Early morning lonely

It’s three in the morning, and the rain drums quietly on the roof. I walk ponderously between sleep and wakefulness, going through frustrated dreamlike states of loneliness. Different people are shown to me, and my mind expresses a backward desire for being reached out to by them. Blames them for not knowing that I’m alone, frustrated and needing to be seen and loved. My mind proposes strategy after strategy, in its unending helpfulness. This is my primary way of dealing with loneliness: Planning. I stumble into one dead end after another “Maybe if I wrote this person, in this way…” or “Maybe if I said this when I meet that person…” but they all fall short. I know I will be a different person when the time for plan-execution arrives, and what I feel is happening right now.

The raw feeling is not one of failed planning though. The feeling is that of a physical weight on my chest, and the sensation of an iron mask on my face. It has no symbolism, it’s just that physical sensation. I can try to tease it apart with an analytical scalpel. Turning it into words and concepts, but I already have clear primal understanding of what is going on. It is the sensation of being alone, and it feels wrong. I am in my bed alone, and it doesn’t feel right, and my body is reaching out. My brain tries to help, asking “What if I did this?” but my body is no more advanced than when I was ten years old and missed my parents. Through years of suppression I have forgotten how to physically react to it, so I simply lie there and stare into the darkness like so many insomniacs before me.

My body insists that something is wrong, the pressure remains on my chest, urging me to do something. My mind goes through scenarios and solutions, propositions of what I could do differently. How I can build to protect myself from this feeling.

But something deeper is wrong, because I can write this for everyone, but not to anyone. There is no single person I feel comfortable reaching out to. There is no one that can know this. Because no one has the keys to the inner sanctum of my cathedral. The doors are open, and the cold stone floors and massive pillars are on display. You’re expected to talk in hushed tones, but no one even knows of that room five stories below, where a heart beats. And I don’t blame them, because it is hidden away with great care; not open to tourists. The most you will get is a picture on a post card.

I have built my relations with my strength, with my can-do with my know-how. I thrive in being alone most of the time, and I consider emotional outbursts and loneliness to be weaknesses. When people are out of control I mostly react to it with a controlled caring facade, but I’m rarely able to hide my patronising disgust. If their lack of control hurts me or ends up asking me to change, a cold gate will immediately slam in their face. Unfairness cannot be tolerated after all. This disgust is also at myself obviously, so I try to prove that I am sensitive, by exposing that which seems sensitive, rather than exposing that which is sensitive. I tell the story of that which resembles openness, rather than tell the reality of that which needs to be seen.

I was surprised when I learned what the word vulnerability meant. I thought it meant being hurt and in a state where you should be hiding. A state where people could easily utterly destroy you in case they saw your moment of weakness. I saw it as being temporarily weak, and open to attack. This is partially true, but only when seen from the narrow point of view of the fighter. I only learned very late in life that it meant: Letting someone in to a place where they can hurt you… Or heal you. It struck me as such a surprise that this was the meaning. To give someone the keys to do either. Admitting to those around you when they are in a position where you are easily hurt by them. Doing this in the context of a fight is suicide, doing this in the context of love is required. If the keys are never given, you will never be hurt and never be healed.

A few months ago I am sitting in the opening circle of a contact improv class. People are sharing how they feel mentally, emotionally and physically. A more than average number go into crying and hugging sessions, sharing various diagnosis’ with the group. When it comes to me I say (in a feat of classical me-ness): “I feel emotionally stable and physically strong”. It’s a pun on all of their pain of course, and it’s funny enough to illicit laughs from the group. It’s not funny enough to stop anyone from crying. I have the feeling that some wiser person sits in such a group, looking at me, knowing what is happening. And in that persons wise kindness it feels sorry for me. But at that moment I’m hard and blind.

I pay for it in the middle of the night of course, when there is no one to reach out to. When my mind’s go-to reaction is strategic planning on what I could say or do to make someone reach out to me. At all cost I want to avoid being vulnerable to the specific someones. To all those people who holds the keys to my heart without knowing it. It’s so easy for me to blame them for not reaching out, to enter into a state of bitterness, or regret at my own failings to share. But the truth is that I didn’t tell them. I just left the keys at their place. Like that friend who knows how to fold the origami birds. Who always makes them from a random scrap of paper and leaves them on your table. You keep them for a little while, but then just throw them away.

