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I saw them coming from a few yards away and my heart flew up into my throat. I gave some meaningful eye contact for a long moment, averted my eyes, looked back once more to make sure they got the message. After all, I wasn’t alone. I have family visiting.

It’s something I’ve been scared of since I joined this community. I don’t use my real name. I had one close call out on a date, when I ran into a friend from my graduate cohort. Thankfully, she was cool enough to understand when I came out as poly to her and explained the situation.

But, here I was, with family, scared someone would blurt out the wrong name. Instead, the two looked away and walked by me in silence. 

Later on, I texted the one whose number I had, thanking him for understanding the situation. As I did, I realized something about my fear: I was scared most about being part of this community and ashamed of possibly being outed. But, I had neglected to recognize that word: community. It’s not just about the munches and the play parties, it’s about having each other’s backs. 

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It’s nice to be understood. I like being understood.

And I also hate it.

I hate when people, whether or not they actually have, declare that they understand me. It makes me feel like I’m under their thumb, like I’ve somehow lost some sort of agency or independence from being understood. 

Sometimes, I like how cold and distant people say I can come across as. To those I’m close to, I’m candid and fairly open. But, when I detect someone trying to crack the shell, I just throw another wall up. Even when I realize they’ve understood the most ridiculous and strange things about me and I know I’m flattered, I just can’t stand it. I feel pinned down.