I’m someone who deeply believes in our capacity to change, to transform into the people we so desire to be. I can see the potential in all of us to let go of old patterns that no longer serve us, to foster the kinds of intimacy we dream of, to be the fullest most expansive versions of ourselves. I love this about myself. And, I’m recognizing the ways in which this belief in others has led to so much heartbreak, to me staying in relationships that continued to harm me. My need to believe is both blessing and curse; the thing that has healed me and wounded me in equal turns.

Why? Because not everyone is ready, willing, or able to accept the challenge. They might desire this growth more than anything — but the work that it requires is too much. This works asks us to look deep into the darkest recesses of our trauma in order to figure out what keeps us stuck.

Then, once we’ve discovered this answer — an answer that can take years of regular therapy, journaling, and hard conversations - we must learn how to shift away from the old patterns, and towards the change we want for ourselves. This too does not happen overnight. I think about our brain’s neural pathways. There’s so much plasticity. Our brain wants to adapt. But it’s like we’ve spent our whole lives, walking a singular path. It’s well-worn, familiar, in our muscle memory. We don’t even have to think about it. It’s automatic.

Lately, I’ve been recognizing how I’ve defaulted back into an old pattern. I’m finding it incredibly difficult to speak up when someone I love does something that doesn’t make me feel great. In my body, I feel these all-too-familiar anxieties emerge: what if I tell them how I’m feeling and they freak out? What if they tell me I’m over-reacting? What if they shut down? Given that my father was prone to shutting down and my brother to blowing up, it makes sense that I learnt to shut down my needs, feelings, and boundaries in order to avoid disconnections and explosions.

Over the years, with the help of my somatic therapist, I’ve learned how to reclaim my voice. I found myself, for the first time in my life, saying “Hey, it didn’t feel great for me when you did X.” First with my best friends, and then later with romantic partners. I was lucky enough to have a partner who was really able to receive my feedback without getting defensive or shutting down. Together, we created a new neural pathway. I came to expect openness, gratitude for sharing my needs, and shifts in behavior. It was kind of unbelievable.

But I’ve been finding myself back in the old familiar place of fear and anxiety. All I want to do is be honest about how I’m feeling, so that we can deepen our intimacy. Instead, I freeze, shutdown, say nothing. Until something happens that forces the truth out of me — usually a conflict — and then there’s all of this mess to clean up. Someone I love continues to tell me, “I want you to know that you can talk to me about these things,” and I want to believe them.

Annoyingly, one of the ways we build our capacity is by doing the very thing that is freaking us out. There’s only so much reading we can do, only so far therapy will take us, until we have to practice these skills with another human being — hopefully someone else who’s equipped to do this work with us. And that’s not easy to come by. I’m grateful to have those humans in my life. Now, I just need to do the work of bridging the gap between my desire and my capacity. I’m willfully committed — but wow it’s not easy.

Just as I confront my own struggles, I’m witnessing others who see the gap and opt out. Sometimes this opting out isn’t even a conscious choice. In the past, I’ve had people tell me that we’re just not compatible or that I’d be happier with someone else who can show up in a particular way that I want or need. And while those things may in fact be true, what I see underneath is a desire for the kinds of intimacy and vulnerability that are on offer, but an inability to do the work that those forms of relationality require.

I get it. Sometimes I wish I could just opt out. Take me back to the days where I could just dissociate from all of my feelings, I’ll joke with loved ones. The more we commit ourselves to growth, to secure attachment, to expansion, the more work we have to do. If we’re used to keeping ourselves small for the comfort of others, expanding into our fullest selves will be terrifying — even when it’s the thing that we so desperately want. The more we choose to pursue non-toxic forms of intimacy, the more we have to look at the harm and the trauma we’ve experienced in our intimate relations, and that requires so much grief work.

All I want is to be in relationships with people who’re committed to doing this work. Because I believe that this growth is possible. I tell myself that I can wait for them to meet me in this place. And I will truly stick around if the work is being done. Because what a beautiful thing it is to walk alongside another as they grow. I want others to talk that walk with me, as I’m always growing too.

When my heart is broken, I find myself looking for strategies that can prevent that heartbreak from happening again. But perhaps there’s no way for me to protect myself from the heartbreak of another person opting out of that work, from the grief of this gap between their desire and their (in)capacity. I need to believe in them, just as I need to believe in myself.

At the same time, I’m wondering at what point is the gap just too large for me to keep sticking around? Which I suppose is another way of asking When do you walk away? I’m a trier. I stick around until the end, until I/we’ve tried everything. I love this about myself. And, I can’t help but wonder, what might happen if I could admit they’re just not ready, step away from the connection, and trust that perhaps one day, we’ll reconnect and see what happens. I have such a hard time stepping away from others. And, in refusing to step away from them, I move further away from myself. I become a martyr for their growth. I guess I’m trying to find the middle path, not knowing where that is but trusting that I’ll know when I find it.

I always want to end with some beautiful vision or neat takeaway, but I’m so messy and in process — in general, but especially right now. So there is no resolution here that I can offer. Just me, in my gooey / in-between / post-break-up / in my grief phase. Uncertain but curious. Scared but still hopeful. For each time a relationship ends, I believe that we get closer to what it is we truly desire for ourselves. And every relationship is an opportunity for growth. What a gift, even amidst the heartbreak.