Passive aggression

Passive aggression is when your husband blames all financial issues on you because he hasn’t participated in any bill payments, household shopping, or budgeting in the 14 years you’ve been together.

Passive aggression is when you get in an accident with your boyfriend and you husband tells you to do whatever you need to recover and then when you go out that evening with your other boyfriend, he feels disregarded because you didn’t choose him.  Even though he didn’t once say that he wanted or needed you home with him.

Passive aggression is him saying he’ll get back to me when I ask about a parenting switch or scheduling detail to do with the children, and he just never responds.  When I remind him, if it’s too soon, he says “Sorry, I don’t know the plans yet”, or “Sorry, it’s too late, I have plans now.”

Passive aggression is him complaining in advance that I won’t want to give him “anything from our shared possessions”, and then complaining when I drop them off at his house. To the point where he said that me returning his possessions was harrassment and that he would call the police.  Then he told me I was a terrible person.

Passive aggression is using guilt and shame to pressure me for sex.  Expecting sexual favours but only reciprocating based on satisfaction.  Linking his expression of love to how often he came due to my actions. Then guilting me when I wasn’t attracted to him anymore because our sex life was a very unsexy power struggle that involved manipulation and degradation.

Passive aggression is refusing to direct message the nanny I employ for childcare during my parenting time, despite the fact that she is there for 90% of the transitions.

Passive aggression is never once seeing the work that needs to be done around the house, and then calling me controlling when I ask him to do things like mow the lawn.

Passive aggression is complaining to the kids about the fact that they are with a nanny during my parenting time, not acknowledging that our parenting arrangement is set up the way it is to accommodate his work schedule, so he wasn’t responsible for astronomical childcare costs himself, and that the kids would have much more one-on-one time with me if we had an alternate schedule that accommodated my Monday to Friday job.

Passive aggression is complaining to the kids that they are too much work or he doesn’t get enough down time because he only has them on his days off.  Ignoring the fact that everyone else has to parent on their days off too.

Passive aggression is kids being kids and him telling them that they are responsible for him yelling or being angry, “because they shouldn’t be behaving this way when he just got off a night shift/hasn’t had a day to himself/just had a bad day at work/has to deal with so many kids all the time/wants to spend time with other adults.”

Passive aggression is refusing to pay the child support he owes me on the first of the month, despite the fact that he signed a document stating he would do so, simply because I originally provided him a verbal agreement that allowed him to pay on the 15th, even though I provided him written notice of revoking that agreement three months ago.

Passive aggression is him spending our entire relationship criticizing me for having feelings.  For attacking me when something upset me. For minimizing my hurt, joy, or otherwise. For making my life changes about him.  Like when I went on antidepressants for postpartum depression and the whole three weeks of adjusting were a constant barrage of complaints about how hard it was on him.  Or how me taking my dream job made it harder for him because he had to solo parent on his days off. Or how getting the nanny was a bad idea because the benefit was mine.  Or how I was a bad mom because I chose my career instead of being a stay at home mom (something that made me miserable).

Passive aggression is never respecting a boundary.  Be it me asking for time alone and him breaking down a door to the bathroom to make me listen or turning on the light minutes after I went to sleep to force me to listen to him because he’d “been home with kids all day and I owed it to him to listen to him” and then him being upset when I responded strongly and negatively to those behaviours and making himself out to be the victim; or when he repeatedly and often insulted me, destroyed my things, or tried to destroy me verbally and excused his behaviour because he didn’t feel like he was getting what he needed from our relationship.  

Passive aggression is strategically undermining my reputation and instilling hate in the poly population in our community because he can’t have a conversation with me where he admits that both he and his girlfriend are at fault for some things and that their cooperation and compromise are required to move forward.  In his mind, it is all my fault.

Passive aggression is abuse.

I was a victim of passive aggression for the first 40 years of my life.  My dad is a perfect model of the passive aggressive manipulator who is always the victim.  He’s never taken responsibility for anything in his life. I married a smarter version of my dad, thinking that he wasn’t like him, but later realizing that he was exactly like him, just smarter and more manipulative.  I spent years thinking I was a bad person, because I asked my husband to contribute to household responsibilities. Scheduling wasn’t a thing we could do, because it was me “taking away his freedom”. Splitting responsibilities wasn’t something we could do, because I “would hold it over his head if he didn’t get something done”.  Trying to schedule a talk to tackle some of the challenges in our relationship wasn’t possible because he felt attacked when I asked him to look at his behaviour. Convincing him to see a marriage counsellor was so hard and he spent weeks complaining and picking fights trying to get out of it, because he felt he would be unfairly portrayed.  Just getting him out to social engagements was an exercise in futility, because he often made it so miserable to go out together, just leading up to the engagement, that I felt it wasn’t worth taking him with me.

