I went out for drinks after work with the other women in the department. It’s rare.
We’re all usually buried in back-to-back meetings or sprint planning, too tired to unwind together.
But tonight, we went. Just a few cocktails, and some light talk… until the conversation shifted.
They were laughing about one of the new guys in Product. Tall. Great smile. You know the type.
They turned to me, nudging me, “You can’t say he’s cute?”
I laughed politely and said, “I’m engaged.”
And I meant that. I’m engaged to a man who’s kind. Steady and brilliant with our son.
We’ve built a home together. We’ve grown up together. He’s been my person for 13 years.
But I knew what they were really asking and I couldn’t answer.
Because… no. I don’t feel it.
And I’ve never really felt it.
I had followed the script and said “he’s cute” before. I’ve also nodded at the right time.
But that pull thing women always talk about, the spark, and thump in the chest, accompanied with butterflies in the belly… I’ve never had that for a man.
And I had thought maybe it would come with time.
Maybe I was just different and didn’t feel like other women did.
I Have Always Wondered If I Was Broken.
But lately, I’ve stopped telling myself stories. Because the truth is: I’ve always known.
I’ve always noticed women first, admired them too long, and always swallowed that feeling.
And I’ve always told myself no.
Because in my world. As a Catholic, traditional, respected, there is no yes for this.
So I said yes to the man who’s everything and said yes to the ring.
I said yes to the version of myself I was always expected to become.
But here I am, 27, with a 5-year-old son and a wedding on pause…
And I can’t stop wondering.
Am I just cold? Numb? Unromantic?
Or have I been living someone else’s life all along?