In my fear of vulnerability, I made it clear to the world that it shouldn’t come close. Don’t piss in my cathedral, don’t even talk. Don’t even think about crossing the velvet rope that leads into the basement. Because to me vulnerability means being hurt, and not healed.

I’m not fixed in this obviously, I could make it seem so. I could make this out to be a “story of me as I was” but that would utterly defy the point. I don’t write this to be seen either, I don’t write it as an invitation into my cathedral; that place is closed off to the public still. This is me, as I am, I’m ok with that.

I write this because in my writing the most common feedback I have gotten is “I feel less alone in my feeling”. I write to remind myself to be there when someone reaches out to me in their loneliness at three in the morning. Because if they dare to do this, maybe I will be inspired by their bravery and do the same some day. For now I’ll just go back to bed.

Poly-partners without rush, ambivalence and expectations

Discovering partners

I’m openly polyamorous. I don’t currently adhere to the idea of a primary partner. The result is a group of people I consider partners. There are three criteria I use to identify my partners.

  1. A partner is ok with being described as my partner publicly
  2. A partner is someone I take with me in my heart wherever I go
  3. A partner is someone I have a specified commitment to

Hand holdingThe first is quite obvious. If the term partner is mostly a label used to describe relationships to the world. Then someone can only be a partner if they allow me to describe them as such. What I mean by taking with me in my heart is that I consider them in my decisions. If I’m about to do something risky on my snowboard or I’m thinking about moving to a different country, then I will take the feelings of my partners into consideration. There needs to be at least one specified commitment. It can be an easy commitment like seeing them if we are in the same city, or maybe committing to staying polyamorous (this one I don’t go without).

In many cases there are feelings of passion or desire with my partners. In many cases there is physical intimacy. But not in all of them, and sometimes it is love without physical intimacy or vice versa. Indeed it may just be someone I’m practically committed to; a very important friend who fills up a very unique role in my life. Or it might be that we are going through a period of being apart, and so passion and desire are in hibernation. My way of identifying a partner is not one based on love or physical intimacy, it’s one based on testable conditions. Because I’m not monogamous, and I never make commitments based around special rights, I don’t need the title of partner for anything other than communicating with the outside world.

If you put this together you may ask whether or not any person living up to these criteria is a partner. And my answer to that is a loud booming YES THEY ARE! And this is essential. I am not trying to find partners, by asking someone to be my partner. It is simply that when the three criteria are met, that is when someone is identified as my partner. I discover that they are a partner, not because I want them to be, but because they happen to be.

Recently I was chatting with someone I feel myself moving closer towards. She is someone I could see myself identifying as a partner somewhere down the road. She described the feeling of closing the distance between us like this:

It lacks the feeling of rush, ambivalence and expectations, and that feels good.

The above sentence inspired this entire text. It succinctly described how I like relationships to feel. Below I will address rushing, ambivalence and expectations. I included my way of identifying partners above to give some context to what comes below.


What often feels rushed about relationships is the hurry to chisel them in stone, or get to third base. We express our desire for something manifest, a title or a symbol, that will tell us that the relationships really is. Instead of simply observing and identifying what is, we seek to make it come into existence by adding expressions that speak of and about the relationship. When haven’t kissed yet, that first kiss seems a symbol of the relationship. When we haven’t had sex, then this must be the expression of it becoming more real. Finally we need our partner to give us a title, and then express that title to the world. Then finally we can accept that the relation is. All this is strange because isn’t it really the feelings we have towards each other that makes us kiss, hug, have sex and put on various labels?

My approach to this is different. I admit that it causes frustration with some people, but I take this frustration as a sign that we don’t really fit together. It is simple: I just wait and see what is. I don’t mind waiting a long time. This waiting may seem a bit like abstinence for the sake of it, but it’s not. My method is pretty straight forward: I begin by building a friendship. Once I identify the person as a friend I will kiss that person when it feels right, and only when I don’t feel like the friendship is at risk. If I believe the friendship may get hurt from a bad kissing experience, I’m not willing to risk it. When it feels good, then I might observe that I feel like having sex with the person, but I will only do it when I feel safe that it won’t hurt the fact that we can be friends-who-kiss. If all goes well and that happens, then I may do it and it may be really nice. From there I feel safe that we can slip back and forth between being friends and lovers without friction. This entire process can easily take between half a year and many years. I can only say that I think it is really worth it, and that relationships built like this have a tremendous staying-power.