I’ve spent the last year unpacking these things.  Realizing that I am not, in fact, a bad mother because I have a career and have hired a nanny who lovingly takes care of my children when I can’t.  Realizing that I am not a bad person or a control freak because I expected my husband to participate in our life and the household we built. Realizing that I was not the root of all financial issues just because I was the only one responsible for organizing child care, shopping for the household, and managing all the children’s activities, education, and needs.  Realizing that it’s OK to ask for help and expect it to be given because my partners actually want to support me and that I don’t have to be a solitary island of strength, but someone who can show weaknesses and accept support without being an inconvenience or them making me feel like I’m inconveniencing them. Realizing that sex is not a weapon or an expectation but something that you give freely and readily, and is mind-blowingly amazing to the point that you would rather do nothing else when you have a partner that returns all the communication, advances, love, and touch with enthusiasm and acceptance.  

More than that, realizing what I did that was wrong.  I enabled his behaviour and rose to the occasion. Every. Single. Time.  When it became harder for him to push my boundaries, he pushed harder, and every time I responded.  I responded and escalated and when I did, even when justified, he had a reason to play the victim. I reacted inappropriately and in ways I am not proud of.  I have very specifically and thoroughly apologized for these things, although an apology doesn’t ever undo an action. I chose to step off the emotional roller coaster that was the breakdown of our marriage about 8 months too late.   I should have left when he told me I was less useful that an HIV infected sharps container.

I did, and often still do, communicate like I would with someone who can be direct and honest and work with others, and I find myself surprised, every time, that he is incapable of communicating without trying to control the situation, me, or add conflict that doesn’t need to be there.  I’m working on trying to figure out how to communicate minimally and effectively so that I can accomplish what I need to for my children’s happiness and still maintain my own. This goal is very challenging, because every hill is the one to die on in his world and I have to walk a line between being a doormat and demanding my boundaries be respected when they should be.  

Right now, my eldest daughter is heartbroken as she tries to navigate dealing with her dad’s less than stellar communication style.  She is a child who needs calm time and reflection to come around to a place where she can discuss her behaviour. He is a man who needs to demand and power struggle everyone into submission.  They are butting heads, he is blaming her for his reactions, and she just wants to avoid him all together. This isn’t an option. My heart breaks for her. I feel guilty as hell because I was the one who chose him to procreate with.  I am free of him, as much as I can be, but she never will be. I am powerless to help her deal with this at present, other than to hold her, tell her it’s not her fault, and remind her that I am proud of her and she is not the person that he makes her feel like she is.  

Every time polyamory comes up, communication is at the forefront of the conversation.  This is as it should be. Communication is everything in polyamory. I’ve become a much better communicator because of polyamory.  I am direct, strong, unapologetic, and very loving and accepting. I have become a complete and total stickler for my boundaries, to the point where some people feel I’m a bitch because I don’t let them push me.  I have no regrets for this. No one should ever violate a well-expressed boundary. When they do, there needs to be consequences. Those consequences usually, in my experience, involve a whole lot of self respect, self-reflection, and accountability.  It’s not easy to stand up for yourself and demand to be treated appropriately, and, in my experience, you lose friends when you do. It’s worth it. Completely and totally worth it.

