Has my style changed?

I had a conversation with a friendly classmate this morning about attachment, adoption, the power of narrative and some spiritual hoo-haw that I don't like to write about very much. The conversation, over coffee and breakfast, sparked a great deal of reflection in me today.

At one point, she asked how Attachment Theory "resonated" for me, wanting to know what it was that sparked my interest in her so-called Fucked Up Attachment Style, a category she believes is missing from the styles of attachment described in the theory.

I can't remember what I answered at that point. Could be when the conversation turned to whether The Notorious M.O.M. is as messed up as she is because she was adopted. My classmate's anectodal research on that subject gave me a perspective I haven't often considered: the notion adoptees may have of not being wanted enough for the mother to fight to keep them.

Hmmmm. I had always thought more about how my mother may have felt "displaced" by the arrival of her younger brother and sister, both of whom were my grandmother's biological children. My mother had been adopted after a series of miscarriages had my grandmother believing she could not conceive. But I hadn't considered the possibility that my mother felt unwanted by her biological mother, even though it is common enough and a logical conclusion for an adolescent.

In terms of psychodynamic and narrative theories, either one of those beliefs — displaced by the biological children or unwanted by the birth mother — would be powerful and damaging influences on ones attachment style.

Not sure how I managed to overlook that. But I'll add it to the thought stream, as it might explain a lot about The Nortorious M.O.M.

Later in the day, I found myself thinking about my own attachment style (or styles, as the case may be). I have many thoughts on intimacy and its presence — or lack thereof — in my life, but I got to wondering today if my history might not be one of being just as adverse to intimacy as those whom I have *accused* of such shortcomings themselves.

I am not adverse to it today, but perhaps the change is more recent than I realized. And, in truth, I'm not sure how penetrating that change has been.

The only place I have had to work out this process for myself in the past 16 months or so has been in the context of friendships and extended familial relationships. Lacking a romantic partner (or even so much as a single date) in that time, whatever changes have gone on within me are evident only in how I handled my grief and my grieving family in light of Liz's death and/or only within the sometimes dramatic landscape of a particular friendship or two.

I have learned a great deal about trust and not trying to protect myself in relationships in the same ways I once did. But I have not had an opportunity to step across the breach with a intimate, significant other — a completely different challenge in terms of holding on to myself while letting the other be fully herself, as well.

I started wondering today for the first time how I might *really* be in such a relationship. Over the past year or so, I have a sense of change within, but there are significant ways in which that change has not been tested. I have no clue how I'm going to be. No clue.

So I started thinking less about how I might be (only time will tell) and more about what I want.

Here is one answer: A relationship in which I must risk its loss, if only because there is no other way of being in it. In other words, one in which I am more fully myself than I have been in previous relationships.

Also, passion for a single, queer, emotionally attuned woman would be good, rather than the usual fair of non-practicing bisexuals, straight girls who already have mates or girls who are emotionally distant. (The one woman I find myself thinking of lately remains a mystery to me in those regards, specifically. My fear is that she's all of the above (and more): an emotionally aloof non-practicing bisexual with a mate who's contemplating a career change to become a Lutheran minister or a Catholic nun. And me, even given all of this, unable to stop thinking, Well, there's a *chance* she'll change, right? ... Sigh.)

One other qualification: someone who will appreciate and enjoy me as I am, fat arms and all.

Ultimately, though, someone who wants to know me and wants me to know her.

A mutual invitation.

A real connection.

One that comes with sex. (Luscious lesbian sex, to be specific.)

I told someone earlier this week that I was thinking it might be nice, in the meantime, to have a fuck buddy for the summer. Even if only to have someone give me a massage for free now and then. (Especially lately.) But the truth, as she pointed out, is that I don't do things that way. I like real connection, and my aim is to get something that sticks for a while without feeling *stuck.*

I can't imagine that's too much to ask. So, hey there, Universe: How about it?

On that note, I must admit I have been awake for far too many hours this week (20 hours yesterday alone), and I want to put my Friday night to bed early. It's a form of self-care designed to ensure I'll have the energy to live a more vivacious life tomorrow.

Should I encounter the right woman, I want to be ready for her.