I didn’t mean to get drunk that fast.
It was supposed to be the first night of my staycation — a little whiskey, a White Claw or two, something to take the edge off the week. Nothing dramatic. Nothing I hadn’t handled before.
But somewhere between the drinks, the laughter, and the ease of being around him, the night tilted. The room got warmer. The edges got softer.
By the time the tacos showed up, I was already too far in to care.
And yet — nothing went wrong.
Because for once in my life, I didn’t have to keep one eye open.
The Protector Got the Night Off
I’ve spent my whole life being the protector.
The one who keeps things under control.
The one who reads the room.
The one who shrinks when she’s too loud, too much, too everything.
I’ve been kicked out of restaurants for laughing too hard.
I’ve also been told my laugh was infectious, that it made strangers at the next table feel lighter, happier.
So I learned to measure it.
To turn the volume down when life told me I was “too much.”
To exist in pieces, because the whole of me felt like too big an ask.
But not that night.
That night, I got to set it all down.
The armor. The awareness. The constant scanning of exits and edges and tones in the room.
I didn’t have to apologize for being myself.
I didn’t have to keep myself small.
For one night, the protector got the night off.
The Tacos That Said Everything
He ordered tacos for both of us.
I ate mine.
And then, apparently, I ate his.
He had heated them up for himself, set them down to cool — and I went for them like I had never seen food before in my life.
I barely remember it.
But here’s what I do remember:
He didn’t get mad.
Not even a flicker of irritation.
He turned it into a joke about ordering more next time, like it was nothing.
And maybe it was nothing to him.
But to me, it was everything.
Because I have been in rooms where mistakes were met with sharp edges.
Where laughter had limits.
Where I was too much or not enough or somehow both at the same time.
And here was someone turning a moment that could have felt small and shameful into something ridiculous and funny and light.
No judgment. No scorekeeping.
Just… tacos.
The Kind of Connection You Don’t Force
The night could have gone differently.
A lot of people would have made me feel bad — for drinking too much, for laughing too loudly, for eating the damn tacos.
But there was no shaming. No judgment. No turning the moment into a weapon.
And after years of connections that left me carrying the weight of always being “too much,” this felt like oxygen I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Imperfect, and That’s the Point
We’re not in a place where dating makes sense. Not for me. Not for him.
And yet, this connection exists.
It doesn’t demand anything. It doesn’t apologize for showing up, either.
It’s present. It’s messy. It’s real.
Imperfect in all the ways that make it honest.
And there’s a strange kind of peace in not forcing it into a shape it isn’t ready for.
Because what I want isn’t possession.
It’s presence.
It’s the freedom to be myself without shrinking, without second-guessing, without carrying the weight of always needing to protect myself first.
The Bigger Picture
That night taught me something I didn’t even know I was missing.
I don’t want love that makes me smaller.
I don’t want connection that makes me question my worth.
I don’t want to keep sleeping with one eye open.
I want the kind of presence that lets me be loud and chaotic and human without keeping score.
And maybe this stays what it is. Maybe it grows. Maybe it fades.
But I know what it taught me:
That safety is not boring.
That respect is not complicated.
And that sometimes trust shows up quietly — in tacos, in timing, in the rare kind of connection that asks for nothing but honesty in return.
Closing the Circle
I’d rather wait for this — this rare, steady, once-in-a-lifetime kind of connection — than settle for anything that makes me feel smaller just to say I have someone.
Because I don’t want someone.
I want real.
I want the kind of trust that makes you laugh too loud and eat the tacos and take up space without apology.
And if it never becomes more than this, then at least I’ll know:
For one night, the protector got the night off.
© 2025 Kimberly Beth Thomas. All rights reserved.
Thank you for reading The Berbly Project. If this piece resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments or through sharing it with someone who needs the reminder:
You do not have to shrink to be loved.