I am not saying that friendship must be the base of any relationship. But you should be aware of what you consider most fundamental with another person. Also if you do not agree on the most fundamental aspect it may be hard for you to find an equilibrium. One person may be looking for the friendship and the other for the physical intimacy, as they each consider that the most fundamental and foundational aspect of the relation.


Ambivalence seems to arise when we fear that we will not get to the next level. Our efforts of rushing are failing and we are losing momentum. Our fears drive us towards acting without full disclosure, and this lack of transparency leads to ambivalent feelings in others. We are hunting for that special person to become what we have envisioned them like in our private fantasies, Instead of accepting that it may not be, we attempt to change ourselves to fit what we believe they will be drawn to. While the actor may not be caught lying directly, the underlying sense of incongruence gives rise to ambivalent feelings in the other.

The frustrations that a relationships are not moving forward can also lead to explosions of anger or implosions of sadness, and these can lead others to either shy away or loose respect. It is a big thing to ask someone to love us while we are angry that they do not, or to ask someone to desire us while we are sad that they don’t.

My approach to this is to go for less. I treasure the friendship above anything. It is what I try to preserve rather than feelings of desire and passion. I will not actively engage in physical or emotional intimacy on the foundation of a shaky friendship. Then I will focus on strengthening the friendship. This can sometimes feel cold and distanced to those I engage with, because I enter into fixing the friendship before the partnership. This again is a price I’m willing to pay. Whenever I feel myself wanting the relationship to be, I focus on what it is. I treat it like one of my plants, I can’t force it to grow, only place it in the sun and give it water and care.


I see now that all this is about expectations. Expectation is to know what you will get before you have it. This works well with ordering pizza, and sometimes when making wishes for your birthday. It works pretty bad when it comes to relationships. Let’s imagine we are two people painting a picture together, and we can’t talk while we do it. Having expectations is like me pushing you away in the beginning and drawing all the outlines, then nodding and pointing, urging you to fill in the spaces with color. It’s not really painting together anymore, it’s more like I dictate what will be, and you must fill it out. When you know what you will get before you have it in a relationship, it is truly your relationship. There is no quicker way of killing a relationship than by owning it. I may be verging on stating the obvious here, but relationships are all about relating, and this is a reflective two way process. One relates to the other, and the other relates back.

I think expectations rise when we really want her/him to be that special someone. My approach to quelling this desire for someone is to trust that wonderful people will come my way, and that they will naturally also consider me wonderful. In other words: I trust that those I love will love me back.

This is a blind decision, not a delusion. There is no proof for this, it is simply a thing that is so constructive to believe that it seems foolish not to. It may be completely false or it’s a self fulfilling prophecy. But even so, I believe you deserve to trust it as well. You can only make this decision yourself, and no one can tell you anything that will convince you that it’s true. But I find it unlikely that we would even have a word for love if it wasn’t the case.


To me love is respect, friendship, transparency, passion, intimacy, commitment and trusting that you will be loved by those you love. And as the song goes: This is the hardest thing you will ever learn.

Listening to yourself and others

Radio and microphoneI occasionally encounter someone who has either been with or been one who has lost her/himself in a relationship. I give my advice on these situations through the lens of listening. It has proven tremendously helpful to talk about these situations (and others) through the lens of the balance between listening to youself and others (or inward and outward sensitivity). In my work as a therapist I have found myself returning to it many times and I want to share it with you here.

I initially came upon this idea when I was listening to a podcast interview with Esther Perel1. I had seen her two Ted talks 2,3 and read her book Mating in Captivity4. I had been impressed by her eloquence and frankness when speaking about touchy subjects; so I was scouring the internet for more from her. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been able to find the interview later (I will update it this post if I find it later). I would strongly recommend reading her books and seeing her videos, they continue to inspire me at each re-watch and re-read.

In passing she muses that (while also admitting it is a strong generalisation): Men are culturally brought up to know what they want while women are culturally brought up to know what others want. It struck a chord with me and I ended up using this concept as a tool to understand relationships. Initially I will say that I don’t attribute either quality (listening to self or others) to women or men, but I believe that these are acquired abilities. The more we practice listening to our desires, the better we will get and vice versa.

