Life Coaching: Being in love is so damn vulnerable.

Being in love is so damn vulnerable. 

I am madly in love with my husband of 18 years.  When I see him--especially his wrists (I don’t know why I find his wrists so damn sexy), or his smile, or catch him crouching down to talk eye-to-eye with our son or see him throwing one of the girls in the air, I can't help but feel stirrings of passion, desire and longing. 

I have the incredible good fortune to be married to a man who loves and respects me and who attempts to partner with me in every aspect of our lives.  We are in a "pinch me I'm dreaming" place in our marriage, and I'm ecstatic at the joy it brings.

And yet, being in love with him is a mixed blessing.

On the one hand, it's amazing to feel so much passion and ardor at my "advanced age" of 45.  And I’m very well aware of how rare it is for women of my generation to feel such longing, let alone the ache of separation reminiscent of the intensity of a High School romance.  Many of my peers are lucky if they still want to go to the movies with their spouse, much less rip his clothes off as soon as the kids are asleep (or, at least, in their rooms). 

But sometimes the silver cloud has a dark outline.

After all, to surrender and trust fully, to give myself over to love is a risky proposition.  There is immense vulnerability.  I’m old enough now to know what’s at stake, and it’s unsettling. 

To be truly in love, I run the risk of losing myself.

What an enigma.  Our relationship grounds me and gives me the strength to go out and be myself in the world.  With a true partner by my side, I can do anything, tackle any obstacle, create a magical vision and make it happen.  And yet, sometimes, being in love makes me want to throw myself away and become absorbed in the man who "completes me."

Not a very feminist admission but I think it's the nature of the beast.

When my husband is away on business, it's hard to maintain my sense of self, my independence and my strength.  I think of him constantly, and when he's busy and not in touch, I get a little lost.  My heart starts to play tricks on me, trying not to feel broken.  It begins to recruit heavily from my brain, the rational voice.  I can’t stand that my heart is lonely, and while my head knows that it should not take it personally, my heart just doesn't speak that language.

Maybe this conflict poses some small explanation for some of the divorce that most people experience at some point in their adult lives.   How can we exist for ourselves and exist for another simultaneously without conflict?  If I have to choose between the two, which way should I go?  If I choose him out of love, then I’m sacrificing myself.  If I choose myself out of need, then I'm denying my responsibility to my partner.  If these choices are forced too often, the center of balance in the relationship can get too far off of center, and its tremendously difficult to recover.

One more thing.  Both partners in a relationship are dancing in this balancing act all the time.

So what’s the message in this?  I know what it’s not: it's not that we should avoid loving.  And it is not that loving someone should never hurt.

The point is, in fact, that loving someone is a delicate balance between existing for ourselves and existing for another.  And to maintain that balance, we must allow ourselves to trust—even if it means we might get hurt.  For what’s the alternative?  Not to trust?  Not to love? 

It’s just not an acceptable solution.

The only way to keep a relationship whole is to find the center between the head and the heart, and to speak your truth.  Talk about it when you're feeling vulnerable.  Ask for what you need.  Recognize when you’re feeling strong, and admit it when you're feeling weak.

At any given moment a relationship is like a friendly game of tug of war, only the goal is to keep the knot over the center while both sides are pulling out.  To keep it in the center, you have to work together.  You have to give, and take.  You have to recognize when the other side needs to pull, or needs some slack.  And you have to play this game without ever trying to win.

After 18 years, I still long for my husband when he’s away.  Really, it’s as good as it gets. 

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This blog also appears as part of my regular column on ShareWiK.com.