Lance was sweet. Genuinely sweet. He was nerdy and soft-spoken, the kind of guy who collected Airsoft rifles, knives, trading cards, and obscure board games with way too many rules. Probably on the spectrum. Probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, which made me laugh because, let's be real, I could have picked him up and carried him out of a burning building. But he was kind. And funny. And the sex was great.
We dated for about three months. I spent weekends at his place, met his friends, they were warm and welcoming and genuinely happy for him. He talked about wanting marriage someday, about kids, about family. About wanting to meet my kids. That's when something in me froze. Because suddenly, this wasn't casual. It wasn't easy. It was real. And "real" terrified me.
He was everything I said I wanted, stable, safe, thoughtful, steady. But instead of feeling comfort, I felt… panic. I didn't know what to do with someone who wanted to put my needs first. I didn't know how to trust that kind of safety. It sounds crazy, but I think I'd been wired for chaos. When you've spent enough time surviving in relationships where love feels conditional, unhealthy starts to feel familiar and familiar starts to feel safe. There's real science behind it, too. Studies call it trauma bonding, that cycle where your brain mistakes adrenaline for connection. You start equating instability with passion and calm with boredom. The rush of being wanted in a toxic way feels intoxicating, and the peace of being loved healthily feels foreign. You don't chase chaos because you love pain. You chase it because your nervous system learned to find comfort in it.
I think that's what happened to me. Lance was good. And somewhere deep down, I didn't believe I deserved good. So I texted him. Told him he was amazing, but I wasn't ready for what he wanted. He took it well. Stayed kind, stayed gracious. We stayed Facebook friends until my second husband made me delete every man he didn't personally know. A red flag so big it could've waved itself. But that's another story for another day.
About a year later, Lance got engaged. The photos were sweet, him, his fiancée, their dog. They looked safe. Secure. Happy. Everything I wanted and didn't know how to keep. Here's what I want other women to know: You can have that. You can have safe. You can have boring-in-the-best-way. You can have someone who communicates, who listens, who doesn't make you earn love like a prize. It's not too good to be true. It's just good.
And on a funny note? Autistic men might be some of the best partners out there. Loyal. Honest. Unapologetically themselves. Less likely to cheat. Direct communicators. Sure, they might stim, or hyperfixate on trains, or need quiet after socializing, but they'll never play games with your heart. If you find one who loves you?Be patient. Be kind. And know you've probably just met one of the safest loves you'll ever have.