the most radical thing i do is let myself be seen

on finding my way back to the self i had to hide

The files dropped and I felt it before I could think about it. I wasn’t surprised at all. I just had that feeling of — of course.

Of course.

My father did violence to my mother and I saw it. He didn’t care about our wellbeing either — my brother’s or mine, at least that’s what his actions said. We were just leverage. A way to exert control over her.

That got into me in ways I’m still finding. I spent my whole life expecting to be tricked and humiliated and that when it came down to it, I simply wouldn’t matter enough.

I have never felt safe around men. Not even the ones I had every reason to believe were safe. I’ve been suspicious of every single one, and that has touched every action of my entire life. I became guarded very young — to avoid their attention, to make myself less visible, less available, less there. It worked pretty well but it also meant I wasn’t myself.

My true self was sensual. Passionate. Romantic and artistic and someone who wanted to make love to life. She just never felt safe enough to come out.

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I didn’t know until I was 26 that I’m autistic. Looking back it helps explain so much — including why I had almost zero interest in men or boys as human beings unless they were gay. Literally. My particular profile comes with this relentless drive for autonomy, and the male gaze didn’t just bother me, it felt like a violation was occurring in real time. The ones I could sense were fascinated by me — I was grossed out by them. I judged them. I couldn’t even hug male relatives without something in me going no while my body just did it anyway because life moves too fast for me to stop and figure out my options.

I thought this was just... what being a woman was. I genuinely thought we all felt this way. That we’d collectively agreed men were good for nothing and we were just out here managing them 😂

It took me way too long to realize that wasn’t everyone’s experience.

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At 16 I met my now husband and for a long time we saw each other as actually perfect. Then life happened to us in a way that felt cruel and unusual — I got an autoimmune disease and spent a couple years in bed, and he started drinking. Two people disappearing at the same time in different directions.

But we came back. And the versions of us that came back had learned something hard — that you can’t abandon yourself to serve the other person and call it love. We wouldn’t do that anymore. We came back knowing that.

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Here’s the thing I want to be honest about though: he also came with a lot of traits that were genuinely hard for me to deal with.

An insanely high sex drive. Insecure attachment. Drinking too much with his friends — which, as I said, eventually became something that almost took us under entirely. There were so many moments where I wanted to cancel him for these things. Just exit. Done. We’re taught to do that now, to treat certain behaviors as disqualifying and walk away clean.

But I kept coming to him instead. Explaining my side of the experience. And every time — every single time — he made the effort to change.

It happens slower than I’d like. That part is true. But there is something I find genuinely romantic about watching his actual effort. Watching someone fight their own nature, their own wiring, their own habits — because they know it matters to you. Because you matter to them. That’s not nothing. That’s actually everything.

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And then there’s this other thing he did that I’m not sure he even fully knows.

He became my bodyguard. Not in a protective-possessive way. He made enough space around me that I could start dipping my toe back into being myself. The sensual version. The real one. The one I’d kept locked up since I was a little girl trying not to be seen.

In all the other ways I was guarded — terrified to spend money, scared to be messy, scared to take up space — he was just there, encouraging me to explore. And we found a balance in each other that I genuinely did not think was available to me.

It makes me believe in life. I don’t know how else to say it. It just makes me believe in life.

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I’m not trying to make any observations about men in general. I just want to write about what I’ve seen in him, because it’s allowed me to see it in others, and because today this is what felt healing to write.

He wants to make my life easier every single day and is willing to do hard things to make that happen. His sense of how important I am to him doesn’t waver. Ever. He wants to feel needed — which honestly, after decades of dangerous overfunctioning, I receive as an enormous gift.

And then there’s something harder to explain. Sometimes when he’s taking care of me he doesn’t even seem human — he’s just pure strength and sensitivity arriving at the exact same time. I didn’t know a person could do that!

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When we’ve had serious disagreements — real ones, while our daughter has been alive — he says: just don’t worry. Even if you decide you don’t want to be with me, I’m going to take care of you and our daughter for the rest of my life.

I’d been taking notes on angry men my whole life.

That’s who he chose to become.

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P.S. Our daughter is two. When my husband and I talk passionately — even happily, even loudly with love — she yells at us to stop. She came out already knowing she doesn’t have to tolerate overwhelming energy. I know my experiences helped shape her DNA. But I would’ve fought for that in her either way.

She is the perfect mix of both of us and we say that out loud to each other every single day.

She’s also, I think, who I would have been, if I had been safe enough.