I’m in a loving relationship, so why do I feel so ashamed?

I felt like I was losing my core self—a tough, strong and independent person.

To admit I feel shameful about being in a loving relationship feels like a shame in itself. Why can’t I enjoy nice things? Where most people dream of finding their perfect match, I’ve forever resented the idea that I end up coupled up. Not necessarily because the idea revolted me—I just always felt it wasn’t something meant for me.

I felt comfortable being perpetually solo in every sense of the word. I’ve travelled alone extensively. I relish my precious alone time and enjoy digging into my thoughts and analysing my behaviour. I’ve forever been happy trusting myself, and myself only, to bring me happiness, safety and meaning.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve held a great deal of fear around dating. More specifically, it’s a fear of being honest, vulnerable and—worst of all—dependant. I feared losing myself in someone else, all too aware of my anxious-avoidant tendencies that time and time again led me to fall fast and pull away out of fear of rejection.

My early twenties saw me in numerous flighty, non-committal situationships, each ending in shallow heartbreak and disappointment. These experiences not only taught me that relationships weren’t for me, but that my mental health was probably better off without them. I couldn’t handle true romantic closeness and, as it turned out, neither could anyone else I dated.

Each time a romantic entanglement would inevitably end, I would retreat within myself, almost gleefully, to the warm confines of my own company. I intimately knew my way around this place, and it’s where I felt safest and most at ease. I would lock my psyche away from any potential threats to the way I loved or viewed myself and my life would go back to normality.

Through a myriad of wine-fuelled conversations and candid articles, I became known for a specific kind of dismissive rhetoric around dating. Although always happy for others in love, I consistently voiced rarely ever wishing the same for myself. I would tell my friends and family, “I think I’m better alone”. I wholeheartedly meant it and in some ways I still do.

So, when I realised recently that for the first time, I felt safe and open in a relationship, the alarm bells blared. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Who am I if not alone? How will this change the way I feel about myself? Am I a bad feminist for potentially giving up on a solo life—a prospect I had loudly voiced that I was strangely comfortable with?

This shame I felt about being in a happy relationship was only made more concrete when I began telling people the news. The most common reaction from many of my close friends and family members was shock.

Although their intentions were pure and the reactions were incredibly fleeting (and were quickly followed by elation) their initial surprise at my change of heart impacted the way I viewed myself. When telling outer circle friends and acquaintances, I began softening the blow, even making jokes out of my newly coupled-up status out of fear I would be judged harshly for going against what I had previously stood so staunchly for.

Though the reactions of others may have stuck, it was the way I viewed myself that was the most troublesome. This shame was ugly and it had its claws in me. In many ways, I felt like I was losing my core self—a tough, strong and independent person.

But in many ways, I’ve also realised that existing in a safe and supportive relationship has the potential to strengthen these parts of myself even more. It’s a double-edged sword—as all relationships are—but it’s one I’m finally ready to embrace.

Bringing these feelings to light feels like adding a blight to an otherwise wonderful scenario. I’m beyond happy in my relationship in ways I never thought were possible and I hate to think that my own ego could get in the way of a truly meaningful partnership.

The fact that this shame is only just now rearing its ugly head, and never did in previous romantic situations, is a true testament to how serious I am, not only about my relationship but about growing and developing as an individual. I’m finally willing to let go of this resistance to experiencing the joy of vulnerability, something that has remained completely unachievable up until this point.

I feel I’m ready to face this shame head-on and call it out for what it is—something that held me back from some of life’s greatest experiences. Now, in no way am I saying that I now feel being in a loving relationship is integral to my happiness or purpose. What my single self taught me is that I truly don’t need anyone else and that’s something I hope to carry with me forever.

But just because I don’t need someone, that doesn’t mean I can’t let someone in and enjoy a partnership to the fullest extent. Acknowledging and moving through this initial shame, I can finally see a more open and loving self on the horizon and it’s possible because I allowed myself to accept an incredible kind of love. As it turns out, being in love isn’t all that bad.

We’re currently accepting submissions for our quarterly Issues theme, Shame. If you’ve got something Shame-related to share/release/redirect, send your ideas to issues@itsallfluff.com