Today’s Installment: Desperation
This one is very personal and vulnerable… here goes!
When I talk with women, there are few things they DO NOT want to be seen as: needy, picky, crazy—and desperate.
For many of us, the LAST thing anyone ever told us was attractive, powerful, or even just OK for a woman to be was desperate—especially if we are strong, independent women. Right? If you’re like me, you were told it was attractive to “not care too much,” be coy, or play hard to get. The opposite of desperate—clawing, screeching, hysterical.
Desperation could be considered NEED without any appropriateness filters, need that is not an intellectual idea but rather a physical propulsion.
Lately, things between my guy and I have been a bit bumpy. We haven’t been outright fighting, but also haven’t been having those “every time he looks at me honey drips down my thighs” types of feelings. And truth be told, we were heading more towards the distant/fighting side of things.
Last night we went to bed, and even tho things hadn’t been rosy all day I felt excited to have sex. However, it became apparent quickly that there was unspoken “stuff” between us that that needed to get cleared out of the pipes first.
I started asking him questions, both playfully and seriously, and he answered, a little. At one point I asked him, half joking, in my half joking voice, “Are you still attracted to me?”
He said, “Of course.”
I said, “Super attracted or only a little attracted?”
He said, “Super attracted—”
And then I said, “Or medium.
He thought for a moment. “Medium to super.”
And it demolished me. It’s a massive sore spot, from a history of being overweight as a teenager to being in relationships where men didn’t want to have sex with me. After the initial hurt, something even more vulnerable emerged for me: desperation.
It was burning in my chest like ball of fire, and I felt like a banshee. I wanted to scream and bang my fists into his chest, beg and plead and pour this burning love over him.
But I didn’t do that. Instead, I rolled off of him and went silent. It was so vulnerable, I couldn’t show it. It took about 45 minutes of me crying and him asking me questions about it before I finally told him. (I gave him hints like, “It starts with a D. And strong women don’t want to admit they feel it.” He said, “Delight?” I said, “You just told me I’m medium attractive, I am not feeling delight!”)
Finally, he said it: “Desperate?” And I started to squirm. Long story short, I finally decided to show it to him. I thought I was going to DIE, literally, of humiliation. He was certainly going to be disgusted by this. I was going to admit I cared, and that was the end of things. But I am brave, so… I told him to repeat exactly what he’d said to me, because it would bring that feeling back up again. And then I’d express it. I told him was going to be loud.
And it was. I have never in my life allowed a man to see my desperation to such a degree. I threw myself at him and clawed at him and screamed and begged, “Don’t leave me! I love you I need you! I want to be SO CLOSE to you! AAAAAHHHHGGGGRRR!!!”
And he just held me.
I didn’t die, and he wasn’t disgusted. In fact, he got hard. Then he cried in big wracking sobs. He said he hadn’t cried like that in 20 years.
He said he felt more loved as I was allowing my desperation to move me than he ever had in his life. He felt my love pouring all over him, and said when he shut his eyes he saw a thousand tiny while flowers with pink tips pouring from my chest into him. I asked him, “So are you medium attracted to me now? Or super?” And we laughed.
Then I told him this, which I didn’t even until I said it. “I can guarantee you that every woman you’ve ever been with felt this way about you—but didn’t know it or couldn’t admit it. I know because I’ve felt this way about every man I’ve ever been with.” And it was true.
We have this need—this desperation we have for contact with each other—and we hide it. We walk around like ghosts pretending we don’t care as much as we do, as if we could take it or leave it. We act nonchalant when inside we’re screaming. Sometimes that scream is so buried, we have no idea it’s in there and instead it comes out as apathy, depression, anger, or addiction.
Or at least, I used to not show it. I am now a devotee to desperation and the power of needing. I appreciate this week of need, and am so grateful for all of you who support me in exploring these depths.
Read the whole Need series:
Advocate for women's sexual fulfillment