The Fear Beneath the Rule
A follow-up of "Why I Stopped Policing My Own Desire."
I was thinking about why I made that rule for myself, the one about not dating anyone more than eight years younger, and I realized it wasnāt about ethics or maturity or any of the things I used to tell myself. It was something quieter, something I didnāt want to look at too closely. Something rooted in shame more than anything else.
Because the truth is, some younger women are financially stable. Some of them have resources, careers, choices, and a sense of direction that I never had access to or couldnāt pursue because Iāve lived on this thin glass of shattering from the inside out. I know that sounds dramatic, but Iām being honest.
Iāve worked very hard for the things I care about. For relationships that led to me giving more than I ever received. I lived with emotional starvation for so long that crumbs are what Iām used to. Literally, Iāve survived all my life on crumbs. And because I didnāt express my emotions to anyone for years, I kept everything inside and always had to resort to writing just to get it all out.
I still walk the world this way. Slowly, Iāve been deconstructing everything that landed me in this mental and emotional mess. But I know who I am now. I built an entirely new foundation, something sturdier, perspectiveāwise. And yet, I fear younger women. It takes a lot for me to admit they intimidate me, but not because they scare me. Itās because deep down, I still have unresolved shame tied to me.
Here I am, forty years old, still struggling on almost every level. Struggling financially, emotionally, and mentally. Carrying unresolved trauma, depression, and an injured body that doesnāt always cooperate with the life I want to live. And when I look at all of that laid out in front of me, it feels like all I really have to give is just my presence.
And that line keeps echoing in my head.
All I really have to give is just my presence.Ā Ā
It feels like a confession and a wound at the same time.
A very deep wound that aches in me.
The kind of pain that eats away slowly.
It reminds me that I didnāt choose a path that led to wealth or stability. I didnāt choose the kind of life that looks impressive on paper. I chose what I could survive in my state of affairs. And I canāt help but admit: I chose the wellābeing of my partners over what I needed to achieve. I kept choosing them over material gains or any path that could have led to them. Do I regret those choices? No. I would make them all again in a heartbeat. Even when I realize I dug my own grave ā not literally, just the exhaustion of pushing myself beyond my capacity.
And it canāt be helped that I chose creativity, too. I chose the long, messy road of healing and becoming someone new. And because of that, I never let myself even consider younger women. Not seriously. Not with intention. Especially not with the possibility that they might actually want me back. I block out a lot.
I told myself it was about responsibility when I created those laws for myself. That it was about not wanting to be āthat older woman.ā I told myself it was about protecting them, or protecting myself, or protecting some imaginary moral line. But when I sit with it honestly, it wasnāt morality. It was fear. Iām just a scared cookie.
It was the fear of being seen by someone who has more than me. The fear of being the older woman who doesnāt have her life together. Or that it keeps crumbling like a cookie. Cookies do crumble. It was the fear of being the one whoās struggling while sheās thriving. The fear of being the one who feels ābehind.ā
And the thing is, sapphic age gaps ā WLW dynamics in general ā arenāt the same as hetero ones or gay male ones. I donāt even know why I let it get to me. Iāve always known that. Iāve written about it. Women connect differently. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually. Thereās a depth to it that doesnāt follow the same scripts. But even knowing that, I still let the heteronormative script seep into my bones. The one that says the older partner is supposed to be the stable one, the grounded one, the one with resources and answers and a life thatās already built.
But thatās not my life.
Iām the cookie that still crumbles.
But Iām a delicious cookie.
Wellā¦ I like to think so.
And that āolder partner must be stableā idea isnāt the truth of a sapphic connection either.
Not the cookie part ā just to be clear.
What I find odd is that younger women, from what Iāve gathered across multiple platforms, arenāt looking for someone with a perfect life. Theyāre not looking for someone who has everything figured out. Not even someone with money or status, or a curated existence. Theyāre looking for presence. Emotional depth. Someone who sees them clearly, who listens, who understands nuance, who has lived through things and can speak from the inside of their own experience.
And thatās the part I never let myself consider.
That maybe what I bring, my presence, my depth, and my lived experience, is its own kind of wealth.
That maybe Iām not as emptyāhanded as I think I am.
I still consider myself a crumbling cookie.
Maybe the life I lived, even with all its struggles, still shaped me into someone worth loving.
I think thatās the hard part to digest.
Am I worthy of love?
I think I made that rule about younger women because I was afraid of being loved while still unfinished.
The crumbling cookie.
Afraid of being chosen by someone who has more than me.
Afraid of being seen in the places where I still hurt.
But maybe I donāt have to disqualify myself anymore.
Maybe I donāt have to hide behind rules built out of shame.
Maybe I can let myself be wanted, even if Iām still healing.
Even if Iām still becoming a notāsoācrumbling cookie.
Even if all I have to give is just my presence.
Maybe thatās enough.
Take that as you will.
