Desperately Seeking A Man Who Will Hold My Hand

Finding anyone who is willing to be present in the moment, especially when that moment is uncomfortable, feels hopeless lately.

It’s been the kind of week here in Texas that makes me long for real intimacy. Not sex, but someone to hold me, someone to fall asleep with, someone who can hold space for my sadness — and someone I can do all the same things for.

It’s not hard finding someone to go on a date with, to get drunk with, to have a really great time and engaging conversations with, to take me home and take off my clothes. But, I’m telling you, it feels impossible to find someone who will stay the night and have coffee in the morning. Holding hands and talking on the phone is 4th base now. I’ve only made it that far with a few of the many guys I’ve dated over the last 4 years.

And it’s not just a matter of having a partner, either. I know because I was married to someone who never had the capacity for my deep wells of emotions when they spilled over. So I slowly drowned inside while I managed the deluges all alone.

Abs or biceps? Idk, maybe just someone who will not say things like, “You need to stop reading so much news,” and “Why are you letting yourself get this worked up? There’s nothing you can do,” when they can tell I’m distressed by other people’s suffering.

There is no shortage of single people out here looking for distractions in the form of flirting and fucking. But finding anyone who is willing to be present in the moment, especially when that moment is uncomfortable, feels hopeless lately.

I find myself drawn to men who have broken and rebuilt themselves, but I mostly end up dating the ones who are still only halfway put back together. Probably because I feel like I’m only halfway there, too. I see their struggles and I know their hearts. I give them grace and space and links to therapy resources that have helped me. And while I do believe that, more than anything, I want them to know I’m rooting for them and I want them to be ok, I also wish they’d show up for me, too.

Instead, I find myself hoping a guy is a cuddler after a hookup. That, even if just for 30 minutes before they get dressed and drive home at 2 in the morning, they will hold me and our breaths will sync up so I can pretend like I have a safe space to land.

I had a date scheduled with a half-broken man on Sunday, the day after floods swept through the Texas Hill Country and took hundreds to their deaths. He blew me off, and I spent the night all alone, upset that I couldn’t at least find some shade of comfort in the most accessible form of intimacy, and even more upset that I felt like that would help.

Because I know pouring myself into men with cracks that can not hold my emotions is never going to yield the safety and connection I feel like I’ve been lacking most of my life. But I am beginning to think there really aren’t any who are whole.