Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Hi there. My name’s The Infinite Lover, and I have a confession to make.

I often forget to truly introduce myself in my relationships.

It’s something I guess I’ve been aware of for a while. I’ve seen myself get to the end of longterm relationships – shorter ones too, if they’re intense enough – only to find that I’m not really sure who ‘I’ am anymore because I’ve adapted so well to my new environment. I’m likely to have new friends, new places to hang out, new bars I like, new bands I’m into, even some new mannerisms and catch phrases that roll off my tongue. None of which is uncommon or inherently problematic…other than that I sometimes have trouble recalling what life looked and felt like before all the new elements were introduced. Which is a problem when said new elements come crashing down, as I have now fully come to understand they will do if you haven’t introduced enough of yourself in the first place.

I remember coming to an agreement with myself last year some time, probably when I realised how much I had missed my favourite band/bar/lover upon returning to them, or maybe at the end of a relationship that I felt lost after that it would be a sound idea to leave some room for ‘my’ things when getting more involved with someone. Especially when it feels like all I want to do is spend as much time with them as possible, and get to know every little thing about them. The tricky part is, as an intuitive empath who finds satisfaction in adjusting and transforming, and who has gone through a lot of circumstantial and structural change of her own, silly as it sounds, it can be quite hard to tell what ‘my’ things are.

It’s funny, because I think the majority of people would describe me as a strong character, not afraid to voice her opinion, full of suggestions, and confident to take the lead. While all these things are true, I think I’m actually so good at catering to people that they don’t even realise I’ve done so. When I’m enjoying myself and feeling at ease, it doesn’t seem to be an issue – there’s no harm in finding new things to take pleasure in, right? Expansion is a part of why we connect, after all, and from what I’ve seen most of my life, the meshing of worlds in romantic relationships is considered to be pretty normal. So that isn’t an immediate warning sign; certainly not as much as it could be. Where I’ve found (or maybe tried to deny finding) that it does become inherently problematic is in my unconscious drive to automatically adapt to my lover and make them as comfortable as possible in our relationship. That, as it turns out, is a veritable minefield. With a similar nervewracking unpredictability around when the bombs may detonate.

Remember when you were a little kid, and you’d mess around with your friend, trying to get up from a seated position without using your hands? (If you don’t, just go with me on this…) You’d manage the feat by sitting down back to back, pressing your feet into the ground and yourself flat against them, relying on the combined strength of your legs, and the force created by leaning equally against each other, to stand up together. It’s a neat trick that, as a child, seems almost like magic (physics is a kind of magic though, right?).  Slowly you rise, adjusting the pressure as you do to make sure you maintain your balance.

Of course, it took epic amounts of concentration to get it right, and most of the time, you’d end up wobbling all over the place before toppling over in a fit of giggles. But if you could maintain the right balance, you’d almost glide to your feet, and find yourself standing miraculously, feeling majestic and just a little chuffed. I’ve come to see being in reciprocal, redamancy based relationships as a little like that exercise – it only works when you’re both putting in equal effort to maintain the balance and exercising a fair degree of conscious intention. Or….when one of you has really freaking strong quads. After two and a half years of consistent break ups that seemed to come from nowhere (GAH!), I came to realise that I had really freaking strong quads.

Allow me to explain.

See, I really enjoy doing things well. More specifically, I like things to work. I’m not particularly competitive, and I’m not really a perfectionist or an over achiever as much as I just really get off on things turning out as successfully as possible. I’m also incredibly aroused and driven by connection, and developing ongoing relationships with people I connect with. Not to mention, I consider myself a perpetual evolver, so I love to learn. It wasn’t until very recently that I discovered the dangerous link between these motivations: an unconscious tendency to be so accommodating to another’s needs that I fail to hold space for my own. Cue the explosions.

Helping loved ones feel at ease is a wonderful thing to do generally speaking. Taking another’s wellbeing into consideration or thinking about the greater good when making decisions is admirable, and commendable in the pursuit of being a nice human. But when doing so comes with a major sacrifice of your own needs, it’s not so unanimously positive, especially if that means you’re not really looking after yourself. And when you’re not even aware that you’re making sacrifices is when it becomes the most troublesome of all.

