For a long time, I believed intimacy meant only skin on skin, burning gazes, an “I love you” said at the right time.
But I began to see that true intimacy starts with something much deeper: the ability to be seen with all that I am, no mask, no fear, no armor. And to see my partner the same way.
And honestly, that scared me more than anything.
Because if I’m to look with clear eyes, how could I allow myself to be seen, when I’ve been hiding from myself for so many years?
For so long I lived by old scripts that told me I had to be good, nice, helpful, to not disturb. To not be too much. To not have needs. They told me that if I exposed my weaknesses, I’d be hurt, trampled. They told me that vulnerability itself was the greatest weakness.
How could I create intimacy when I’ve shown up in halves for so long?
It took allowing myself to feel all I was taught to repress: pain, anger, fear, frustration, shame, desire, fragility.
To stop running from them.
To stop judging myself for them.
Intimacy, for me, is no longer about perfectly understanding what the other feels. It’s no longer about agreeing with everything my partner experiences.
It’s about being able to hold space for him, about letting him be just as he is, with all his emotions, all his shadows, without correcting him, without shrinking him, without saving him.
Just being there.
Present.
To say, through my gentle silence:
“You can feel all you feel. I’m not leaving. I’m not scared. I’m not diminishing you.”
And I wholeheartedly wish to receive the same from him.
That is true freedom.
The freedom to be who I am and to let the other be who he is, without pressure, without forcing change to suit me.
Maybe now I believe intimacy is, in fact, this invisible dance:
where we both allow ourselves to be,
allow ourselves to be seen,
and hold space for each other without fear.
That’s where true touch begins.
That’s where we recognize, connect, and remember who we are, together and individually.
