We had just exchanged some kisses and I was sitting up beside my new fiancée with a damp, salty face. My heart was pounding, but everything inside me felt extremely still. Kennedy looked at me and asked, “I can’t believe your Bambi ass (we’ll get to that in a second) really asked me. How are you feeling, baby?” “Me either; I’m scared,” I responded with a nervous chuckle. I still had tears dripping down my face. With each slow blink, I could feel the puddles on my face being replenished. “You don’t have to be scared baby, nothing is going to change between us,” Kennedy reassured me. 

When I asked her to marry me, she responded like many a bride, “Are you serious?” making sure that my proposal wasn’t a deluded joke or a product of a minor spontaneous stroke clouding my judgment. Still taking in my own actions, my own words, mouth agape waiting for words to slip from my lips, a million thoughts ran through my mind in a matter of seconds. This would be the moment where I would typically run. “Yes, will you marry me?” I responded. Shit, even I couldn’t believe myself. I was proposing—ring and all, it was real. 

My “Bambi” ass had a track record for fleeing the scene of things that were good for me. Traumatized by toxic partners and parents who had a messy split when I was younger, true love and commitment scared me to no end. I wanted nothing more than to be loved and understood for who I am, but not having much experience with it made the concept hard to believe in. “This is too good to be true. Run before you get hurt,” my subconscious would prompt my nervous system and one of two things would happen: I would inadvertently completely detach myself emotionally, leaving me with a confusing and haunting numbness, or I would convince myself that there was something inexplicably wrong with my relationship and decide that I shouldn’t be in it. Worst case scenario, both would happen—but the first usually led to the latter. Kennedy was well aware of this pattern, so she lovingly nicknamed me Bambi after my skittish tendencies, as she calls them. 

I was making a commitment not only to her but to myself: that I would continue to work on myself, to heal, to grow…

Through communication and perseverance in rough patches, my relationship with Kennedy has allowed me the time, space, and support to identify and name these emotional patterns. Although becoming more aware of them has helped me not run from our relationship, it hasn’t transformed my emotional and lived experience with love into what I’ve always dreamed of. Despite knowing that I love Kennedy and that we are perfectly imperfect for one another, I am unable to experience a steady stream of happiness in our relationship because my subconscious still tries to protect me from getting hurt. 

Being in love and feeling nothing are not generally things that you hear in the same sentence, but for me, that’s sometimes my reality. When all you know is chaos and instability, then a healthy, steady, and supportive love can feel extremely disruptive to reality. And while that sounds like an amazing disruption, if you haven’t done the emotional and mental labor to prepare yourself to be loved it can feel like a fallacy rather than a fantasy.

I have been able to experience genuine healthy love with Kennedy and when my guards are entirely down, it is the most amazing feeling. I melt and tingle and cry tears of joy and gratitude. It feels spiritual. But after riding my love “high” I am met with an anxious crash that forces intrusive thoughts to surface and an emotional detachment to ensue. Nothing in my relationship changes, but all of the lovely ‘in-love’ buzzing subsides and I’m left searching for those feelings. This can last months until the numbness becomes too much for me to handle and I enter a depressive state where my anxiety and sadness intermingle, forcing my intrusive thoughts to strengthen. I ultimately have an emotional breakdown that consists of me crying spontaneously for days, sometimes weeks. 

Because I have generally had negative experiences with partners in the past, enduring emotional and sexual manipulation and abuse, my knowledge of this coupled with my emotional instability, deep down I never really thought that I would get to the point of committing to a marriage with someone. The idea of “What if the relationship fails? What if you fuck it up?” was constantly in my mind. Afraid of another failed relationship—or worse, a failed marriage or engagement—I never thought that getting married would ever be more than a dream. 

Although we had discussed getting married numerous times, this was a defining moment for me. If I wanted to be happy long-term I had to stand up for myself against my fears. By proposing to Kennedy I wasn’t just choosing her, I was choosing me—a concept that I have yet to master, but am working diligently toward. I was making a commitment not only to her but to myself: that I would continue to work on myself, to heal, to grow, to be someone she could boast about being her wife (although she already does). So, that moment, the quiet aftermath of the boisterous “YES” heard around Kent, CT filled me with shock. Like after other courageous feats, I sat in my mental audience looking down at myself, in awe of what had just occurred. It didn’t feel real. 

Despite the courage I mustered to propose, a looming fear still followed me throughout the rest of the night and into the next day. Announcing to the world that we were engaged would only further solidify the commitment we had just made. My anxious mind was roiling, wondering, “What will people think? Will they be happy for us? Will they support us? Will her ex-wife find out and start drama?” My anxiety was enough of a burden for me to handle, I didn’t need mal de ojo (evil eye) knocking at our door, too. Throughout the day after becoming a fiancée, I had to thank people for their congratulations and constantly remind myself that I not only was engaged now but that nothing had changed and that we were still the same happy couple as before. 

Now that a few days have passed, I am enjoying my new normal (except for the fact that wedding planning on a tight budget in NYC is an extremely disappointing experience). Unlike most women who have just gotten engaged, I wasn’t able to immediately revel in the fiancée-glow and gush about my gorgeous ring. As happy and excited as I was when she said yes, instead of gushing, I spent the next 48 hours self-soothing the anxiety-induced fearful fiancée. And that’s okay. Although I never dreamed that getting engaged would feel this way, I embraced my experience as my own. And the way that Kennedy understoodand immediately supported me through my processing only further confirmed that she is the one for me. Sometimes mental illness interrupts life and prevents me from getting the most out of my experiences, but I am still learning about my mind and my emotional self. I am happy that I chose Kennedy—and I am happy that I chose me. Q

Cariahnna Collazo-Cintron (She/Her) is a NuyoRican neurodivergent activist who aspires to become a social worker and pursue a career in non-profit management. She is a licensed Esthetician, mid-sized model, and self-proclaimed Maxxinista who loves to cook, dance, browse metaphysical shops with her fiancé Kennedy, or go for strolls with their two dogs, Khaleesi and Rhaego. "Join me as I peel back the layers of my life in search of the woman I am destined to become—forging my path and mending the cracks, one story at a time.” Follow her at www.instagram.com/gor.gyna