At a fundamental level, because I monitored success by how well things were turning out, I tended not to even realise that my needs were being compromised or requiring more attention for years on end. As long as things were working, I was a happy camper. As long as I was growing, I was satisfied. And when I was still learning how to navigate the world as an infinite lover, with it’s starkly different elements from the more conventional relationship realm (Tell me everything about you threesome, honey! …Can I help you talk to your wife about what you’re struggling with regarding our connection? …How about helping you prepare for that big date with someone else you’re so excited about? You see where I’m going with this…), it was easy to conflate the learning process with other mistakes, and miss the more sinister problem.

Unfortunately, because I’ve traditionally gained so much energy from the wellbeing and success of others, the link didn’t reveal itself until my quads gave out, and it was long after I lay sprawling underneath multiple heavy bodies that I was able to gain any clarity on it.

Let’s start at what I could call the beginning. A few years ago, I was trying to make the move from Sydney to California, which placed a lot of stress on my relationships – and my finances. It meant quite a lot of time spent far away from my beloveds, lots of moving, plenty of uncertainty, and a frequent sense of being in the right place at the wrong time. While I would still class myself as an optimistic and positive person during that period, the energy required to generate such a big transition while away from the bulk of my support network was eventually wearing me down, and I was less able to pump all the good juju into my loves than they were used to (benefit of hindsight). I didn’t see myself as being majorly different – just needing a little more support than I’d asked for previously. And such give and take is natural in reciprocal relationships, right? You give, you take, you give again, and so the cycle goes on. After a long stretch of giving and building trust, it was now my turn to ask for a little reinforcement.

I remember sitting in shock one date night with one of my Californian loves, in tears of confusion and frustration as logistics were beginning to overwhelm me, and him saying ‘you just need to be happy so I can feel good. That’s how it works with us.’

It was such a ridiculous thing to hear, especially when I was so obviously distressed, and in need of such simple comfort, that I wasn’t even able to respond. Surely he was joking! Right?

As it turns out, he really wasn’t.

This love navigated the troubled waters of intense anxiety and very low self-esteem, and I had ridden through many a dark wave with him, doing whatever I could to help get him back on his feet. It wasn’t a big deal – I was just doing what loved ones do for each other. I wanted him to feel safe and well, and I was happy to be there for him, especially because he seemed to be willing to do the work himself too. I’d do anything I could to cheer him up or distract him from his mind demons with my more optimistic perspective, and when I couldn’t do that, I’d climb into bed with him and love him through it. We were building a close relationship with each other, through our ups and downs. That’s the real Netflix and chill right there. Or so I thought. And yet, here I was, just needing a shoulder to cry on and a friendly ear to help me get my ducks in a row, and he seemed not just unwilling to help, but downright resentful about it.

It turns out that when what you’ve been contributing has been seamless, constant, and based on making sure everyone is happy and comfortable, people can get really upset when it stops. Feel let down. They might even get a little angry with you, act like you’ve mislead them. If you don’t realise what you’ve been doing, it is likely to be a very confusing time for you both.

At the time, I passed it off as my ‘Grumpy Cat’ just being…well, grumpy, and though he and I eventually broke up not too much later, I needed several more dead giveaways before I really got the message.

Six months later I was back in Sydney, trying to get my Australian life in order after the American one hadn’t panned out. While I’d been disappointed at first, once I sat with the idea for a while, I realised I was looking forward to strengthening connections with people who’d been waiting for me to come back Sydney for good. What transpired instead was a relentless barrage of break ups with friends, lovers and roommates that lasted for close to two years, left me gasping for breath, and floundering to make sense of it all.

