I’m afraid of things not working out. We’re getting older, which wouldn’t rush things except that we both think we might want biological kids of our own. I’m getting less fertile every year. One of my coworkers just had a baby born with Down’s Syndrome.

We dug deep from the start; it looks like that’s just how I do things now. So we know each other well: how we think, how we act, and what we want from ourselves and each other. And it all seems to fit. But after everything I've been through, how can I know?

So I consider the worst case scenario: I'm deeply wounded from my last emotional betrayal and everything I feel now is a response to that that will eventually wear off. I'll be living with a virtual stranger I have no feelings for, his life inexorably intertwined with mine, and wracked with regret for not taking more more time to heal. What will I do then?

In that case I'd do what I always do: make the best of the facts on the ground. I'd appreciate what I could and do everything in my power to work through the rest with the partner I'd promised myself to. I'd go forward from there.

And I wouldn't be alone in that. How much doubt have I already expressed, only to be reassured? How many times have I pulled away, been given space, and then re-courted into respect, to optimism, to endearment? He reminds me why he's awesome for me, why we're awesome together. I can't help but remember each time: we've got this. My refusals get weaker and further apart. It feels so comfortable, after all, to have what I've always wanted. My head can see that even when my heart is occasionally more difficult, or maybe just inherently more fickle.

So we've got an offer out on a place together, and we're lazy about taking precautions. We're discussing far-out timelines, a declaration of marriage intent is out on the table, and we alternate pulling each other aside to confide that we don't want the other to feel rushed into anything. And then we reassure ourselves, this is what we agreed to: if we're doomed to fail, let's fail fast.

But if we're on a different path than failure, if this is the real thing? Hell, it may as well start now.

He’ll be faster than me soon. In the six months since we met he’s lost 25 pounds, going from round cuteness to a leaner, rugged handsomeness. I’m a little threatened, but mostly proud. Having an objectively attractive partner was never important to me, but it does make some things easier. I don’t find myself fixating on whether people are wondering why I’m with him.

I’ve always struggled with how people see me, so avoiding this is a welcome relief. Beyond mere looks, the people others date is a reflection on who they are, and I’ve always been hyper-aware of this as it applies to me personally. I see the failings of my partners as manifestations of my own poor choices. And while I’ve never expected anyone to be perfect or identical to me, I have needed someone I respect who’s generally on the same awesomeness level that I am (however un-evenly that might flesh out across individual criteria). In the past, I’ve been told I could do better, and it ate at me (and the relationship) as a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if that were true.

Now I’ve got someone on my side who's just amazing. He meets people and I bring him to things, and I say, “I know they’ll love you,” and they do. I suggested he’d get too hot and leave me; he said that, to the contrary, I was motivating him to be better for me. And how lovely it is, to inspire someone to that through no conscious effort of my own, instead of inadvertently tearing another person down.

The holidays are approaching, and with them, the feelings of exclusion and sadness that I have felt for decades. But I'm cautiously optimistic that this year my gift will be support without pressure, as it has been these recent months; and if I need it, a little space to heal from past wounds instead of being forced to re-rip them open. It's funny how scary that hope feels.

In this way, I want to be better too.