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Red

In the days preceding my last date with A, I spent some time anticipating our date.  I had received a rather large box full of toys that I had ordered online and wanted to try them all.  I also wanted some limits tested. I asked for exactly what I wanted and A, like the gentleman he is, obliged.  In retrospect, I probably asked for too much. After a long time flogging me and forcing me to orgasm over and over, I was tied up, kneeling, with a spreader bar holding my ankles apart and my arms behind my back.  He flogged me hard. I had candle wax poured over me front and back. I sucked his cock. It was hot. Really fucking hot. Then I felt nauseated and dizzy and had to stop. Immediately. I suppose it would have been a good time to use my colours and if I had, I would have been saying “red”, but all I could say was “I need to stop, I’m dizzy and don’t feel well”, and I broke out of my arm restraints and sat down because I couldn’t do anything else.  A undid my legs and I crawled, covered in wax, into bed. I was scared. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I couldn’t articulate my feelings, I only understand them now, in retrospect. It’s pretty clear to me now that I had some form of shock, but at the time, I couldn’t process anything, my logical brain just wasn’t functioning. I remember A talking to me, but don’t remember what I said in return, but then he did the most amazing thing. He cuddled up to me; he spooned me and wrapped his arms around me tightly.  It was like I was falling through space with nothing to grip on to, struggling to breathe, and then suddenly I was surrounded by an anchor that kept me safe and warm and because of it I was able to return into my body and reset. A, who had, minutes before, been very much in control of every sensation that brought me to the place where my mind shut off and my body took over in a scary way, instantly became my place of calm.

The first thing I remember A saying to me is “You’re clammy, I think you’re in shock”.  I couldn’t really respond at the time, but now that I look back, I think I was in shock.  I was dizzy, nauseated, hands tingly, shaky, and scared. Really scared. What I suspect happened was a mix of adrenaline from the pain of the flogging and heat of the wax and endorphins from all the orgasms.  I think I hit fight or flight mode and my body shut down because it couldn’t reconcile how much I was enjoying things with how much pain I was experiencing. Once A wrapped his arms around me, my body chose the path it wanted to go down, my brain rebooted, and the adrenaline disappeared.  The endorphins must have stayed, because I was instantly turned on again. It’s amazing to me that as soon as I was grounded and calmed by A’s touch, I wanted to be engulfed in it again.

It all happened so fast, I’m not sure A realized what was happening to me. Truthfully, I’m not sure I realized what was happening to me.  I know that I didn’t have time to feel anything other than fear and then safety. There’s something truly amazing in that. In my past, there have been times that I have laid in bed next to a partner scared or sad or overwhelmed and been as alone as if I was the only person on the planet.  Times where I was afraid, crying, and desperate for someone to hold me, and that person was in the room but unavailable. I wasn’t even capable of asking for what I needed the other night with A and he did the only thing that would help me process and be me again. It was so fast that an outside observer could have missed it, but sometimes the big moments are like that, they flash right by.  I suspect he did it without really thinking. Perhaps his default it to hold the people he loves until they find calm or maybe he holds people when he doesn’t know what else to do. That doesn’t change what it meant to me though. Having someone provide me safety and calm when I don’t have the ability to ask for it is pretty much the greatest gift anyone can give me. A and I spend a lot of time joking and minimizing the meaning of our relationship.  I’ve written several versions of the end of this post and each sounds flippant and catch phrase-y. I can’t minimize what A means to me and I can’t shout it from the rooftops either. What I can do is not do either, and sit back and be happy with what I have. I am so very happy with what I have.

Choosing to be happy

I’ve been completely devoid of inspiration for writing lately.  There was a ton of drama a couple weeks ago caused by W. It amounted to a day of stress all told and a lot of knowledge about people who I thought were my friends who weren’t followed by love and support from so many people who are my tribe.  So, I chalked it up as a reminder to not respond to her manipulations and that I can’t begin to counteract or anticipate or fight her version of crazy because I just don’t think that way. So, I’ll go on being me and not really worry about her.

As always, I’m impressed by A’s ability to acknowledge my feelings without compromising his values.  A few weeks ago he dropped on me last minute that he wouldn’t be staying the night after I was all snuggled in and ready to crash.  It was my fault for making the assumption that he would be, based on the fact that he’s stayed over every date night since January. I was quite shocked and hurt by this sudden news and didn’t exactly hide my disappointment (seriously, I completely lack a poker face anyway).  The next day, after processing a bit, I realized I just needed to ask him to give me a little earlier notice and I’d be fine. So I did. A, being A, just apologized for not giving me more notice and then the next Friday let me know a couple days before that he wouldn’t sleep over.  Problem solved.

