Am I the Only Person Who Friggin' Hates Falling in Love?

What happens when you realize you've been protecting yourself from the very connection you're desperately seeking.

I saw a woman on a dating app with a bio that simply said “love to fall in love with new people” – and that sounds so horrible to me.

Like you’re just out here flooding your brain with dopamine, riding that roller coaster of emotions, activating the most primitive and sensitive parts of your brain, FOR FUN?

Which got me wondering … Am I the only person who friggin’ hates falling in love?

This spring, I decided to revive my old Queerie Bradshaw blog here on Stubstack and reclaim the parts of my sexual, kinky, and romantic self that I’d tucked away for most of my thirties.

In theory, I was out here looking for a primary partner, someone who would travel the world with me, buy me flowers, and make all of this career success I’ve had feel less lonely.

In practice, I was scared shitless of actually finding love.

I am.

I am scared shitless of falling in love.

Don’t get me wrong, I love love.

I write romance novels. I binge romcomcs. I have deep, loving, intimate relationships with people in my life.

But falling in love? That’s a whole other story.

I am scared shitless of falling in love. Don’t get me wrong, I love love. But falling in love? That’s a whole other story.

If you’ve read Because Fat Girl, you could probably have already guessed that falling in love is hard for me.

Maybe it’s because of grief. I’ve been through some rough shit – not the least of which was watching my younger brother bleed out and die – and falling in love makes me face the loved ones that I’ve lost. Love requires intimacy, and intimacy requires me to share these sad, deep, horrific truths and life experiences that live within my soul.

Maybe it’s a neurodiversity thing. I spend so much time managing my mental health, getting my brain to focus, and trying to not spiral, that it feels quite literally insane to be out here hitting it with the ticking time bomb of emotions that is love.

Maybe it’s a fat and queer thing. I grew up being told I was unlovable because of my size and sinful because of my sexuality and gender. Not to mention all the ways I had pointed out to me that my personality made me “hard to handle.” It’s difficult to get over those voices from my formative years.

My sister and I showing off the books we both desperately need to read to better understand ourselves. Did we buy them? Nope. LOL

Or maybe it’s because I’m fucking fabulous, a total catch, and no one is good enough for me to love.

See that last part there? That’s called overcompensating and condescension. And it’s been a problem in my search for love.

When I get nervous that I’m unworthy of love, I put down everyone else as inadequate and therefore also unworthy. If no one is worthy of love, then I don’t have to worry about falling in love.

Easy, right?

What could go wrong?

I mean, I am pretty fabulous. There’s no lie there.

Well, life had other plans for my carefully constructed emotional barricades.

Gentle lovers who held me as I cried.

Chosen family who supported me through the highs and lows.

People who remind me that I can be both flawed and lovable.

Imperfect humans that I love with all of my heart proving that it’s possible.

Between friends, leather family, biological family, and romantic lovers, I’ve had to learn to accept that maybe, just maybe, I can handle love.

Maybe I already am handling it.

Maybe my life is flowing full of love.

Maybe I have to admit that I can handle love.

Spent Pride surrounded by familial love.

Back when I was writing my first published book Bawdy Love: 10 Steps to Profoundly Loving Your Body, I did a deep dive into how we sabotage our relationships because we’re feeling unworthy of love.

I wrote a blog post titled How to Feel Worthy of Love and Stop Damaging Your Relationships, and it still gets about 1000 views a month, eight years later.

Apparently, I’m not alone in this struggle.

I read through the piece again and this quote from Brené Brown really struck out at me:

“The thing that undermines this thinking that I’m not ______ enough , is excruciating vulnerability. This idea that in order for connection to happen, we have to allow ourselves … to really be seen.”

So, let’s sit with this question together today:

Are we willing to allow ourselves to truly, completely, and totally be seen?

I'm curious—do you find falling in love exhilarating or terrifying? And if you're like me and find it scary as hell, what do you think is behind that fear?

I’d love to know your answer.

Reply in the comments below.

With you in the process,

Lauren

P.S. Like what you’re reading? Be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss a post.