As I touched on in The double edged sword of love, none of the break ups were smooth, nor did they offer any real degree of closure for me. It was case after case of fairly sudden talk to the hand, with a frequency and ferocity I’d never before experienced. I was used to being able to negotiate break ups through conversation, even if it was tense conversation, and suddenly I had found myself totally denied that option. Silence, everywhere I turned. Relationships over in one email or text message. Banishment. No explanation, very little if any warning. No option for discussion. No possibility for reconciliation or even understanding. It was torture.

I desperately wanted to be free of this Reign of Destruction and Silence.

Being the kind of person who seeks to discover the patterns beneath the patterns, I started to look for the common elements. In most of the situations, undeniably, there was a pretty epic fight that escalated quickly, it’s true. Maybe I had reacted badly? Maybe I had pushed back too far? But in each case, there had been previous conflicts that hadn’t resulted in breaks ups. And people fight all the time in relationships, at least a lot more frequently than these one offs I was seeing end mine, so that didn’t seem to be all that illuminating.

Let’s look at one example, my closest male friend of something like seven years, who I’d been living with off and on for 5 years or so whenever I was in Sydney. We were so close everyone assumed we were together. We had each other’s backs, having initially forged a long distance friendship while we lived in different states, which we slowly deepened over many years as super happy fun times shifted to us really being there for each other in the hard times. Over the course of our friendship, there were a few rocky moments. More than once, female friends had felt uncomfortable in our home after he’d come on too strong, perhaps unwittingly but certainly repeatedly, and despite their polite rejections. There was that one time, while I was in America, that he went to his first poly meeting, got drunk, and slept with my most recent (uncomfortably so) ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. At our house. And didn’t tell me for weeks. There were even times in the earlier stages of our friendship that he’d crossed sexual boundaries with me, getting handsy and smoochy when I really wasn’t into it. So there was one or more example of things going quite pear shaped, sometimes with quite serious implications.

But it’s my belief that there’s not much in a good friendship that can’t be fixed with healthy conversation and a sensible action plan, so in the first example, I let him know that some of my friends had mentioned feeling uncomfortable and gave him some suggestions for how he might act more sensitively;  when he slept with my ex without checking in or disclosing, I let him know that he’d broken some pretty big poly guidelines but that I was glad he’d done it with me where it wouldn’t do too much damage, and offered suggestions about how to handle things more considerately in future; and with us I made some jokes so that he’d see my sexual boundaries in non-confrontational ways. We talked. Apologies were exchanged. Forgiveness and understanding ensued. We learned together, and went on to even stronger friendship as a result.

So when I finally came home, with the goal in mind of truly committing to and deepening our friendship, to say I was gutted when it turned out to be over just a few months later – after one disagreement – doesn’t come close to conveying my devastation.

I couldn’t believe it was all happening again. I thought I’d left my heartbreak behind in America. I thought that the kind of situations I’d found myself in were mainly the byproduct of not having really known the people I was dating as well as I needed to. It’s easy enough to explain a shitty breakup with someone you’ve known for less than 6 months. Especially so when you’re in a foreign country, with different cultural assumptions. And when you’re dating multiple people who turn out not to be so okay with that. Less so when it’s a tried and tested friend you had previously trusted with your life.

It was the worst break up I’d ever been through, and I’ve had some pretty horrific ones. It felt sudden, brutal, unnecessary, and I just didn’t get it. And I needed to.

So I had to think deeper. And I had to ask the question of why people who had so adamantly declared and demonstrated love for me for so long might feel compelled to switch it off so suddenly.

So what happened? The gist is that I raised a concern about not feeling emotionally safe in our house. I expressed the action I felt would rectify it for me (a conversation to clear the air with the person in question to make sure we were on the same page). I was told that action wasn’t possible at that time, as it would potentially cause conflict for my friend and this person. Six weeks later, with no further conversation about it, and several plans canceled at the last minute by him, I got an email telling me that he’d been angry at me for almost a year for leaving the country, that he felt I’d abandoned him, that although he was grateful for the lessons that anger promoted (becoming a better version of himself, in light of what I’d taught him), he didn’t think we were close anymore. According to him, I’d ignored the fact he had changed (sidenote – I’d actually been checking in with him for weeks, if not months, about whether he was ok because things felt different to me). A week later, he asked me to move out. Also by email. I was gone three days later. That was 18 months ago, and the only time I saw him after that was the day I moved my stuff out.

