When You Saw Me.

I was on the verge of crying in his bathroom, when he walked in, and asked,

“Are you ready yet?”

Full blown panic attack; emotional trigger.

It was a simple question, but one that had been a loaded question my entire life….. childhood trauma to dating.

It broke me.

Thru an emotional downpour of tears and rage, I yell, “DO I LOOK READY? MY HAIR WON’T COOPERATE! AND ALL YOU HAVE HERE ARE GUY PRODUCTS. I DIDN’T BRING ANYTHING. WHAT? YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING LEFT FROM EXES!?! REALLY!?!”

I kick the door shut.

I feel immediate regret and self-hatred.

Why can’t I be normal?

Through the door, he says, “I’m going to play COD. Let me know when you’re ready. You can look thru all of the shelves for anything.”

His calmness confused me. This isn’t what life is like. Ever. I can feel his touch- his hand laid gently on the other side of the door, to let me know he is there.

Moments later, I emerge, and follow him to the living room.

He’s sitting in his oversized gaming chair, waiting for COD to load. He is fully dressed and ready- including his shoes and coat.

This annoys me. He is trying to make me feel insecure about not being ready. I’ve seen it before.

“What? You don’t have some smart ass comment to make about my hair? You always have something to say!”

He throws the controller down, leans forward, and…..

Here it comes- the reaction I’m used to!

Except it wasn’t.

He put his head in his palms, “No, I don’t have a damn thing to say. I’m a black man, who grew up in a home with 2 sisters, my mama, my auntie, and my granny. I know better than to argue anything that has to do with hair. So I’m going to sit here, I’m going to play my game, and be ready to go. When you’re ready, you won’t have anything else to stress about.”

He then looks up at me, almost hesitating, with those deep, dark, chocolate eyes.

Fuck. I am such an idiot.

I walk across the room, move his arm, and cuddle into his lap. As I place my head against his chest, and hear a steady heartbeat- I realized it has never elevated.

He was calm the entire time.

He is nearly a foot and a half taller and weighs almost 200 lbs more. It wouldn’t take much for him to destroy me and my very existence.

I start crying, as I grasp on to him. I squeeze him tightly, knowing I’ll never be good enough.

“I’m sorry for being crazy.”

He wraps his arms around me tightly, pulls me in close, and reminds me of that which he always does such a good job of reminding me:

You’re not crazy. And whoever made you feel that way was wrong for it.

In that moment, in all of his strength- a strength so encompassing that it could easily crush me and I wouldn’t stand a chance.

He instead decides to make me feel-

Safe.

Secure.

Protected.

Loved.

Enough.

But most importantly-

-I am seen.