Last night I did a presentation at an event that had me a little nervous and a lot of friends and family supporting me in the audience.  I brought A as my date. It’s the first time he’s seen me do anything even remotely professional or related to my career. It was amazing to have him there, in a way I hadn’t realized.  We have the most amazing dates and almost all of them involve only the two of us. I would never change this. I would choose a date that involved us lying in bed for hours, cuddling, chatting, laughing, and connecting alone every single time.  What I didn’t realize was how these awesome dates isolate us and our relationship from the rest of my life. Most of the other important people in my life haven’t even met A, let alone spent any time with him. It was pretty cool to have him temporarily step in to the larger part of my life and be my partner outside of my bedroom instead of on the periphery.  In fact, it meant a lot to me that he was there, even if he criticised my “ums” and “OKs” while all my other people were telling me how awesome I was. 😉

Today, I was talking to S about how she and I both are just generally happy in our relationships.  How we accept our partners for who they are and enjoy what we get and give in our relationships. Neither of us really ever complains about our partners, we just accept them for who they are and what we have.  In fact, we are both great at deciding to really enjoy the little positive things and disregard the things that are missing.

I’m not talking about major glaring red flags or abuses or the “big” things.  I’m talking about some of the things that could make things better, but really don’t matter that much. We choose to let small things that touch us mean wonderful positive things, which means we are just comfortable and satisfied in our relationships.  

This brings me to a meme that was posted in a poly group I’m part of.  

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My initial response is “HELL NO!”  Don’t get me wrong. I get that jealousy is an important and real emotion that deserves discussion and support in a relationship. I’ve been jealous and had amazing partners that helped me through it.  I’ve been the partner that attempted to help my partner through jealousy. But the thing is, spending hours reassuring a partner isn’t my thing. While I can and do offer reassurance in situations where it is warranted, the idea of ongoing and continuously dealing with jealousy issues has me wanting to run the other direction and not only give up poly, but give up relationships.  To me, the idea of spending a bunch of time having to reassure a partner or two because they aren’t owning their emotions – trying to understand the roots of their feelings, attempting to communicate them effectively, and working on discovering what will help them deal with their issues and then asking for what they need – drives me crazy. The fact is, my emotions are not caused by someone else. They are my emotional responses to an event and they are mine to process, work to understand, and then communicate with my partners.  This extends to my partners, who also need to own their own emotions.

What I realized is that part of owning my own emotions is choosing to be happy.  To take the happiness that my partners bring to our relationship. S and I concluded that part of the reason we are so emotionally competent is the we don’t get upset by perceived missing little things, we choose to see the positive in the small good things.  We choose to be happy. We choose to see what our partners are trying to give us, not what we are missing. We concluded that being happy with being loved the way your partner can and wants to love you is the good choice.

This is part of why we are people who don’t need big gestures of love or expensive presents (not that I wouldn’t happily accept these things) to feel the meaning and connection in our relationships.  It’s why we let things go. There have been a few things that have happened recently in both of my relationships that have bothered me initially that I realized were things that I just needed to accept, move past, and not worry about.  They aren’t things that are festering away in the back of my brain, they are just things that, while they initiated an emotional response, didn’t dignify me continuing to devote emotional energy to them. Choosing to be happy falls into the general category of respecting my partners, accepting them for who they are,  and being true to myself at the same time.

 

Really happy

I’ve been trying to put words into last Friday’s date with A for days.  I’m going to do my best, but I’m still not sure I can. Adjectives don’t exist to describe it, even with the most perfect adverbs to back them up.  I think that the week, in general, was the perfect build up to his arrival that night. We managed to get together three times, twice for coffee, and once for drinks.  We got a lot of our talking and reconnecting packed into those days. What that meant was that when A arrived at my house on Friday night, after three weeks away, words weren’t needed.  He finally ravaged me in the way I wanted, with the caveat that I needed him to not leave marks on me. It was incredible.

I’ve never orgasmed as much as I did that night.  From the moment he walked in the door, I was completely immersed in him.  Each of us clearly needed to scratch an itch, because for the first time in our relationship, we hardly spoke a word but were attached to each other the entire night.  Everything he did to me was perfect and I’m anticipating this Friday more than normal, which is saying something, because close to a year and a half later, I am almost as excited by our dates as I was three months in.  Sure, we have the comfort that a long-term relationship brings, but we also know what that relationship has brought to us. Also, because we haven’t and won’t escalate, we have this unique situation where we get to truly enjoy each other without the trappings that life brings.