The most profound lesson I learned from looking at the world through this model is that they are mutually inhibitory. That means that being relatively more sensitive to one side means the other becomes harder to pick up. So even if a person is very experienced with both, a bias will turn into a blind spot. I didn’t understand the fully until I began using the metaphor of two microphones pointing in either direction, connected to just one speaker. When one microphone becomes very sensitive the signal coming in through that one drowns out the signal coming from the other, and vice versa. The relative sensitivity between the inward and outward pointing microphones defines us on this spectrum of listening to ourself and others.

This helped me to see that some are incredibly sensitive to the desires of others and it ends up leading them away from their own needs. It wasn’t that they were sacrificing themselves to please others, they simply couldn’t hear clearly what they desired. Especially when around someone who expressed their own desires strongly. I understood that people who seemed selfish actually found it hard to pick up the desires of others when they hadn’t fulfilled their own first. It wasn’t stupidity nor malice, it was simply an unbalance in sensitivity.

I do believe that Esther Perel has a point in saying that men are generally praised for being masculine by knowing what they want. Not knowing what they want is often seen as unmasculine, and so a man does not fully realise himself until he expresses and knows his desires. In the same way women are often praised for diplomacy, and being unreasonable and selfish is often seen as hard or unfeminine. The hardness of masculinity and the softness of femininity may have its roots in this sensitivity to self or others.

It is usually those who are biased towards being outwardly sensitive who approach me for advice. These are the ones who get lost, and suddenly find that they have not fulfilled their own needs for years, while spending all their energy on others. They hit a critical wall, where some part of them pulls the handbrake and they usually react outwardly with a sudden ferocity. I often see people who explode into a period of exploring their own needs after leaving a relationship, I think this is connected to a lacking inward sensitivity during the relationship. Those who are balanced towards inward sensitivity are usually too self driven to ask others for advice, and for better or worse never notice their problems.

Being strongly biased towards inward sensitivity is usually associated with selfishness, solipsism and/or egomania. These are people who simply aren’t able to hear the desires of others before their own has been fulfilled. It is the feeling of knowing exactly what you desire at all times, but the volume of that desire is so high that the desires of others seem less significant. This can potentially grow into a form of sociopathy, where the person suffering from a heightened inward sensitivity can perceive the feelings and desires of others, but simply does not care as long as it has desires of its own.

My experience is that simply understanding where you find yourself on this spectrum is very helpful to guide you away from overly selfish or overly selfless action. We may introduce artificial volume knobs that amplifies the volume of either our own desires or those of others. We may also be interested in practicing either expressing our desires or listening to others express theirs, in order to balance our sensitivities.

Personally I have a strong desire to balance my sensitivities, and from there improve both together. I wish to do this in a practice of listening to others while I express my own desires. I don’t want to confuse this with reaching agreement or finding common interests, to me it is rather one of being sensitive and accepting towards the desires coming from within and without at the same time. My own experience is that by doing this the resolution becomes greater and the waters of desire becomes clearer. To me it is a big part of relating to create a space that can hold my own desires and those of others. Knowing that some are initially set up to be very outwardly or inwardly sensitive helps me greatly in my creation of this space.

I believe we all have private worlds, and we all long to reach out and be reached out to. I hope that this text will inspire you to either getting less lost or perhaps listening more. Then maybe someday I will be lucky enough to enjoy a relationship with you (or I’m lucky enough to already be in one with you) and that relationship can be a house where our desires can live together in mutual acceptance. That sounds a lot like love after all.

  1. Esther Perel – Therapist / Author / Speaker / Thought Leader ↩︎
  2. The secret to desire in a long term relationship ↩︎
  3. Rethinking infidelity … a talk for anyone who has ever loved ↩︎
  4. Goodreads: Mating in Captivity ↩︎

The power of expressing desire

Handing apple to shopper I’m standing in the kitchen of a friend. We’re in the midst of planning the day. We both want to see one of her old friends whom I have recently been introduced to. She tells me that he had expressed a selfish desire to spend the day with both of us and gave some more details about what he wanted to do. I repeat the words “selfish desire” back to her because they’re slightly odd sounding to me, and I must have said it in the tone of a question because she elaborates with a “I think he means that it is his narcissistic personal desire, if he was the only one deciding what would happen”. At this point my mind begins making mental notes for writing later. What triggers my interest is that he is clearly expressing what he wants, before taking into account what others may desire. He is given my friend the courtesy of being directly honest about his personal desires, exposing them directly to us. Immediately I feel a sense of ease and lightness from knowing what he wants. An ease that arises from knowing that he hasn’t taken my wishes into consideration.

