Thoughts on attraction & looking for love

Years ago, there was a friend. She was (still is) one of the most sparkly and kind people I've ever known. She gives the warmest hugs, is open, and loving. We met at a workshop years ago and quickly became good friends. She was in a long term relationship with a man, but she openly spoke about her ex, a woman. I was in a relationship as well at that time (married, actually). And there it was. One evening on her couch, deeply in conversation, I felt something in my body. A pull. I started imagining how it would feel to kiss her, to hold her. It was the most curious feeling - one I haven't felt very often. Years later I told her about it, but nothing ever happened between us. To be honest, I didn't even think about it until recently.

A few weeks ago I re-started a chat with a woman with whom I matched on Feeld already back in November. She asked about my experience with women, and I told her there was none. And then I remembered that night on that couch.

'Are you a lesbian?'

My first time seeing two people of the same gender kiss each other, must be watching Dawson's creek in seventh grade. Living in the rural parts of Slovenia in the nineties, there was zero openly gay people around. Still, when Jack's whole storyline unfolded, I never thought to myself him loving another man seemed anything but normal. If people like each other, and are both consenting adults - what do I care?

In my high school, we would circulate our PE activities. Once in every three weeks, the girls would be confined to a small gym with different devices. It was our favourite practice. The professor wouldn't really pay attention and would be occupied elsewhere, so time would be our own. The classes ended up looking like this: a group of girls sitting on the floor debating different (difficult) teenage choices. One memory particularly stayed with me all these years. At the time, Slovenia was in the midst of a broader debate on same-sex couples, and naturally it seeped into our conversations as well. While the main question on the societal floor was if a partner in the same-sex couple can adopt the child of the other partner, when the other parent is dead or non-existent, our debate started at the root. Is the same-sex attraction even natural? I couldn't understand. There wasn't a single cell in my body that would think it unnatural. I never questioned it. For a single second. One of my arguments was that being gay was not something one would necessarily want for themselves - at least not in those times. There was so much stigma and prejudice, judgement from society. Parents disowning their children just for loving someone they did not deem appropriate. Being judged everywhere and at all times. If it was unnatural - why would anyone choose this for themselves?

That argument made sense. Lately I've been thinking it's not the whole picture though. Is it possible that it wasn't a question for me because - it actually wasn't the question? Because it felt natural for - me?

At some point during the debate our 50+ year old male professor enters the gym. My debating opponent right away explains what we were talking about, obviously looking for support. Without skipping a beat he looked at me and asked in front of every other girl in our class: 'So, are you a lesbian?' The answer slipped my mouth before I had time to think. 'No, of course not'. I still remember the heat in my face. The shame flooding my body.

I still wish I did it differently. I wish I had taken a breath. Sat straight, looked him directly in the eyes. With utter confidence and zero f* about what this would do, I would just say: 'Yes.'. No explanation. No retreat. Zero shame. Proud.

Attraction, you fickle friend

I loved love, I loved being in-love. There were times I convinced myself I was attracted to someone, just to feel like I was in love. To have something going on. And never, not once, I questioned my attraction to men.

My first experiences with love were very simple. I would start liking my best friends (and usually pine for them for years), or I would go for my best friend's brothers (yes, really. There were at least two.) There was little risk involved with these loves. There was friendship present (which I still think is one of the foundations for a romantic relationship), and if they didn't like me back, there was little chance they would actually leave my life. There was a sense of emotional and psychological safety, that was implied. It was important. Them not leaving was important.

We were about 22 or 23 years old. Right in the midst of our student life. That one night it was just the two of us, going about the town. Ending up at one of the clubs, we drank, we danced. I still remember which song was playing (Dream a little dream of me by Ella Fitzgerald), how we danced together, and how that (to me) looked like a very real depiction of an epic love story. Disney-level-movie-like. When the night ended we sat on a sidewalk next to his home as I professed my love for him. He told me he thought about it already. How convenient it would actually be - we were great together. We shared much of our lives with one another, we knew each others families, we had similar interests. But he just 'did not see me in that way'. There was something missing, and he couldn't do it. At the time I couldn't understand his reasoning. A few years later, he was my best man while I was getting married to someone else.

After my divorce I've made it my mission to (over)analyse my (romantic) attachments. When once again I was explaining my current dynamics of dating and (non)relationships to a friend, she said it seems like I created a playground for myself, filled with little white stones. Each stone represents another type of relationship attachment, label, dynamic, attraction. Apparently I decided to examine each of the stones in great depths, try it on, and see in practice how (if) it fits me. She wasn't wrong.

While I was interested in women, there was something about them that kept me away. I would say on the apps I'm bicurious, but whenever I started talking to one, I would end the conversation sooner or later. As I would dismiss women, I would go above and beyond to accommodate men. Surely, if I was attracted to women, I would meet one by now. And then I remembered the couch.

I decided to take a look at attraction - how do I define attraction? Do I actually know what it feels like? Do I recognise it? And - is it the same as desire?

Most times I was always able to tell, if a man was interested in me. Carrying a deep belief that I was unlovable, I would scan every room for some form of validation. Some times I found it. And when I did, I cherished it. Oh how much I cherished it... I would do almost anything to be loved. To be appreciated. To belong. As long as they were kind and seem vaguely interested in similar stuff, I would be onboard. Actually, two steps ahead. Rarely I would stop and discern who they really were, as people. Rarely I would stop and make it my business to really see them - for everything they are and everything they are not. While most of my ex-partners I still consider good men, some even friends, I never really chose them. My body never chose them. There was attraction but not real desire. Not like it did with that woman on the couch. Did I see these men as they were, or did I only see a reflection of me in their eyes? A reflection that looked much better compared to the one staring me back from the mirror. What I was looking for was a person I could belong to. I was looking for someone who would prove to me I can actually be loved. I welcomed the attention, and shrunk myself to fit that particular mould. When I was younger I adjusted my personality and ambition. When I was older, I adjusted my relationship labels. I was happy for a while. And then I wasn't.

They were good men. Who loved me. And I loved them. But I also needed a man. Not a woman, a man. My value was tied to them - how kind, how handsome, how smart, how successful they were. And there wasn't any of that, when I was sitting on that couch from the start of this story.

The ways of longing

Since I can remember I thought wanting a partner is a weakness. I'm a highly independent, successful, capable woman. I convinced myself if I never need anyone, and I don't ever put my needs and dreams into someone else's hands, nobody can disappoint me. Or inconvenience me. Or worse - hurt me. I recognise the voice now. It's fear speaking.

I'm still looking for someone to belong to. For someone to claim me. Hoping that with all of this knowing, I can give myself the grace to make the choice. Informed by my own desire.

I want a deep love - that's what I'm able to give. I either love you with vigour, or I don't. I don't really do halfsies. I want more children, dogs, and a house somewhere in nature. A community of great friends nearby. I'm also a single mom, 38, polyamorous, and apparently bisexual. Some days these seem absolutely incompatible. Other days it seems really daunting to start anew. But then there are days, where maybe, just maybe, all of this has a chance of working out.

And...
What if looking for this kind of love is the bravest one can be these days?