verbal communication felt potentially ego-crushing. I still felt unclear about his true intentions. So that night, post-sex, I wrestled with my self-worth and integrity while cocooned in the warmth of his body.
All I really want is to build a lasting relationship fueled by deep love and respect, raw passion and heartfelt intimacy. Would I like that with him? That's a possibility I'd love to explore more. Meanwhile, this whole "vulnerability" thing freaks me the fuck out! I find it's far easier to be physically naked and expressive than to give verbal narrative to what I'm actually feeling; especially based on past experiences when vulnerability led to gullibility and ultimately rejection. When I think of those past relationships, I remember how freely and enthusiastically we gushed over one another from the start. And how quickly we jumped into confessions of love, even within the first few months of dating. Now I recognize how easy it is to throw around words like that when there's no emotional depth to anchor them in; just fascination and lust. But there's no real vulnerability in flimsy "I love you's". Just the speculative hope that those three words will be reciprocated in order to fill a need for acceptance and attachment. Oh, and that one day those words will be justified with action. But whatever "we" have feels different than mere fascination and lust. At least, to me. So the emotional risk felt unnerving.
The post-sex silence this time felt thick and sobering. The need to speak the unspoken had risen uncomfortably to the surface. He felt it too. But who'd 'fess up first? Neither of us was raised in emotionally forthcoming families. We didn't grow up with deep hugs, enthusiastic praise and "I love you's". Our feelings were neither discussed nor valued. And now I'm sadly aware of how my upbringing has created glitches in my communication skills. The dismissal of my emotions and limited affection I received as a kid often makes me doubt the validity of my feelings and question my lovability. And when I finally surrendered to open communication and trust, my vulnerability was reciprocated with lies, cheating, betrayal and divorce. Needless to say, almost six years later, I'm still trying to restore faith in my gut and intuition. I'm still trying to find the courage to speak my truth. And I'm still stuck over-thinking my emotions and my willingness to share them.
In the back of my mind I wonder if this, perhaps, was the very reason why Mr. Weird Science project was brought into my life; to revisit my issues with trust, communication and vulnerability. To learn to allow, experience and admit my emotions rather than stifle them. To confidently state my wants, needs and expectations in a relationship, knowing they're exactly what I deserve. To be unwavering in my integrity. And to know that his response to my feelings doesn't add to or subtract from my value as a worthy and lovable woman. I complete me. So I took the risk and broke the silence.
