This Time, I’m Not Afraid
Polyamory, growth, and learning to trust what’s in front of me.
Welcome to Signals from Earth, essays on culture, life, and the questions that keep us restless. Sometimes sharp, sometimes tender—always searching for meaning in the mess.
I used to brace myself when I felt this way. The rush of new love, the intensity of connection—it always came with an undercurrent of fear. Was I feeling too much? Was it too fast? Was I about to get hurt?
But this time, I don’t feel that way.
I noticed it on our first date. I wasn’t nervous to ask to kiss her. I wanted to, and I could tell she did too. Normally, I’d hesitate, second-guess, wait for some kind of perfect moment that may or may not come. This time, I just trusted what I felt. And I was right.
She didn’t hesitate either. The second I asked, she immediately said, Yes. But I could tell she was nervous—because instead of a long, deep kiss, she gave me a quick peck, almost like she surprised herself. Then, before I could say anything, she squeezed me into a tight hug.
It was adorable. And honest. And it was the kind of moment I would’ve overanalyzed in the past; wondering if her nervousness meant something, if I should have waited, if I was pushing things too fast. But instead of spiraling, I just felt it. And it was good.
I noticed it again on our second date. We did nothing. Hung out, cooked food, watched a show. And yet, it was perfect. When she cuddled me, she didn’t just drape an arm over me—she filled every nook and cranny between us, like she wanted to erase even the smallest bit of space. It wasn’t just comforting—it was loving. I felt safe. Safe enough to want more of it.
That night, we had sex. And it was incredible. First-time sex is usually a little awkward, a little uncertain as you learn each other’s rhythms, but not this time. It felt like we already knew each other. Like our bodies were just as in sync as our conversations had been. It wasn’t just good—it was effortless. A connection so natural, so strong, that it felt like we had been doing this for years.
For a long time, I thought love was something that happened to you. That you just found the right person and everything fell into place. But I don’t think that anymore.
You don’t find a relationship. Sure, you find a person, but then you build something together.
For years, I was scared of actually finding deep love—because that would mean I had to work through my fear of abandonment, my fear that I wasn’t lovable, my fear that if someone really saw me, they’d leave. I had to face those things before I could show up for love the way I wanted to.
I’ve always had the words of intentionality—I could talk about wanting a deep, real connection. But now, it feels like I have the actions to back it up. I’m not just saying I want love. I’m choosing it. I’m allowing myself to step into it instead of keeping a foot out the door just in case.
That’s the biggest shift. I used to overanalyze texts, delay responses so I wouldn’t seem too eager, give the appearance of vulnerability while still keeping so much to myself. But all of that was just a way of protecting myself from something I claimed to want.
And that makes all the difference. I used to think I had to find love, but really, I had to be ready to build it. And being ready meant letting go of all the ways I had been protecting myself from it.
Maybe that shift is because I’ve done the work. My last big breakup left me with so much pain and attachment issues, and I had to sit with that, process it, really untangle what I wanted moving forward. And now I know: I want to build something real, not just share fleeting moments.
And with her, that feels possible. It’s not just attraction or connection—it’s gratitude. That awareness makes every moment between us feel intentional, like something neither of us are taking for granted.
And through it all, I keep coming back to this: Polyamory has made me grow.
Because this whole time, I’ve been married. I used to think my abandonment issues were just a personal struggle, but they weren’t. My new relationships forced me to confront patterns I didn't even see were shaping the rest of my life. They played an active role in my relationships. They shaped how those relationships ended. They fueled arguments with my existing partner that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with my own unprocessed fear.
I couldn't see it then, but I see it now.
Loving more than one person has required me to become more secure within myself. To communicate better. To recognize the ways I was holding back, even in my most stable and loving relationship. And that, more than anything, makes me feel like I’m on the right path.
I was right to keep putting myself out there, to keep living and loving despite the heartbreaks, despite the doubts. Because love doesn’t happen on a set timeline. It can show up out of nowhere, and suddenly, the thing you’ve wanted is standing in front of you.
Love doesn’t happen on a set timeline. It can show up out of nowhere, and suddenly, the thing you’ve wanted is standing in front of you.
And when that happens, the real question isn’t “Is this too soon?” It’s “Am I ready to trust that this feeling is real?”
Have you ever fallen fast and had to decide whether to trust it? How did you navigate the intensity of new love? I’d love to hear your stories.
I don’t know where this will go yet, but I know this: I’m not bracing for impact anymore. I’m just letting myself fall.