Like so many of these: a blog that I’m not interested in writing means I’m wrestling with feelings that I’m not interested in having.

Heartbreak.

Okay—maybe not full-on heartbreak but most definitely heart fracture.  This isn’t a fella that I was madly in love with (yet), but I was considering it, which, at this point in my life, actually does feel utterly mad.

I connected with A Man—this man—via online dating.  Two things struck me about his profile: he looked like a very cute nerd, and he talked about becoming a standup comedian.  Win/Win.  Some idle chit-chat (which I initiated), a comment from him that hit me just the right way (“I sense a kinship, Jen”), and a date was set to meet.

Only, you know, I’m me.  So I cancelled.  I honestly don’t remember why, but I’m betting a combo of legit reasons and a fair amount of “Ugh, I don’t wanna do this again” thrown in there.  He’s persistent, though, without being clingy or annoying so date #1, the redux, is planned.

Only, you know, I’m me.  So I head to work fully intending on cancelling because I know it’s going to be a LONG work day … then I get a text from him: “You better not be thinking of cancelling!” Well, damnit.  Thanks to Catholic guilt (it works even on agnostics, apparently!), I can’t bail—but I also know I’ll be working late which means first date in black scrubs with work hair and work makeup (aka 9-hour-old, half-assed job at looking presentable).

I’m early, he’s late, and I’m looking forward to this about as much as I look forward to any first date which means I’m mostly looking forward to a good cocktail.

BUT. He arrives and, strangely, the time flies by.  The meeting is a smashing success.  At one point, he looks me square in the eye and asks, “So, Jen. How do you think this is going?” This is remarkable for two reasons: (1) I love the earnestness of this question that has no whiff of insecurity or manipulation (remember that I’m a psych nurse—I run at the first hint of that bullshit), and (2) It occurs to me that—up to this point—I have not catalogued even ONE red flag.  For me, this is highly unusual.  At this point in a date, I’ve usually raised my eyebrows multiple times to the dudes I’m with.  This Man, though? He seems real.  And kind.  And SMART.  And I’m excited for date number two.

[I can’t possibly document every date/encounter, but I do need to hit these highlights]

Date number two was NOT a rousing success. In fact, at the end of date number two, I’d essentially made up my mind that there would be no date number three. You see, he made some comments about psychiatry that he found amusing and I most decidedly did not.  But important side note here: I also did not immediately or directly challenge those statements.  Instead, I made a glib, sarcastic comment, and then I mentally checked out.  This is important to note because this was the moment—in hindsight—that I really started to identify my tendency (my need?) to immediately erect walls and create barriers rather than build bridges to new relationships.  #thankgodfortherapy

Maybe a week, maybe two weeks later, I get a random text from him that was charming and cute and made me laugh out loud.  We would go out again.  My therapist had nailed me to the wall on my behavior on date number two and had made plain my abject terror at the thought of allowing anyone to get close to me—or at the thought of me allowing myself to get close to another person.  There was no question at this point that this Man was funny, smart, and essentially “normal” … but could I tolerate being open to what could be?

That, my friends, was a battle.  A real battle.  Many journal pages were written and many minutes spent exploring my knee-jerk instinct to create barriers to intimacy.  Multiple times I was 90% sure that I was going to break it off only to have him be calm and thoughtful and rational to my emotional flailings. So I’d back off of my exit plan and tell myself, “Just wait and see.  I know this is scary.  Just wait and see.”

I am not an easy person, let me tell you that.  That point has been driven home to me—by me—multiple times over the past several months.  Poor Man.  I don’t think he knew what he was getting himself into.

Slowly, I began to trust a tiny bit.  Then a tiny bit more.  I really, consciously, painfully kept pushing myself outside of my comfort zone.  I knew we communicated in wildly different ways, but I began to feel compelled to see this through—to see what would happen if I just trusted (could I even do it?!).

We went out recently, and I was shocked—GOBSMACKED—to find myself feeling overpowering feelings of affection for this Man.  More than once I bit my tongue before saying, “Oh, my gosh, you’re so cute, I just love you!” No.  If I was going to say those words, I wanted that to be a thoughtful decision, not just a heat-of-the-moment, wine-inspired exclamation.  I held back—and that’s okay—but the power of those feelings and of those thoughts was transformative for me.

A few days later, he called it off.  It’s a lot, you know, two wounded people trying to learn to trust, again.  I can’t say that I was completely surprised because there was always an undercurrent of unease.  I had attributed that to my fear but I suppose the reality is that it was both of our fears: neither one of us quite willing to completely let go, jump in, throw caution to the wind.

So I sobbed.  And I mean, I SOBBED.  I’m still battling the ensuing headache.  But you know what’s AMAZING? I did it.  I pushed through my feelings of doubt and my overwhelming fear, and I had a glimpse of what it could be like to trust, to love again.  It’s a Goddamn miracle is what it is.

I’m not gonna lie.  I am, of course, hoping that he’ll reconsider.  Of course I am.  But even if he doesn’t, he is the one who has helped me stare down my fears and push past them.  I’m not naïve enough to think that it would’ve been smooth sailing from there—but I do know that those were feelings of love that bubbled up, and I now know that those feelings exist inside of me and can be accessed.  Not easily! But it can be done.

It’s remarkable.  He is remarkable.  His patience and kindness pulled me to a place I never thought I’d visit again. I only wish that he can find the person who can be that for him—if not me, then someone else that can be his own remarkable realization that it’s okay to trust and to love.  And he deserves that.  We all deserve that.