The first few weeks we were together, my mind was on over-analyzing overdrive. It was understandable – our coming together had been so unexpected and shocking, we had each spent the last months on very emotionally fragile ground – and so I allowed it. I remember feeling stunned at how, despite how completely unexpected this had been, it nonetheless felt right. From the get-go, it felt right. We make total sense together – this was the first positive thought I allowed myself, the first acknowledgment that this was good, that it was o.k. to allow this.
Those first weeks my brain could not stop. There was just too much to accept, to adjust to, too many of my old ghosts coming back to mess with me. In typical Miq’s fashion, the over-analyzing led to our first disagreement, a day-and-a-half that had me feeling terrified (at the intensity of my thoughts) and miserable (because I didn’t want to feel what I felt, and I didn’t want to express any of it, and I didn’t want us to fight about something as abstract as my fears).
Maybe it was then that I made my brain shut off. I could see, however valid all those thoughts and concerns were, that this was no way to go about things. I called to mind instead all that mumbo-jumbo about one day at a time and crossing that bridge when you get to it. I figured those clichés were better than what I had going on at that moment, and that maybe I should stick with them.
I feel like I can’t let these emotions out. My brain keeps telling me to stop, to hold still. It is doing its job – protecting me – and I’m feeling resentful of it because I feel less and less like I need that kind of protection. Here, then, is the crux: my brain is doing what I asked it to do (what I forced it to do), but now, even as this same brain recognizes that I’m in the right place with the right person to let go and dive in, it’s not letting me. My brain knows that if I take that plunge, then that will be it. Everything inside me will tear loose. And while there is no fear that I’m just going to gush everything out like an idiot, there will be a definitive shift, one where the guard will slip, where my heart will have more say and play an equal part in my decision-making.
I am not balanced. I can’t integrate these two parts of myself even though the general tone here – the way this relationship is developing – clearly indicates that this is a good, happy, healthy (safe) place. If I stop and pay attention to what my brain’s been able to figure out, if I take the data from all these months and compute it, the result is this: I am happy. I am with someone who compliments me in so many ways, subtle and not, and whom I admire and respect and whose company has become vital to me. I have something that is fun and tender and honest. I have a real, true friend who excites me to my core.
I am happy. While there are dozens more things I could say about what the data shows, that right there is it. And even though I am happy with a happiness that feels rich and healthy and right, there is still this imbalance between brain and heart, this line that I teeter on, trying simultaneously to be smart but not think, to feel but not be a fool. To just do things right.
As usual, perhaps the answer – the missing link, in this case, between head and heart – is time, and that idea, to take each day as it comes. But I suspect, too, that I could use some courage here, some guts to just take that deep breath and completely dive in.