I’m not making this stuff up! And this is just one example out of almost a dozen similar cases.

The whole thing came as quite a shock to me. He’d never once mentioned any of these issues before, and now they had apparently become so unbearable that our friendship was over. When did this happen? How did it get so out of control without me even knowing? How was I contributing to what was now clearly a theme?

Thinking about what seemed to be causing the fights is what eventually opened my eyes to the underlying issue.

The fights usually followed me expressing a need, or articulating a problem within the relationship that I was experiencing. In this case, feeling unsafe in my own home. And yes, there were other complications, such as the person in question being a new girlfriend, who no doubt had her own needs  and feelings being articulated and advocated for. But, at face value, expressing a need to have a conversation to clear up a misunderstanding isn’t generally speaking enough to lead to friendships and connections of many years to end without discussion or even warning. Or the sudden monologue of wrongs dating back to a long time prior to the disagreement. Even if there is a girlfriend involved. And especially given there’d been normal amounts of conflict during many years of knowing each other that had worked out fine in the end.

I could lay out some other examples for you, but rather than drag you through the emotional mud any further, I’ll get to the crux of things, which, if you’ve been paying attention, you might already realise.

These conflicts were coming because my loves felt I had done the wrong thing by them.
I wasn’t being happy enough; I was creating a conflict between my pal and his new gal.

These conflicts were exacerbated by me not having really done the ‘wrong’ thing before. My loves had me on a pedestal because of my Super Freaking Strong Quads.

These conflicts were a tinderbox that exploded when I raised my own issue, which provided a gateway to air long suppressed negative feelings.
I was communicating my needs as they arose – albeit a little nervously – while they’d been worried to express theirs previously and had stored them all up, breeding resentment and unrest. But I hadn’t done so before, so it felt uncomfortable and like I wasn’t being myself to them.

These conflicts upset the balance; they indicated that my legs had become wobbly, and I was no longer holding up the partnership.
What I’d been capable of doing previously to keep things running smoothly was now becoming too hard as I needed support of my own. Our foundations were built on rocky ground.

These conflicts got messy quickly because I was generally the primary – if not sole – emotionally confident communicator in the relationship, as being so meant that the relationship worked well.
I had taken care – control – of our emotional health, ironically destroying our chance for sustainable growth.

In short, these conflicts were the byproduct of some pretty serious codependence.

Until it came to more urgent matters, until my emotional resilience was too weak to handle those matters myself on both our behalves, I had fooled us all into thinking we had healthy relationships. I had let a lot of things slide. I had glossed over the inconsistencies in favour of the glorious whole picture. People are multifaceted,  dynamic, and rarely ‘perfect’. The fact that for the most part I was getting endless praise from the majority of my loves should also have clued me in to the fact that I wasn’t bringing my whole self to the party. I was bringing my best self. And I was ensuring they were their best selves too, without them having to do the work themselves.

I was so scared of losing my loves that it turned out I had ignored a whole swathe of warning signs.

It’s a testament to just how relational I am that I didn’t even see how serious the ramifications were for myself until I came to understand how destructive it was for the loves who form my peripheral connections. I use that term very loosely, because I really don’t distinguish between levels of connection as much as by frequency of interaction, so what I mean are the lovers I care deeply about, but don’t necessarily see or talk with every day. People who are important to me, who have come to be a vital part of the fabric of my existence, and for whom I need to maintain a certain degree of flexibility to be able to fit into my life.

There’s one in particular, the one I like to think of as my Luminary Lover, who’s been sailing around the sun with me for almost 3 years. He’s so understanding that he has held space for me to explore all of my other relationships, even when it’s meant that I have less time and space for him.  We’ve created such a welcoming cocoon for each other that we’ve never once made demands, or felt like we’ve let each other down. I am ashamed to say that I took this for granted for the last year, and it is something I’ve realised I do not want to make the mistake of doing again.

