Self Love & Relationships

Pillow Talk Almost Ended Our Relationship

But then I knew I’d found my lover for life when he did and said this

Difficult conversations are difficult at the best of times. Sometimes difficult conversations happen in bed. Finding out that the guy I was dating was raised Catholic was not what I had in mind when we began talking on two pillows side by side.

I don’t have a problem with Catholics, but I do have a history with being in relationships with people who are Catholic deciding that I’m not Catholic enough for them. I made clear to these people I wasn’t converting, but multiple times I found myself being set aside in the name of religion.

A few weeks into our budding partnership, my partner and I relaxed on top of the duvet on my bed. I don’t remember what our plans were that day, but we were content to stay in and chat instead. It was early on and we were still introducing ourselves to one another.

Two heads on two pillows, we caught each other’s gaze every now and again as we told stories and asked each other questions. We were watching the ceiling fan turn round and round when he mentioned that he grew up Catholic.

I froze.

Oh no. I thought. Not again.

My mind began to race and I felt icy, but I tried to get more information instead of allowing my hurt and past experience to project my painful inevitability on our scenario.

He was kind. He talked slowly. I could tell that my intensity was confusing to him, but he didn’t budge or turn away even as he got a bit defensive.

I tried to hear him say that he wasn’t looking for someone Catholic, but I’d heard that before. I told him so.

“Well, I’m not those other people.”

I wanted to trust him. I liked him. I wanted to give our relationship a chance.

My brain started to hurt. My head was spinning. I was angry. I thought I might cry. So, I did what any self-respecting ostrich would do: I lie on my stomach and buried my head beneath my pillow.

I breathed in the scent of my mattress and felt the soft sheet under my chin.

It was then I realized, it was quiet. Too quiet. My actions dawned on me: I had buried my head under a pillow!

The silence made space for frantic mental interrogation:

Oh, crap. Why was it so quiet? Where was he?? Had he left? Was he mad? Was he looking at me like a crazy person who hides her head under a pillow when she gets overwhelmed?

I had options. If I were a better liar, I could have jumped up, flailed my pillow about, and said, “Just kidding!!!”, with a winning smile. I wasn’t though. I was not a better liar.

I was just me. Me, a woman who got so frustrated by her past experience and so frazzled by her vulnerability and fear of love and loss that she hid in plain sight.

If one could tip-toe-lift the corner of a pillow to peek out, that’s what I did. Quietly, I raised the lower corner of the feather parcel to catch a glimpse of his face, if it was still there.

But there was no face. There was no head at all.

There was just a large man-body lying chest-down. I could only see his shoulders to his toes. I jerked my pillow corner back down again.

What was happening?

I lifted my pillow corner again and stared at the purple pillow case where his head should have been. His head was buried beneath his pillow. I waited, bewildered.

He, too, lifted the corner of his pillow. We looked at each other with single eyes until I turned to face him. He saw my puzzled look and smiled.

“What?”, he said. “I thought this is what we were doing.”

I’m Brett Jenae Tomlin, The Anxious Enthusiast.

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