The fact that I still want A as much, or possibly even more, than I wanted him last year at this time is something that I want to write about.  I honestly hadn’t thought about it until the last few days, but there’s something to be said about the fact that this far into our relationship, my attraction to him has only grown. There are so many reasons for this that I can’t itemize them, plus, the details would be way too good for his ego, but I think it boils down to the fact that despite all the complexities of our lives and how our relationship fits in it, I have always felt valued and respected by him.  Simply put, I’ve always felt wanted, which makes me want him. Contrast this to the selfish desires and demands of previous men in my life and the dichotomy is mind-blowing, at least to me.

I feel like there is something substantial to the fact that for the first time in my life, at 40-years-old, I have committed relationships where I am still overwhelmingly sexually attracted to a partner.  In my prior relationships, this never happened. For me, I think I have found the reality that is being an adult with functional relationships that I choose every day. The difference between relationships that escalate with societal expectations and those that escalate with choice and active participation of the people involved.  I think I’ve truly discovered what my needs are in love.

 


 

It’s been a week since I wrote all that is above.  Last week, A and I got a chance for a quick glass of wine and a bit of a snuggle on the couch and had our normal Friday date, which started late because kids.  True to form, we spent hours talking, laughing, and just touching before anything sexual happened. Then we fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms and it was perfect.  I loved being ravaged, and would welcome it any time it happens, it was perfect after the need of the previous three weeks and the fact that we’d managed to catch up during the week.  Even more, I love that when we haven’t had the chance to meet during the week, we can reconnect, catch up on everything that happened in between our rather sporadic text messages, and really be the couple we are together, before anything else happens.  There is such a comfort in what we have, that we can adapt to our situation and individual needs. I’m just really happy with what we have, and the many forms it takes.

 

Solo poly

With a quick reconnection with some of the world’s greatest people, I’m back in a super positive mood. Last weekend was filled with connection of the most important kind – A day with my kids full of cuddles, love and laughter, and then an evening spent with two of my oldest friends and then a day where I had drinks and then dinner with two friends.  I’m feeling uplifted and loved again. As per usual, I started this post several days ago, and I’ve since managed to see A an astounding 3 times and have a date with him tonight, and had the most amazing, fun, and sexy date with S the other day. Life is pretty good.

I’m strong and independent, a lone wolf, a strong brick, a rock!  No, truthfully, I need people so much, despite all my independence.  In the last weeks, I’ve had a lot of time to think about being solo poly and what it means in the greater context of my life.  I’ve actively dated married people because I admittedly feel comfort with the limit to escalation with dating those who are otherwise attached.  I like the idea of the self-limiting nature and safety that it provides. I’m not interested or even willing to entertain a relationship with someone who can escalate, because, truthfully, I fear that type of relationship entanglement at this moment.  I understand the positives to my choice. I love my independence combined with the intense connection of the time I spend with my loves. This isn’t a post complaining about my choice, I know it’s the right one for me. There are just some downsides that hit me square in the forehead in recent weeks.

A and I frequently talk about going to various social engagements and it almost always ends in a decision to not give up the time we have alone together to socialize with others.  S and I just don’t have the time and she is much less inclined to social engagements than I am. What this means in each of my relationships is that to most of the outside world, we are not a couple.  There’s no expectation of us showing up at an event together, there are no family dinners or social obligations. Those who know about our relationship know about it more than observe it. Their friends and partners hear about me, my friends and partners hear about them.  We don’t have a public face. We don’t socialize as a couple. That’s not a part of who we are.

In that vein, we don’t have that comfort of many nights together, the idea that we can do *that thing* tomorrow, or there will be time.  We only have right now. We have the upcoming 3-6 hours together. We don’t have days that we can waste in the same place but not together.  We have to make the most of every moment. The comfort is there, but there is never complacency.

There is always something that is more important.  Often it’s kids, whether they are married or not. Often it’s family gatherings or marriage/home/work responsibilities.  Holidays are something I’m never considered in, no one would consider asking me over for Easter dinner or be concerned about where I was going for Christmas.  Truthfully, it doesn’t bother me *that* much. I understand who I am to my partners and what they have and the choices I’ve made and the choices they made and I support them wholeheartedly.  I have a life with my kids and my parents that usually takes priority for me during holidays anyway. It’s not like I’m at home feeling sorry for myself. The reality is that I would love to have a poly arrangement where we could have a huge polycule Christmas with kids and partners and partners of partners.  I would love to have my kids be part of the amazing committed relationships I have. Executing that is less easy. I don’t want to give up my time with my partners, even for my kids. It’s weird having lives that are so intertwined and yet so separate.

