Chapter 32 Lucy
Lucy
“Thank you for coming in, Lucy.”
“Thank you for having me,” I say. “Well, I guess I don’t really need to thank you. I’m paying you.” I nervously laugh but am met with just a polite smile. “I really enjoyed our phone consultation…You were my favorite out of the five therapists I chatted with.”
“I appreciate that,” Ana says as I admire her tight curls and deep caramel loafers.
She has a polished, professional style. “Now, since this is your first time doing therapy, we’re just going to start off slow.
For today, I just want to get to know you and learn a little bit more about why you wanted to start this journey. ”
I adjust myself on the chair that feels far too comfortable for what we’re doing.
Maybe that’s the point. To be so completely relaxed that I’ll just expose all my deepest and darkest secrets to this stranger.
My eyes scan our surroundings. The office building we’re in feels modern and new.
There are warm, cream walls and a giant fiddle-leaf fig next to the window, and it looks like it was interior designed by the West Elm team.
“Well…my name is Lucy and I’m twenty-nine years old.
As you know, this is my first time doing therapy.
” I continue as if I were in an office icebreaker.
“I’m a sex writer—that means I write about sex and relationships for a living.
I used to have a pretty clear view on what I wanted out of relationships and how I viewed sex.
Lately, I’ve just been confused, and I don’t know what I want anymore.
And my best friend, Jonah, swears by therapy.
I used to think I didn’t need it, but like I said, lately I don’t know what I need anymore… That’s why I’m here.”
I finally stop talking and instantly regret running my mouth. Ana nods thoughtfully, not writing down any of this, and I’m wondering if she should be taking notes. Isn’t that what therapists do?
“You said that you used to have a clear view on what you wanted out of a relationship,” she says. “What was that?”
“That I didn’t want one.” I let out a weak laugh, but Ana continues to stare like she’s unconvinced it’s that simple. I cough and continue. “So, I think I’ve consistently been ‘dating’ someone since I was seventeen years old. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Lucy,” she says, and the reminder eases me up a little. “How have your relationships been with the previous men you’ve dated?”
“Not great,” I say. “The thing is I rarely meet someone that I actually want to spend time with. I usually give men at least a second date, because I get it, first impressions are tough. But I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to willingly spend all my time with someone.
Having a long-term partner was never something that I wanted. ”
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?” Ana asks.
“No.” I shrug. “In college I dated someone for probably three months or so and I just…didn’t want to anymore.”
“Why was that?”
“Because he started talking about kids and our future after graduating and I didn’t want those things.”
Ana crosses one of her legs over the other. “What’s your relationship like with your parents, Lucy?” I tense up for a moment and Ana senses my hesitation. “You only have to share what you’re comfortable with.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“Are they still married?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not expecting us to have a breakthrough in the first session,” Ana says gently. “This is going to be a journey, and one that we can hopefully go on for a while. We can always talk about your parents later.”
“Okay.” I take a deep inhale. Unpacking my parents’ relationship isn’t something I’m ready to do just yet. “I think what really prompted me to talk to you is that I just haven’t been feeling like myself lately.”
“Okay,” Ana says, signaling for me to continue.
“Look, I’m just going to say it: I like dating. I’m the kind of person that can sleep with someone with no strings attached,” I say with confidence because I’m not embarrassed by that fact. “And lately…I just can’t bring myself to. I don’t know why.”
“You can’t bring yourself to date? Or have sexual intercourse with anyone?” Ana asks.
“Both,” I answer. “I guess I just don’t have the desire to be with anyone. I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“There’s always a reason why we do the things we do, Lucy,” Ana says. “I’m here to help you understand that. Now, we can go slowly: Who was the last person you were intimate with?”
“Marsh,” I say. “But I don’t think he counts.”
“Who’s Marsh?”
“Oh.” I stop. “He’s, uh…he’s someone I was sort of in a fake relationship with,” I say, and Ana looks at me like she most definitely needs me to expand that thought.
“He’s someone who works at my company—but we don’t work together.
It sounds so stupid, it was for an article that I was writing about relationships…
Given that I’ve never been in a serious relationship before, we had sort of an understanding.
Pretty much I was going with him to his ex’s wedding, while he pretended to be my boyfriend.
It sounds insane now that I’m explaining it, but it worked.
It was mutual, we were on the same page and we just like really got each other.
It was like the easiest thing I’ve ever done. ”
“What happened?”
“It ended? It ended badly. I left him at the wedding almost two weeks ago. We said some hurtful, but true, things to each other and haven’t spoken since—but the point of this isn’t about him. I know it’s over and I really do wish him the best.”
“You talked about not wanting to spend your time with someone…” Ana says. “Why was Marsh different? Why was it effortless?”
The question causes me to think.
“I think because it wasn’t real,” I say, coming to the realization myself. “We weren’t actually in a relationship.”
“In your opinion,” Ana says, “what does a relationship entail?”
“Being committed,” I tell her. “Being monogamous. Not just talking about your future together, meeting the important people in your lives, but doing all the mundane things people do together. Watching movies, running errands, not wearing makeup in front of the other person…” I laugh.
“Did you do those things with Marsh?”
“Yes,” I say dubiously. “But it was fake.”
“How was it fake?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“How did you do all of those things: Watch movies, not wear makeup, talk about your future…but not really do them?”
“I mean, we did do them…” I mumble. “But I don’t know…There was a mutual understanding that it was all for my stories.”
“So, what I’m understanding is that while you were doing all these things that came with being in a relationship, you found that you enjoyed it because you knew there wasn’t a real commitment there.”
“Exactly!” I gesture my hand to her. “But now I’m worried that’s somehow ruined my ability to have sex,” I say, knowing how ridiculous it sounds.
