Confessions of a libra

Powerful women to the patriarchy | Credit: Here

[Song to loop: Fall Apart by Kali Uchis]

31.10.25

The Almost Lover is the thorn that pricks my sacred hermitude, spilling out my security and leaving me woozy. He comes in different forms, yet most of them have a shell of softness. It’s the big pleading eyes that clutch at my heartstrings. Special moments spill from him slowly, consistently in close proximity and with increasing boldness. I’m selective who I let in, so I allow myself to unfurl. To laugh at the self-deprecation, to witness the moments of vulnerability that always happen as soon as we are alone. Like he planned it. Planned to leave me reeling wondering if he was saying what I think he was saying. Why would he hover at the gates of my heart in jest. He could never be so cruel I tell myself, convince myself.

It’s the feeling of slowly falling that heightens the days. Joy seeps into the mundane with sheer force at the possibility of connection. At the possibility that the eyes will meet and the hands will raise before the mind has a moment to calculate. How could any human be impervious to the craving for human connection? The Almost Lover likes the thrill of the chase. The dopamine, the attention, the possibility. The eagerness lies in the electrical beginning where ambiguity rules. For as long as it’s not real, how could he bear responsibility? He wants his heart to be enchanted without strings attached. He wants to be courted, while protecting his heart safely cocooned in a bomb shelter.

In my wisdom, I let my buttons be pressed. I let the arousal settle in my body after every look, every touch and every dream. The hedonist and the pragmatist in me believe two conflicting but married concepts. I can follow my pleasure, I am guided by it and I am unashamed of what I find to be beautiful. Yes, I find beauty in men. If I was a better poet, I would spend my time talking about the wonder in a man’s thighs. But alas, in a world of men who complain about the evolution of women, instead of celebrating it – it feels less and less safe to be so dreamy. To be so unabashedly romantic. Misogyny is so rampant and baked in, that when men don’t go out of their way to unlearn it – they might not even understand the depth of their biases.

There’s this aspect of men I have experienced as a self-aware, self-confident, sexually open, spiritually potent woman. It’s the part where they believe women to occupy these boxes that they simply don’t believe the words out of your mouth when you state who you are. Especially when it falls out of the parameters they are accustomed. I have the same conversation with every man I date, because I am very intentional in each aspect of my life. One – do not lie to me, I will find out. I hate liars, and I am psychic. Save us both the time, by being honest. Two – If you have a problem, you talk to me like you’re an adult and I will do the same. Do not yell at me. Do not throw objects. The latter is grounds for me to end the relationship immediately. The former is on a one to three strike basis depending on what else is occurring.

Three – I am open-minded but I am loyal. We agree on the terms of OUR relationship. I do not claim to know how you like things done. I do not claim to know your triggers. Let’s have the discussion up front and I operate within the rules of A relationship. I don’t treat all relationships equal. I might be monogamous in one and open in another. I might be more dominant in one and more submissive in another. I read the frequency that we meet on and act accordingly. Four – I will not bring up everything you do that I don’t like immediately. If I go quiet, it might be because I am stewing and planning how I want to approach something. This is a sacred process.

It allows me to be considerate with my words before I approach someone I love. I do not accept people speaking any which way because they are angry. As such, I hold myself to the same standard. When people rush me into talking about things I am not ready for, I experience that as emotional violence (Taurus moon). Lastly, I tell every man I date this. You may experience me not only as loving but as an almost all-encompassing force in my energy. But know this. The day you cross the last line, I will cut you out of my life faster than you can blink, and never think about it again. This allows me to very present with people. This allows me to take people at face value.

I believe in giving disclaimers like this because you cannot accuse me of not being clear. The most abusive man I ever dated I probably didn’t even do more than two months. I am not impervious to abusers as I have experienced a lot of abuse since I was a child. It was always going to take time, attracting those personalities to grow and learn. However, I am proud of having grown strong boundaries. For every Almost Lover there were the real lovers. The ones who made it past my pearly gates.

The Egoic Lover, the Midlife Criminal, the Mama’s Millstone and the Wishy Washy. It’s an interesting how my romanticism and intellectualism plays out. Each man has been thoroughly psychoanalysed and placed in a category. This process cuts off any pesky emotions. Besides, I spend the first few months post-any break-up doing intentional healing work. It is why I rarely date two people back-to-back, though life has tried me. If I was being objective – as though I didn’t date them myself – I would say this about each of them.

The Egoic Lover is perhaps the most sad to me because we had a deep soul connection, great egalitarian partnership and his bodily health improved over time while we were together. What he couldn’t see then – but I am sure he has realised now – is he was so enmeshed with the people he grew up with, that my being in his life made them feel territorial. They didn’t care that he was glowing and happy. They wanted him to all themselves. Now they have him, and he has regressed since we were together, though he is years older now.

The Midlife Criminal was a lost boy with Peter Pan syndrome who wanted to act forever young, yet simultaneous act like he was introducing me to different aspects of life. His weaponising of his neurodivergence to cross boundaries would be legendary if I didn’t have a heard. The Mama’s Millstone, is a boy who ultimately never got over his father leaving his mother. As such, deep down he has told himself he deserves ease (laziness), as penance for the trauma. He is old enough to have healed in therapy by now, but the therapist can’t help those who lie to continue victimising themselves. And Wishy Washy is married but I hope he got a stronger backbone. In this Scorpio season, on Halloween of all days, I find myself reminiscing. At the almosts and the could-have-been-if-you-actually-tried.

I am accepting that I may have better romance in the recesses of my mind than in real life. It saddens me because I have still experienced really satisfying romantic moments. But the romance is the small bit isn’t it, really? What truly matters is someone respects you in totality. As a whole person, with all your eccentricities. That they listen to what you say, and not paint you with the same brush that painted other love stories. We all deserve for that respect to translate to inspired action. Just like The Egoic Lover when he would drop me off and pick me up every night-shift. Like when Wishy Washy made sure I got home safe, after I had been stalked as a teenager by a predator in our suburb. Like when Mama’s Millstone bought me a laptop when my old one broke and I was working on a new business.

For the most part, women are unwilling to jump back into the kitchen barefoot and pregnant in the same way. That’s the BEAUTY of choice. As such, I cannot and will not make myself smaller to comfort the egos of the insecure. If I fall for someone I let myself fall. Unlike some of the people I have interacted with, I don’t see control in self-flagellation as useful. I let myself want. I let myself crave. I let myself dream. I name my desires often, even if it doesn’t materialise. I will tell you I like you when I feel safe enough, and if you reject me that’s okay. I’ll take time to absorb it, then extricate myself from your life. Not in punishment, but to cradle my aching heart. If you won’t cradle it, I will. Always. For that is the depth of love I have for myself.

Every man who has tried to flatten me, flattened themselves instead. My luminosity is innate, and my open-mindedness can’t save you from your mental limitations. I want a kind of love that is honest, courageous, compassionate and actioned otherwise I will have no love at all. My love for self, my love for life, my love for art and my love for children will always sustain me. I can always weave worlds with perfect gentlemen, men who kneel at the feet of strong women and kiss the arches of their feet. A world where men correct themselves for their wandering thoughts and not police the women’s clothing. A world where men feel brave enough to state their feelings, and give their own hopes and dreams a shot. Instead I meet a lot of men who lie to themselves in the mirror but hope you can’t see. That would never work with me.

I always see. I purge the memories of bygone, tentative romances in my name. I rebuke the energy of suitors who only want me when I am palatable. Suitors who couldn’t find their own reflection, let alone accountability for any action ever. To every lover come and gone, I release you.