I’m unlikely to have a partner I take to my parents for dinner, a partner I purchase a property with, a partner I sleep next to every night for a month any time soon.  I’m unlikely to have someone schedule their vacation around my availability first. I’m unlikely to have a partner to drag to my kids’ Christmas concerts or come to my kids’ birthday parties.  I’m unlikely to have a partner to rope into helping me fix my fence or paint my basement. I am unlikely to have a partner to grow old with. Solo-poly is exactly that – solo. My life is mine.  I don’t share my life with anyone. I share parts of my life with many, but don’t share my whole life with anyone.

Part of what I like about polyamory is that we’ve made our own rules; we have our own path forward.  With both A and S, I have committed relationships. There’s no predestined path to our relationship development.  I love that we have to actively choose each other every day. That society doesn’t participate in dictating where our relationships end up.  Society’s indoctrination is exactly why, after nearly 41 years, I’m having trouble with my new, functional relationship structure. I will happily suffer as I navigate this learning curve because I know this is the right thing for me.  Making the right choices doesn’t come without challenges and learning curves and in this case, a bit of loneliness and alone-ness. Right now, as my separation seems to finally be settled and the divorce should be complete with far less trouble, I think I’ve figured out who I am right now and I’m determining where I want to end up.  This is a fluid and ongoing process as I continue to grow and evolve and date and parent my children and build my career. I want to end this with some kind of complete sentence wrapping up the message, but the fact is, there isn’t one. Sometimes, life teaches us lessons at the most inopportune times. I’m glad I’m past the initial realization stage of this.

It’s her

I’ve been working on this post for THREE weeks.  I will never be done listing why I love her.  This post and the previous one, in an ideal situation, will never be finished.

It’s her strength.

It’s the way she greets me like I’m everything to her in that moment.

It’s her understanding and empathy.

It’s her ability to love people without personal gain.

It’s her kindness.

It’s her self-awareness.

It’s her loyalty.

It’s her vulnerability.

It’s the way she not only accepts me, but celebrates who I am.

It’s her ability to make me laugh.

It’s the way she knows exactly what to say to make me feel like I am important.

It’s her ability to make me moan.

It’s how much I look forward to talking to her every day.

It’s her understanding and love.

It’s the way she looks at me.

It’s the way she holds me.

It’s the way she talks about her other partners, children, and people she loves.

It’s how strong she is physically, but emotionally even more.

It’s how she loves the others in her life.

It’s that she has chosen partners who have become part of my tribe, bringing her closer to me.

It’s that she gets me like no one ever has.

It’s the way she touches me.

It’s the way she is all barfy romantic with me.

It’s her just being her.

It’s that she loves me and I love her.

It’s him

I’ve been working on this post for THREE weeks.  I will never be done listing why I love him.  This post and the next one, in an ideal situation, will never be finished.

It’s the way he strokes his hand across my cheek.

It’s the way he looks at me when he enters the room.

It’s the way he hugs me me like there’s nothing else in the world.

It’s the way he greets me when we meet.

It’s the way he’s ever so slightly shocked that I can cook.

It’s the way he really tries to understand me when I nerd out on my career.

It’s the way he exudes confidence.

It’s how he gives more of himself because he hates to see others suffer.  

It’s the intelligence that he hides from the world.

It’s how he talks about his wife as if she is the most amazing person ever.

It’s the way he says: “Cum for me like a good girl!”

It’s the dimples that come out when he’s trying to get a rise out of me.

It’s the way he manipulates me to his end and I know and allow it.

It’s his passion for what he does.  

It’s his stubbornness.

It’s how loving, empathetic, and caring he really is.

It’s his love of strong women like me.

It’s how important he is to so many people.

It’s the way he appreciates my overt sexuality.

It’s the way he instinctively knows what I need.

It’s the gentle man that’s behind the walls.

It’s his chivalry.

It’s the way I can ask for what I want and he gives me what I need.

It’s the way he owns his shit and acknowledges my feelings without compromise.

It’s him just being him.

It’s that he loves me and I love him.