I began to notice a recurrent pattern that when I delved into a more central relationship, I would start to develop a certain uncertainty around where and how my existing connections fit with all the newness. My Luminary Lover was the most obvious case. I’d start to find myself less open to intimacy with him, or wondering if I should cancel our dates. It makes sense on a practical level – it can be hard enough to get two people’s schedules to mesh, even more so if there are multiple other factors at play, and when there’s suddenly a possibility for much more frequent interaction with someone, the existing balance is thrown out of alignment. Anxiety around how it’s going to work can ensue. As the saying goes, while love may be infinite, time and resources aren’t! When you think about the overflow of emotion and momentum that a new connection can generate, it’s also pretty natural that feelings will also start to reorganise themselves, sometimes necessitating a review. So there are multiple reasons that can leave previously reliable feelings in flux.

But as someone who has been slowly learning that while some of my feelings are reliable indications of where I’m at, others can be the product of preexisting states of stress, worry, excitement, or even embodied empathy* it’s taken some time to be able to decipher the emotional realignments, and the true purpose of that uncertainty.

After all the instability and trauma that resulted thanks to my Strong Quad Syndrome, you can bet that I was on the lookout for warning signs of non-reciprocal relationships. I was pretty sure I’d learned from my mistakes, especially when I finally attracted a partner whose belief that it has to go both ways was almost a doctrine. But the thing is, there was still a big lesson to learn, and so I had to make some more pretty epic mistakes. Lucky for me, the people who were most impacted are either very forgiving, or don’t care.

While the bar was substantially raised around my communication requirements, the residual fragility around my sense of self meant that I still wasn’t out of the woods when it came to advocating for my needs. Or the rights of my lovers, as it turned out.

It was the final piece of a puzzle that took more than two years to put together. What happened deserves its own story, but as I alluded to a moment ago, the bare bones are that I confused the meaning of my anxious feelings around the LL. Because I was coming out of a really rough time, which involved moving home with my family as well as the demise of several key longterm relationships, I was in an unprecedented period of introversion. My body and soul were recovering from an abortion and a period of intense depression, I didn’t feel physically or really emotionally up to intimacy, and every little vulnerability around my sexuality that wasn’t already triggered by those elements was rubbed raw by suddenly being in the gaze of my parents once again. So for the first month or so, I spent most of my time at home, alone, healing.

It’s understandable, given all these conditions, that I confused my feelings, but now that I’m seeing my behaviour through the filter of codependence, I’m able to admit that my fear of my new partner’s response to my existing lover was actually a driving force behind my poor decision making.

At a point where I’d really given up on any kind of partnership, along came the sweet, attentive man I talk at length about in Why did you do that (to me?)!, and the stakes got a lot higher for me. While I can see that I had good basis for letting him know I wasn’t really cultivating any active connections with my other loves at the time, the nervousness I’d been experiencing around my body and my home soon shifted into a deep discomfort around being truly open about myself and my needs.

I tried. I really did. I initiated conversation in all sorts of ways, hoping to explain how I experienced love in terms that weren’t threatening to him. Given that it was my post What’s (Infinite) Love Got to Do With It? that first piqued his curiosity about me, I was initially surprised at his hesitance to engage in dialogue. I passed it off as me talking too much, as I am inclined to do. But then our first fight was triggered by me trying to use a situation in his life as a parallel to mine, in the hope that it might help him understand what seemed so foreign to him. Soon after, I’d hear that my analogies were patronising, and that he felt I was trying to convince him of something when I’d describe my experiences and what they meant to me. And yes, I did use to term threatening in relation to the way I love people. I was considering my beautiful heart a threat to someone’s confidence in our relationship, or his view of me.

