Tag Archives: love
The palette of emotions: How do you feel?
How do you feel right now, emotionally? If you came up with something like ‘sad’ or ‘happy’ or ‘angry’, can you drill down a little deeper into that emotion? Is it possible to identify what’s causing it, or is it a vague sense that you can’t explain? Are there other feelings swirling around to keep that first one company? Or even ones that seem to exist in conflict with it? It’s possible, after all, to feel both angry and content – one an immediate flash of something bad, set against a backdrop of a life that’s otherwise giving you all the things you need. How good are you at identifying your emotions? In how much detail could you answer the question: how do you feel right now?
I like myself when I’m with you
It’s embarrassing to admit that I don’t like myself very much. Far more embarrassing, though, to tell you all that sometimes I think I’m OK. The latter carries way more shame, I want to whisper it in small-font italics. Sometimes I think I’m quite good, actually. Occasionally the tall, loud, brash, opinionated mess that makes up ‘me’ doesn’t feel so obnoxious. I like myself when I’m with you.
Monogamish: a manifesto
I am monogamish. Monogamish like mostly monogamous. Monogamish like not polyamorous. Monogamish like ‘I’d love to have a boyfriend who loved and respected me enough that he was happy to share me around (and vice versa) while never making me feel like I’m second best.’ Monogamish: a manifesto. Let’s do this.
I trust you: Three words to heal my heart
The next chapter of this story happens when I’m probably in the middle of a breakdown. Perhaps it’s the way my life has been lately – an agony of paranoia and mistrust – that’s causing me to make some dodgy decisions. But this particular decision led to something good, I think. As helpful as it can be to hear ‘I love you’ in times of hardship, ‘I trust you’ healed my heart right now.
I am definitely not going to have sex with him
There’s this guy I’m going to see on Saturday, with whom I am definitely not going to have sex. I imagine from the way I’ve phrased that sentence, and anything you might already know about me, that you can surmise this is a man with whom I would very much like to have sex. But I am not going to have sex with him. No matter how good he smells. No matter how deeply I yearn for his perfect, perfect dick. I am definitely not going to have sex with him, and that’s final.