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Kind, present, safe. And I feel nothing when he touches me. I felt more with the ones who broke me. He does everything right. He texts when he says he will. He notices when I'm tired. He has never once made me feel like I had to earn him. And I lie next to him at night wondering what is wrong with me. I've read the books. I know about anxious attachment. I could probably teach the course. But my body doesn't care about what I've read. It just knows that it used to feel alive in relationships that were slowly destroying me — and now, in the safest one I've ever had, it feels almost nothing. That's not something I can say out loud. Not even to him. Especially not to him. What I've started to understand is that this isn't about love. It's about wiring. My nervous system grew up learning that love comes with tension, with waiting, with not knowing. Safety never got coded as exciting. It got coded as absence. So now safe feels like flat. And I keep waiting to feel something that apparently I was never taught how to feel. There's a quiz through Liven that's helped me start understanding what my system actually needs — not to want danger again, but to finally learn that safety is allowed to feel like something too. Link is below.