I went to a party recently held by a friend in which I ended up being in a room with several people I’ve had sex with and a couple of people I thought (mistakenly!) that wanted to have sex with me.

It actually turned out to be a good evening. I wasn’t sure at first but decided to push through any misgivings I had about going and just fucking go already.

My friend was there, who gives great hugs. And some other people who I don’t see often and it was nice to catch up. I met a small handful of new people that evening too but I’m not hugely sociable and a small handful was plenty for me.

When I was thinking about that evening later on, there was one moment that stood out in particular. With certain people, I was awkward, a bit stiff, definitely not comfortable or free to be authentically me. But I was standing, talking to someone I had only met that night and somebody who I do feel really comfortable with. We were talking about films, and the forums, and about race. And I did this thing with my arms where I lifted them above my head and wiggled in them in this crazy way. And it was probably paired with a ridiculous facial expression and a tone of voice that I wouldn’t normally use with people I don’t know that well.

And like I said, it really stuck with me.

Because me with the crazy arms and the strong opinions about things and the who gives a fuck attitude about other people seeing my weirdness? that feels like me. I’m passionate. And I’m excitable in my passion. When I stop caring what other people think of me, I talk and act in a way that is very specifically me.

But I wouldn’t say that that many people see that me.

She only exists in these rare little pockets. And those pockets have to be created. There has to be emotional safety there and comfort, acceptance of my weirdness.

And aside from a couple of platonic friends, I can only really remember me feeling that pocket of safety twice.

The first was many years ago with my ex husband. I remember twirling in the aisles of Tescos and laughing with him about random things. And he’d give me this look like you’re mad, but you’re adorable. And that lasted for a short period of time until I saw him quickly looking at people around us, like who saw her do that thing? who heard her say that? and that pocket vanished.

It happened with my ex as well. I like to think about this time we were walking in the woods and I felt like skipping in my excitement to tell hm about Studio Ghibli films and how it made me interested in a specific period of art and how that led me down a rabbit hole of something else. And he was always in it with me. Always there with a little nugget of strange to pair with whatever I had said. Or there with a question like, sure, I’ll go down this weird train of thought with you.

And I miss that. I miss that level of safety, of acceptance. It’s what I’m looking for moving forward. Someone to match my weird. To celebrate in it.