As time went on and I started to have some clarity that I was missing Mr Luminary, and feeling like I was pushing him away, I tried a more direct approach with my partner to renegotiate him into my life. The trouble was that by this point, I think both of us were so scared of losing each other that my partner wasn’t able to be honest with himself or me about what he really expected in terms of fidelity. So while I thought I had a green light, he thought I wasn’t going to act on it, and when I did, it was an absolute disaster for us both. I was broken up with just over a month after we terminated our pregnancy, at a time when I barely had the resources to function on a basic level let alone deal with that kind of emotional upheaval, he felt betrayed and his trust was damaged beyond repair (at least, that’s what I imagine happened, seeing as he’s yet to talk to me about it beyond saying things like ‘you should have known this would hurt me’), and both of us broke into a thousand jagged shards.

Through it all, my Luminary Lover held his sweet head high. The patience he offered me, the understanding of all the prickly parts I was coming up against in my partnership, the total refusal to take any of it personally, reminded me of why I adore him with every fibre of my being in the first place. And when we finally reconnected, I was overwhelmed with how much joy, tenderness, sensuality, insight, wonder, and raw desire I had been denying not just myself, but him as well. Primarily because I was worried that it might upset the balance with my partner. Because he might reject my heart if he saw how much love it really held.

While I wish I could hold my partner responsible, the only one who can accept that mantle is me. And when I realised the extent of the mistake I’d made, my heart damn near broke all over again. I had denied myself and my beautiful lover for the purpose of keeping someone else comfortable. I’d forgotten to introduce myself again.

The good news is, I think I’ve finally learned my lesson.

In the break up that swiftly followed (when it turned out my partner really wasn’t okay with my other connections**), I did something I’ve never previously realised I wasn’t doing. I got to know myself.  And then I started dating myself.

We started out slowly, with lazy weekend mornings that ventured into tentative coffee dates. As my mind started to remember itself, during the week, we’d go on writing benders together. Pretty quickly, we were seeing each other quite a lot, reading multiple books together, binge-watching Netflix, and diving deep into music that seemed to be written just for us, music that called to our soul. We’d walk home together most days, sometimes to burn through the excessive energy, sometimes to still our too-fast beating hearts, sometimes just for the pleasure of it. Friday nights started to be regularly spent at our perfect watering hole, the one place I feel unanimously safe, accepted and encouraged to be myself, sometimes just us, sometimes with the addition of a fun friend.

As time went by, I started to notice myself prioritising…myself! Those lazy weekend mornings that were at first borne out of the necessity of lots of rest and the comfort of familiar faces turned into glorious walks in the sunshine, hours spent at the cafe, languishing in my own company, feeling not just at ease, but totally stimulated. I’d find myself turning down offers to hang out with other people unless it totally fit in with the groove I’d found for myself, with myself. I started to be deeply, wholly in love with myself. And now that we’re a couple of months into our relationship, I’m slowly – SLOWLY – introducing new elements. I might go to an event, if it feels like it might be nourishing or inspiring. I might have a friend over, or go for dinner with someone on Friday before going out. I even have a date this weekend, with a total babe I met a few years ago, who might know a thing or two about forgetting to introduce himself too. But only after I’ve spent the morning in bed with myself, and taken myself out for coffee. He’s down with that, so I think we’re on the same page. But I’m going to talk to him about what my life looks like before working out how I might fit in with his.

And my Luminary Lover? What happened to him, I hear you ask? You better believe I apologised profusely and wholeheartedly for my judgment error, and for letting him – and us – down.

Given that he has never been anything but compersionate and totally supportive of my other connections, given that we have actually come to realise we have an interdependent relationship wherein we’re not afraid to tackle the tough topics and take turns stepping up, given that he is respectful of all of my boundaries and even reminds me of them when I’m unsure, there was nothing stopping us from continuing to go ever deeper with each other. Better still, because I trust him to accept me – ALL of me – our relationship is actually undoing many years of less well made choices. I’ve even gone so far as to make a Luminary Lover Clause. If I find myself nervous about explaining my Luminary Lover to anyone, then that someone is very unlikely to be a good person for me to be investing time in. Period. They’re either not supportive or accepting of the way I love, or I’m not able to be myself with them. Either way, no one wins. Walk away before the damage is done.

