Growing Into Us

What I Saw in Wyman (Before the Title of Us)

Dated Reflection: July 8, 2025 

Memory Era: January–February 2019

Wyman was gentle and curious from the very beginning. He didn’t push. He wondered. He didn’t demand closeness. He invited it. That kind of approach showed a soft strength—a kind that’s often missed, but it’s what caught my attention.

I had a crush on him. I won’t lie. However, I tried to keep my distance because I had other things going on—school, stress, and life in foster care. I didn’t want distractions. I didn’t want to fall. But somehow, I didn’t feel like I was falling. I felt like I was being invited to rest for a moment.

He was my calmness to my storm, and I didn’t see it then. I was that way because of everything I’d been through. I began to soften around him, having grown accustomed to always being tough and always on guard. I felt like I had to prove the haters wrong, as if I had to take a stand.

Wyman made it feel better. Even after a hard day, coming to him in a message felt easy. Like the weight I was carrying suddenly had a softer place to land. I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to explain everything. I could just be.

He was emotionally present from the start. His questions weren’t shallow. He asked things that showed he noticed me. And I wasn’t performative. I wasn’t trying to impress him. I was just trying to survive my days and hold onto my footing—and he still liked me for that.

I told him the truth when he asked things like, “Would you date someone like me?” I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no either. I said, "I don’t know." And I meant it with respect, not rejection. Because I needed space, and he gave that to me.

We joked, but we also listened to each other’s pain. He told me he punched trees in the woods. I didn’t laugh at him—I laughed with him. Because somehow, I understood what it meant to hurt and not know what to do with it.

I had dated other guys before, but they were flings. They didn’t stay. They didn’t care deeply. And honestly, I didn’t let them close enough to try. But with Wyman, it wasn’t about dating. It was about connection.

The timing wasn’t perfect. But the connection was.

We were two people gently circling something sacred, not even knowing what it was yet. But it was real. And that made all the difference.

The Deeper Why

Why did it mean so much, even before it became something romantic? Because I was in a season where I didn’t trust many people. I had been let down. Moved around. Hurt. I didn’t know how to let someone in—not fully. But I wanted to. I just didn’t think I was allowed to hope for that.

Wyman didn’t try to break down my walls. He just stood on the other side of them and spoke kindly. He gave me the space I didn’t even know I needed. And I responded—not with big gestures, but with tiny windows of truth. I told him when I was struggling. I admitted when I didn’t know how I felt. And instead of pulling away, he stayed steady.

There’s a kind of safety in someone who doesn’t flinch at your honesty. He didn’t make me feel like a burden. He didn’t try to fix me. He didn’t demand more than I could give.

And that made me want to give more. It made me want to open up. It made me feel seen.

The deeper truth is—I had already started trusting him before I knew I was doing it. Before I had the language to explain what was happening between us. He became a safe place, one message at a time.

So, when people ask how we began, it wasn’t a big moment, a date, or a kiss. It was the quiet way he waited. The gentleness in how he asked. The steadiness in how he stayed.

That’s the deeper why. That’s why it mattered.

———

Consent Note: Wyman is mentioned in this piece with his full knowledge and consent.

My Dearest

My Husband

My Dom

Just reflecting on how we started and how much I’ve grown.

—————

He Didn’t Want to Fix Me — He Just Stayed

(High School Us as Friends)

I was used to people wanting something from me.
A performance.
A reaction.
A version of myself that made them feel better.
Whether it was goofiness, perfection, strength, or silence—someone always needed me to be something for them.

So I learned how to shape-shift.
How to brace.
How to read the room and protect myself before anyone had the chance to reject what was real.
Even when I dated other guys, it felt like I was wearing armor.
I showed just enough softness to keep the peace—but never enough to be fully seen.
Because being seen felt dangerous.
It was easier to stay guarded than to risk needing someone who couldn’t carry the weight of me.

But Wyman didn’t do that.
He didn’t try to fix me or figure me out.
He didn’t chase me with expectations or pressure.
He just… showed up.

And that?
That quiet consistency?
It disarmed me in a way I didn’t expect.

I kept waiting for the catch.
For the moment, he’d stop listening.
For him to ask more than I could give.
But he never did.
He never asked me to shrink.
Never asked me to prove myself.

Instead, he made space for me.
Real space.
Not the kind that feels like distance, but the kind that feels like a breath when you didn’t know you were holding your lungs tight.

He asked questions gently, not to pry—but to know.
He laughed at the right moments.
He let silence be safe.
And when I was spinning or tired or guarded, he didn’t push—he stayed.

That alone felt like a new language I was learning for the first time.
He was calm, I didn’t know how to trust at first… but I wanted to.

Because somewhere in those quiet conversations,
I stopped feeling like I had to perform.
I stopped trying to be the “strong one” all the time.
I didn’t have to carry the weight of everyone else’s expectations.

With Wyman, I was just me.
Not the “trauma girl.”
Not the “caretaker.”
Not the “fighter.”

Just… me.

And for someone who spent most of her life proving she deserved to exist,
Being loved without having to fight for it was the most sacred surprise of all.