This year I’ve dated more than I probably would have imagined I ever would.
Some of it was too soon. Some of it was clumsy. Some of it was simply part of learning how to be human again after decades of abuse.
But something unexpected also happened.
I met two men who were profoundly different from anyone I had been involved with before.
Both were kind.
Both were emotionally present.
Both showed up — not perfectly, but genuinely — in their own ways.
Both listened. And I mean really listened.
In a short space of time, they probably came to know more about who I am than my former partner ever did in years. Not because I overshared — but because they were attuned, curious, and interested in understanding rather than controlling.
There was chemistry too. Real chemistry. But this time it wasn’t chaotic or destabilising. It existed alongside calm.
From a neuroscience perspective, that difference matters more than anything.
When we live in long-term abusive relationships, the brain becomes conditioned to associate connection with threat. The amygdala stays hyper-alert, dopamine bonds to unpredictability, and the nervous system mistakes intensity for intimacy. Love feels like adrenaline, relief, and survival — not safety.
As healing begins, something remarkable happens. The nervous system recalibrates. Calm returns. And with it, the capacity to experience connection without losing oneself.
That’s what these connections offered — not rescue, not urgency, not pressure — but recognition.
Will either relationship go anywhere?
Honestly, I don’t know. And for the first time in my life, that uncertainty doesn’t feel frightening.
Psychologically, this is what secure-functioning looks like: the ability to enjoy connection without forcing outcome; to let friendship and attraction coexist without collapsing into attachment; to remain whole whether something deepens or simply remains meaningful for a season.
These men have taught me something invaluable — not through grand gestures, but through consistency, listening, and presence. They showed me how life can feel when the nervous system is not in survival mode. How connection can expand rather than contract you.
And that lesson stays, regardless of where any particular relationship leads.
Sometimes healing doesn’t mean “finding the one.”
Sometimes it means finally finding yourself within connection — calm, intact, and free to choose.
That, in itself, is no small thing.
