Thoughts on Intimacy & Self-Sabotage

I’ve been pondering what intimacy is.  I’m at this point in life my horizons are constantly being stretched by deceptively simple revelations. I am realizing at 23, that I know very little about intimacy. I’ve mostly observed it from afar and speculated on its nature.

Intimacy, from afar, looked like a well-practiced dance, but the intimacy I’ve come to know is like breathing. Occasionally, I still hold my breath, in hopes of pushing him away- in keeping with old habits of self-sabotage. Sub-consciously, I have contingency plans “just in case” things fall apart. In the past, this self-fufilling prophecy has cut the legs from under fledgling loves before they could ever walk. If I really think about it, I fear intimacy. Love is not for the fearful. The reciprocal transparency of allowing oneself to be fully known and fully loved by another is humbling, at the very least. As he puts it- “I have to check my ego at the door.”

My ego is constantly checked at the door these days. Unlearning my defensiveness means forgiving past slights and not pinning them on my boyfriend. How can I be so inconsiderate as to make him jump through hoops of others’ making? He opened up to me and I should do the same. He has the audacity to woo me, court me- even love me. Why shouldn’t I have the same audacity?

One moment that prompted me to consider what intimacy is was when he pulled out his camera phone for an impromptu photoshoot. I was in my pajamas, sitting on the floor, when his inner photo-journalist seized the opportunity. I recall him saying once: “The best camera is the one you have on you.” Upon seeing his camera aimed at me, I posed, cocking my head to the right (old habit.) After some coaxing, I ceased to pose and relaxed. Then when he showed me the pictures, I had to get past my discomfort with what the camera captured.  Photographs differ greatly from mirror images in one respect- in the mirror, I’m almost always posing, but in photos taken by someone else, I have little control over the image. He saw something I did not- or could not- see in those photographs. Perhaps it was an elongated neck, a soft smile or full lips. All I could see was the sheen of my oily skin under the light of the lamp.

Credit: My boyfriend

I’m not sure where it comes from, but I have a bad habit of injecting self-criticisms into casual conversation. “I think I did this well, but ____” “Thank you. I tried and didn’t measure up to my own expectations…” “The sauce wasn’t salty or flavorful enough, but I’m glad you’re enjoying it…” My boyfriend checks me when he hears it, and it’s alarming to me that I so casually denigrate myself. Humility is one thing, but self-deprecation is another matter entirely.

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As you can tell, this is all new to me.