So, allow me to introduce myself.

I am The Infinite Lover. I am loyal and caring, and it’s likely I will challenge you, whether I mean to or not. The only judgment you’ll feel will be your own though – I’m curious and remarkably open minded, and I tend to have a different perspective to the norm. Nothing much surprises me. I’ve also been around the block a few times, and I’ve seen things. People do all sorts of things when they’re scared or unsure, and that doesn’t make them ‘bad’ in my opinion. The worst thing you can do is shut me out without explanation or avoid what is real between us. And if that happens, I will be shocked. And hurt. The rest is pretty acceptable as long as you’re being honest with yourself and me. If we’re both contributing to the emotional wellbeing of our relationship, there’s not much that can’t be worked out with healthy conversation and a sensible action plan.

No matter how much I’ve tried, I can’t fit any of the moulds I’ve come across, and while that’s hard sometimes, I am proud of the multifaceted woman I am. I’m remarkably open hearted, even after a lot of heartbreak, though I’m learning to be more cautious because I know now that my heart deserves to be protected. I will see the best in you, even when you don’t, but my values are strong, and I make sure my relationships go both ways these days, so I won’t accept being treated poorly, unfairly or disrespectfully, even if rejecting that kind of treatment means the end of our relationship. I don’t really experience a noticeable distinction between how I feel about my friends and lovers, we just tend to do different things together. I will love you like you’re the only person in my life, but I will love several other people like that too. That might seem weird on paper, but if your heart’s open to it, you’ll find it’s quite delightful.

I live with my family, and I am increasingly comfortable with it. My mum will probably make you a cup of tea if you stay over, she’s cute like that. I have a 9 to 5 that is both totally outside of my field of passion, and yet incredibly satisfying. I’m involved in it when I’m there, and I forget about it when I go home. Speaking of which, I’d most like your company in the evenings, when my mind is active and my body wants to stretch out next to yours. I love pillow talk and skin against skin and creating little rituals together, but on some things, I’m pretty set in my ways. I’m a bit of a zombie in the mornings, for example, and I’m not really into disrupting my routine, although I love being spontaneous and going on adventures.

I love hearing about the details that make up your life, and I have a remarkable capacity to retain that information as if it were my own. I’ll feel connected to you all the time. Did I mention that I’m both an empath and intuitive, so I’ll often know what you feel before you do? I’ll enjoy chatting with you throughout the day, but I won’t be able to see you as much as I might want to, because I’ve learned that I need to keep some space free for synergy and synchronicity to make themselves known. I go walking after work most days – it’s something I find incredibly grounding, and when I have my headphones on, the world becomes quite beautiful. I read a lot. I talk a lot. I write a lot. I’m into words, in case you didn’t see that coming. Lexisexual is what I call it, and the way to my heart is through my mind. And through kindness, sensuality and presence. Take the lead and do it well, and I will go weak at the knees.

On Fridays, I have a date with myself. I go to my favourite bar, and I talk with my favourite barflies. I drink my whiskey neat, I dance on tables with my skirt hitched up, and I let all my cares go. You can come along some time, as long as you’re ok with sharing me with the entire room. I have a Luminary Lover who has been in my life for 3 years, and he is a non-negotiable for me. I hope you want to meet him, because he’s awesome. And plays well with others. Just saying…

I am The Infinite Lover, and I look forward to meeting you.



*I use this term to differentiate between the standard empathy we experience as humans who understand each other through common experience, and the feelings an empath takes on from people she is close or connected to, and feels sometimes indistinguishably from her own.

** It’s actually unclear to me what the real reasons for the breakup were, as we haven’t talked about it. I think from his perspective, it was triggered by me sleeping with one of my lovers, as his break up letter was delivered just a few days later. From my perspective, it was the lack of understanding I was shown when experiencing a traumatic termination and subsequent depression. Maybe one day we’ll get to talk about it. I really hope so.



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