On Monday evening, a relationship that I cared about, or hoped for, ended. In reality, in my own head & heart, that relationship had ended already the previous week. In fact, on Sunday, foreseeing a difficult conversation with the gender-expansive gay guy from the chorus and ensuing “emotional wreck” state for me, I reached out to a few of my closest friends to ask for support, including the availability to talk on the phone to help me self-regulate, on Monday night.
As I made my lunch before driving into the city on Monday, I couldn’t help telling myself, “This is the end. It’s over. Today’s the last time. But you’ll be fine”.
I knew it. I knew it and felt it so clearly. Yet it still hurt.
Of course it hurt, and hurts: it’s the end of something. There’s some loss. It wasn’t a long relationship, or super deep yet, but there seemed to really be potential. And anyway, for me it was special and important because it was my first foray into the “gay men’s world”, my first relationship with a gay man as an aro/ace transman.
So of course now there’s sadness and pain and a sense of loss. Like a hole. Monday night and most of yesterday the sense of a hole was really intense and painful.
Last night, though, while I was half-asleep, I felt an equally intense and almost surprisingly bright sense of relief. The sense of now having more space to fill in whatever ways I want to. More space to even just think about how I want to fill it — my space, my time, my relationships. More space to really think about what, and whom, I want to bring, or invite, into my life now.
Some of the close friends to whom I reached out on Sunday & Monday said something very similar to me: “I understand your pain, it sucks, I’m sorry for you about this loss and pain. But it also leaves space to find other relationships in your life that will fulfill you more”. I read their words, heard their words, and felt immense gratitude for them. But they didn’t sink in deep, go from my head to my heart, until last night. For some reason, they sunk in and took root and started blossoming in my soul last night.
Relief. Lightness. Freedom.
Yes, I will miss this guy because I really like(d) him. Yes, I’m sorry that the potential didn’t concretize. And yes, I am honestly afraid that I will never be able to get some of my needs met (e.g. the ones pertaining to the “gay men’s world” and the satisfaction of my sex-positive ace/aro orientation). This fear is very real for me and if I dwell on it, it’s also painful. But I won’t get these needs met by this gender-expansive gay guy from the chorus; and by freeing that space in my soul while also admitting that these needs are real (& painful) for me, I can maybe try to get them met by people who really are available to meet me there. And I can also use that space that has (re)opened in my soul to try and fulfill other needs that have been nagging at the strings of my heart in the past months, or years, such as finding more “adventure buddies” and doing things for myself that I have been postponing for a while now (e.g. getting bookshelves to finally settle into my new place; starting to do some cross-country skiing; going out dancing more; traveling more, as I used to…).
Yes, there is a hole in my soul right now, and it is painful. But a hole is a space that can be filled. A hole can be a dark place but it can also be a very light place — light because it’s empty, and light because it can be lit.
A hole is not only the remnant of something that used to be there and is no longer present or available: a hole is also the promise of something new, a space for something else, room for invitation. And it’s up to me what or whom I invite into this space, because this space is mine to fill.
The Little Prince and the Fox 