“Did you have sex with Marsh?”
I look down and pick a piece of lint off my jeans. “Yes.”
“What was sex with Marsh like?”
Shit.
“It was good,” I say, and Ana waits for me to continue. “It was great…Okay, it was like the best sex I’ve ever had,” I admit.
“And why is that?”
“It’s not because he was good—which he was—but I guess it was how I felt when I was with him.
I’ve never felt that before,” I say and realize I’m now entering that phase in a therapy session where you reveal things that you would never say to anyone else, even if you’ve had too much to drink.
The strange thing is, telling Ana—someone who has no stake in any of this, who won’t judge me—feels freeing.
“And now the idea of sleeping with someone else or even kissing someone else feels almost too intimate, and I don’t know, I just can’t stand the thought. ”
“That makes sense, Lucy,” Ana says. “Once you’ve experienced that level of intimacy with someone, you create a connection with them. It’s not easy for everyone to revert to experiencing sex the same way.”
A part of me tenses up a little, not entirely sure if that’s what happened. “Wouldn’t experiencing sex in a new way make it easier to have sex?”
“Not always,” Ana says. “It could be that you’ve finally found someone you want to be intimate with…and for the first time, it doesn’t involve sex. Lucy, maybe you don’t want to have sex.”
Ana’s words make me feel like I’m being suffocated and at the same time able to consume more air than I ever have. How can a statement terrify me and yet provide so much clarity?
“Did you like all of those things that came with being in a relationship?” Ana asks. “Or did you like it because it was with Marsh?”
The question stumps me. “I…I don’t know.”
“Lucy,” Ana says, “tell me how you feel about love. Not the love for a friend or a family member, but how do you feel when you think about falling in love?” My skin prickles and my chest starts to feel tight. “You can take your time,” Ana says gently.
“Well…” I think. “People always talk about the exhilaration of falling in love. Not enough people talk about how terrifying it is. You’re giving your happiness to someone…
Happiness that you’ve worked for years to find on your own.
Happiness that isn’t dependent on another person.
That happiness now belongs to someone else.
You give them your mind, your heart, your secrets, your fears, your friends, your family, your time.
” I wince. “What happens when they decide they don’t want it anymore?
Not even just if they cheat or change their minds.
What if you spend the next fifty years with this person and they leave this earth and take all of you with them? I guess that scares me.”
“It is scary,” Ana agrees. “And you’re right, you are giving yourself to someone.
But there’s also another side to what you’re feeling.
Connecting with someone enough in this lifetime that you enjoy spending your time with and want to give yourself to is rare.
It doesn’t come along easily. Compatibility is only a small percentage of whether two people should pursue a relationship.
It’s not as simple as saying, Hey, we’re both single and we’re attracted to one another, let’s be in love.
For two people to feel the same about each other at the same point in their lives is special and it doesn’t have to be scary.
We can go outside and get in an accident at any moment, but that doesn’t mean we stop living. ”
“What if I lose myself?” I hear myself say out loud.
“In what way?”
“Falling in love with someone leads to abandoning yourself. I’ve seen it since I was a kid; pretending to like a certain video game because the boy in your class liked it, dying your hair purple because the barista you’re crushing on likes edgy girls, abandoning your business degree so you can stay at home with the kids.
” I then think of my mom and how my entire life I thought that she made herself smaller for my dad.
But it turns out she was completely and utterly herself and he loved her despite that.
They both loved each other despite their mistakes.
“I guess I used to think that to love someone, you have to lose a part of yourself to make room for them. But maybe real love is both of you being whole, together.”
Ana fixes her gaze on me like she knows there’s more that we’re going to have to talk about through our time together.
“You are the only person you’re going to be in a long-term relationship with,” she says.
“That’s for certain. From what I know, you’ve already invested in yourself, Lucy.
You’ve spent a lot of time making sure you’re committed to yourself and feeling secure in your own company.
That’s the hardest part. Most people work years to attain that much later in life—after they find a partner.
Then they realize that this secure person they’ve become doesn’t want to be with the person they chose years ago.
Lucy, you’ve done the work and you’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to let someone else invest in you for once. ”
Ana’s words don’t feel like a push-and-pull statement, something I can negotiate. I thread my fingers through one another and let her words sit. Maybe she’s right.
“You’re twenty-nine years old and you have a lot of experience when it comes to dating,” Ana continues. “Why did this one relationship with Marsh make such an impact?”
I think about the day Marsh and I were in San Franscisco. We were sitting in Russian Hill with our sundae, overlooking the sun setting across the water. Looking back, it was the turning point in our relationship. When we felt safe enough to let the other in on things we’ve never told another soul.
I remember what he said to me. I remember every word vividly.
“Because it hurt when it ended,” I say softly. “Not just a little, but a lot.”
So, This Is What Heartbreak Feels Like
By Lucy Reid
September 29
I started dating someone who changed my life.
On some level, I think everyone we date changes our lives, but this was different.
First off, I started dating this person for all the wrong reasons.
I chose this person because I was selfish and because I knew that they could give me what I needed…
but maybe that’s why we choose anyone at first. Maybe all relationships are incredibly one-sided at first until one day we realize we care more about the other person than we do ourselves. At least, that’s how it was for me.
This person made me better when I was with them.
They made me laugh, they made me cry. They empowered me and they challenged me.
They created a judgment-free space for me to be my most authentic self: broken, messy, horny, and bitter.
This person made me realize what I thought was the impossible: that I liked being with someone, opening up to them, being vulnerable. That’s hard for me.
They picked my heart up off a shelf that would have been unreachable for anyone else.
But they didn’t break my heart.
No, I broke it all on my own.
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