Relationship Kindergarten
I ask questions like, "Should we bet on us?" and am afraid to committing to the future because not many men have committed to me. I'm afraid they will all go — the track record is more left stories than love stories.
Hi, my names Janne and I’m currently in relationship kindergarten.
I’ve never experienced a love that stays.
Where after a heated argument and madness and words that hurt and a storm swelling and driving away fast, running, fleeing–that conflicts don’t equal endings.
I’ve been thirsty for continents and experiences and love but without the framework of stability to hold space for love–rapid fire romances like blazing guns full of passion and safety in knowing we can go all in, because all in will only last till one of us leaves in 5 days.
I know blue and green bubbles on a screen, fishing hooks I’m on and fishing hooks I throw–where there wasn’t the presence in one mans heart to hear it beat.
I know silence. Radio silence. When I ask for my needs–from men not interested or willing or equipped to hold the heart of a woman who is constantly taking flight yet exasperatedly calling into the heavens for love–love, love.
I have the skill sets of a child in kindergarten. Standing awkwardly in the door with my brown lunch bag, looking at empty desks, full desks–other kids, wondering ‘where do I fit?’
I ask questions like, “Should we bet on us?” and am afraid to committing to the future because not many men have committed to me.
I’m afraid they will all go–the track record is more left stories than love stories.
And in moments of trigger and fear and insecurity I feel a madness of all the other men leading from the wound of my father and the pain becomes the glasses I see him in.
I say everything, because I want to feel safe to say everything. Because I once asked my mentor, “Should I say this? Should I express it that way? What way?” She replied, “What if you had a partner who you could say anything to.”
Safe. Mmmm. Safe.
Chaos and push and pull and dance have been my experience of men.
And there are moments where I am sure it has to be done–because it got hard, because we got mad, because we said the things.
I brace myself, and he shows up with a surfboard rack he’s built–with a smile on his face, excited to see me.
“We aren’t ending this?”
“No. Why would you even think that?”
And I realize we are fine.