Iʻve been thinking a lot about the sentiment “I donʻt need constant validation.” Iʻd said that recently and meant it even as I also recognized that it wasnʻt entirely true. Validation? Yeah, donʻt need a constant stream of that. I realized, though, that I still DID need something, and that was way harder to identify.
I need tenderness.
I crave tenderness.
Itʻs not validation. Itʻs not attention. Itʻs not reassurance. It isnʻt any of those things people say to try to categorize (or trivialize) your feelings.
I want tenderness in my life.
Most of my life has been spent stuffing down this need, cruelly ignoring it, making sure no one (myself included) noticed its existence. Iʻd been encouraged to deny my need for tenderness in so many different ways: I grew up in a household where physical affection ended at a certain age— Iʻm guessing when our heads stopped smelling like babies and instead reeked of childhood exertions; Iʻve been called needy by people who loved me; Iʻve been rewarded for my silence, my stoicism, and then later accused of being indifferent.
And I called this strength even as I wept for my loneliness.
And so this tenderness? It can manifest as validation, attention, and reassurance. It can be a gift, a text, a high five. An email, a handwritten letter, an “I love you.” It can be offered as space to explore my pain or joy. A smile, your laughter, a meme. A shared YouTube video, an article, a picture of your favorite tree. Acknowledgment. Transparency. Affection.
All I know is that I want my life fucking FILLED with this shit.
An example: Iʻm a part of a group chat with some pole sisters. We have occupied entire mornings discussing our various instructorsʻ weekly efforts to disguise our attempted murders as “conditioning” and “fun” and “new moves.” Iʻm literally LOLing as Iʻm also filled with such affection for these women who seem to have accepted me and, for some odd reason, appear to care about me.
That is the tenderness I seek. In all of my relationships.
It is a belonging even as itʻs also a claiming. I am yours and you are mine.
Youʻve been warned, world. Iʻve made my intentions known: I want tenderness in my life, and I want a shit-ton of it. Stop pussyfooting, stop with the posturing, you never have to wonder again. If youʻre on the fence, “Should I be subtle or extra?” Motherfucker, damn right you should be extra. Extra all day!
