I wrote this on our anniversary, and hope you find some value in it too.

Sometimes being with you feels like catching my reflection in the mirror when I’m tripping on mushrooms… really wish I didn’t have to see myself like that, but now I can’t unsee it.

Other times, being in your arms feels like home in a way that home never did. I crawl under your shirt because I can’t get close enough and I wish I could squeeze my body inside your chest cavity and sleep there next to your beating heart.

Love is a little psycho like that.

The ways we yearn to return to the womb, return to oneness, and how we can’t really do that with another human in a separate body, though we get glimpses.

It’s what makes that honeymoon vibe so addictive— the contrast of the fear of the unknown and the differences between you and this other being along side the merging, the unity.

We’re so willing to give up our individuality to have a shared experience, at first.

It feels so good, at first.

But in that oneness there is no desire, no magnetism. No two things to be IN relationship with each other.

So we have to do the dance of merging and separating, individuating and coming together.

Naturally it touches on all the painful memories of that dance with mom and dad, the times there was too much merging, and too much separation.

Love gets all tangled up with history.

We can’t forget all the times that love wasn’t safe.

It’s the most annoying part.

You’ve triggered the parts of me I have the hardest time loving, the young parts of me that still need so much patience and tenderness and parenting, all the stuff I think I should have healed/fixed/figured out by now.

It has felt unbearable in moments to stay IN when the self-loathing loop is looping, or that familiar trapped sensation kicks up, or I have to just choose to trust and it is so hard because the survival programming says DON’T.

Maybe most of all it feels hard when I lose my connection with myself and I feel like I have to choose between me or us. Because that’s how I knew relationships to be.

But I’m learning how to choose me and you, even though it’s clunky and messy and often not cute or romantic.

Whether we stay together for another month, year, or decades, I wouldn’t trade this time with you for anything.

I am committed to creating a new model of partnership for my lineage and for the world, where both people are fully expressed, sovereign, free, and stronger together. Together because the sum is greater than the parts, because life is more meaningful when witnessed and shared. Not out of codependency or convenience.

The way you love me has been healing in specific ways—you have validated my feelings and intuition again and again. I didn’t know how much I needed this. I trust myself more because where past partners would have told me I was crazy or making shit up, you have repeatedly come back to tell me “that thing you were feeling/seeing, it was true, you were right”. It takes a secure man to do that.

I trust you to listen to me.

You’ve modeled what healthy repair looks like and been the relentless champion of connection in our relationship.

You’re the first one to lean back in after an argument to apologize, take accountability, and commit to changed behavior.

You scoop me up when I’m mad and demand a wrestling match because you know it will help, no matter how much I scowl. You throw me over your shoulder and run me down the street until we’re laughing instead of bickering, and you reach out to grab my hand when I’m going into ice-queen mode.

I trust you to lead us back to connection.

You started “compliment week” our first month of dating, where you shower me in a little extra praise Days 22-27 of my cycle, when us women feel most sensitive and insecure, and you kept it up this entire year. You track my cycle with me, take full ownership over contraception, have zero ick around period blood, tell me you miss my morning breath, get turned on sniffing my armpits, and just generally treat my body with so much affection and reverence.

I trust you with my body.

You ask me how I feel and you actually want to know, and you ask so much that I’ve gotten a lot of needed practice in being able to articulate my feelings, which is often challenging for me.

I trust you to be curious about me.

You’ve meditated with me every morning and evening we’re together since the beginning and supported every healthy habit I have.

I trust you want what is best for me.

You’re generous with your time, your resources, your praise and your love. You still open my car door for me a year in, walk me to my car every single time I leave your house, hold my hand crossing the street, dom the waitstaff at every restaurant into taking my celiac condition seriously, and send flowers or love notes when I’m having a rough day.

On one particularly shit day, you answered the door in nothing but an apron and a freshly shaved ‘stache, and handed me a margarita. That is the man I want in my corner.

I trust you to protect me, even from my own inner critic.

You tell me not to rush when I’m running late, and you mean it. My entire body softens when I feel your patience and I learn again and again that love isn’t a reward for being perfect.

You cooked a weekends’ worth of gourmet food and packed all my favorite snacks for our adventure to Desert Reef so we could be well-fed, you drive us everywhere and I’ve never gasped less with a man behind the wheel, and you bring me matcha lattés in bed when I stay over.

You bought me lingerie and sexy props our first month dating, signed up for a Shibari workshop with me our second month dating, came to a 5-day polarity intensive with my teacher 6 months in, and have been such a willing playmate in every realm— spiritual, physical, emotional and sexual.

You listened to John Wineland’s book while I was out of town at his workshop so you could connect with what I was up to. You sat with hapé and listened to kambo medicine songs at your house while I was in ceremony an hour away so you could support me in the spiritual plane. You picked me up from the airport after I got back from Australia with hot tea, and snacks, and calming music and the biggest hug and drove me an hour home, intending to just drop me off so I could get some rest. Of course, I wanted you to stay.

I trust you to take care of me.

You encourage me to sing while you play the guitar because you know that I love it but feel shy, you tell me what you see lights me up and what you see drains me whether I want to hear it or not, and you take my side when there’s conflict with friends while also holding me accountable for my shit.

I trust you to see me.

You put things in our shared Notes app under “To-Do” like “come up with a secret handshake”, makeout with me on the dance floor like we’re teenagers, and invite me on dates via audio-text like we just met and you’re not sure I’m going to say yes. You remind me that it gets to be fun.

I trust you to keep dating me and not take me for granted.

You tell me no when I’m being bratty, controlling, hyper-critical and demanding. You tell me when it’s my turn to figure out dinner, when you need more flirting or a sexy photo, when I feel far away because I’ve closed my heart, and when my priorities are out of whack.

I trust you to challenge me.

Seeing you be a father to your 5-year old has been inspiring to say the least. The devotion, the presence, the patience, the generosity, and the love you bring to that relationship melts me. You’ve welcomed me into his life with so much warmth and trust for us to create our own unique relationship. The way you speak to him about me, and the way you treat me in front of him is evident in his affection for me. He wants to be just like you, and you’re showing him how to love a woman well.

I trust you as a father.

I wouldn’t trade the past year for anything, even if this timeline doesn’t lead to a house in the mountains with another baby and a couple of dogs.

I needed you to grow me into the woman who could have that life with someone, who could let someone in that close, and stick it out through each new intimacy threshold.

Thank you for seeing the worst of me, and reflecting back the absolute best of me again and again. It’s an honor to love you.

Happy anniversary,

Caite