If someone had told me “Express your desires. It will make you happy.” I would likely have agreed with her. It may even have happened to me once or twice, and it has almost surely been mentioned in one of the many psychology and philosophy books I have read over the years. What it took for me to understand its power, was to be subjected to it myself. Experiencing a person clearly and honestly state their desires without no expectation of fulfilment. Throughout the day I kept reminding myself to write notes, and remember this profound act of communication. Only a few days later I had the time to fully write down my experiences and ideas. This turned into a “How to clearly express your desires” guide, and missed the point of my journey completely, it took me a long time to find the motivation to write up a different perspective.

My first question was why I hadn’t done this before. It seemed blatantly obvious. How could I possibly have missed such a useful tool, and how could I have survived without it? I started keeping an eye on my communication regarding my wishes, desires and needs. It quickly became obvious that most of the time I was asking others what they wanted, seeking to see how my desires may overlap with theirs. In many cases, I noticed that they were playing the same game. None of us would truly divulge our innermost clearest desire, and so our wishes to fulfil each others would always be limited by our own holding back. There was a benign and caring intent of respecting the desires of those around us, that eventually ended up blocking out stating our personal desires clearly. I began exchanging my “What do you want to do?” with “I have a desire to see you at 12.00 at the café and spend two and a half hours together, then I have a desire to go home and work”.

My expectation was that people would be offended at this directness. Rarely this was the case, but mostly people responded in the opposite way. Often people felt relieved that they knew exactly what I desired. They felt safe that I would express my desires.

I began making clear distinctions between needs and desires. Needs were different from desires in that they were required, I couldn’t go without them, and I found that I ended up using needs very rarely. Most of what I wanted was desires, in other words they did not need to be fulfilled. I made a promise to myself to always state them. I made this promise to give myself the opportunity to have them fulfilled but also to give others the opportunity to fulfil them.

In the period that followed people became accustomed to my new way of clearly expressing desires. Quickly people learned to say no, and planning time together became less of an insecure probing-the-waters and more of an open and honest sharing of things that would bring us joy. I ended up feeling much better about expressing my introvertness by expressing desires for meetings to be time-bound, and expressing a wish to be alone together. Often I would have a secret desire to just sit together and read or write, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable expressing it. This way of expressing myself in a way where I felt that my communication was clearly only about my selfish desires, helped me to overcome this discomfort. In a surprising number of cases others revealed that they had similar desires to mine.

Now I find myself starting almost all conversations with a statement of desires. I find myself planning by expressing my desires almost all the time, and giving space for others to express their selfish desires. Sometimes I will explain that it is my personal desire, and that I haven’t taken anyone else into account. Often I will ask how that desire sits with them. I have found that the fear of being rejected in terms of sexual or romantic desires have become almost non-existent. This is mainly because I am able to express my desires without accidentally making the others that they should fulfil them. Most rejection hurts because it is accompanied by a push back. This push back, I feel, is often the result of the undercurrent of “and now you should fulfil my desires”. That is the difference between expectations and desires.

My language has become a lot less manipulative. Subtle (not malicious) manipulation has been replaced by the (disturbingly obvious) tool of direct language. I am sure that I have read advice similar to what I am giving here through my story. For it to sink into me I had to experience being on the other side of clear communication of desire. I am hoping that by writing my impressions instead of a “The guide to expressing desire” you will go along with me on that journey in your heart. The first step is as easy as saying: “I have a desire to see you”. Statements of that type have become a recurring theme in my language. Because this is what love feels like to me; a direct desire to see someone. Sometimes I have a desire to be close to a special someone, to touch, to kiss, to play board games and many other things. Stating them seems more like expressions of love and not of personal selfish desire. As I have experienced others adopting my mode of speaking I can tell you that there’s nothing quite like being told: “I have a selfish personal desire to be close to you”.

I have no illusions that you will promptly pick up the mantle and begin expressing your desires to those around you. But I do have a hope that you will feel inspired to let a few of them slip out, and then maybe that trickle will slowly turn into small stream. One day I may pass under the waterfall of your desires and I can be that person who will fulfil them. There are few things that bring more joy than to fulfil the desires of those we love, but the first step for that to happen is to get to know them.