Stupid Question Territory

Photo by Simone Secci on Unsplash

By Erin Deborah Waks

‘... and I was really nervous to talk to him about it, and then I got into Stupid Question Territory,’ one of my best friends explained last week. Hah. Funny that. 

Stupid Question Territory (abbr. SQT) 

[proper noun] 

1 A so-called ‘zone of terror’, usually reserved for, but not exclusively maintained by, those with the status of ‘girlfriend’ or ‘female romantic partner’, into which one forays when nervous or apprehensive about something. 

2 A momentary accumulation of seemingly banal questions in attempt to prepare one’s partner for a real, significant query or request. 

Examples: Would you still love me if I was a worm? If I got fat? Am I annoying? What’s the worst thing about me? The best thing? Do you even like me? 

I have, I will sheepishly admit, entered the Territory myself. It turns out it’s a truth universally acknowledged because, in new relationships, all of us have things we’re scared to share in case they make us too hard to love. As much as I like to say - or, more usually, write - what’s on my mind, the truth is when you’re confronted with a new person in front of you, grappling with new feelings and new needs and new desires, you’re testing the waters. 

Am I safe to share something vulnerable? Am I allowed to be unreasonable or irrational? Will you run a mile if I have a meltdown? Will you still find me attractive if I reveal an insecurity? Can I assert a boundary I didn’t know I had? How will you respond if I’m upset? How will you respond if I’m upset with you?

Things that are easy to ask my best friend of 12 years (do you promise to love me forever? To which the answer will be ‘Yes my favourite human in the entire world [insert 12 heart emojis and a picture of us as teenagers together]’ and a well-constructed essay including evidence and examples of how wonderful I am in her eyes) are harder to ask a new partner, because you don’t really know what they’re going to say. You don’t have 12 years of certainty behind you.

And so I, like many others, delay. I’m too nervous to share why I’m upset, so I ask Stupid Question after Stupid Question - if he’d ever let me paint his nails, what his least favourite finger of mine is, how he’d feel if my boobs got smaller, whether the new dungarees I bought make me look round like a ball. It’s like I want to know I can ask the Stupid things, because somehow that makes the Big things less scary. It’s a warm up.

Like somehow knowing he’d still fancy me if I grew a moustache and a monobrow makes it just a little bit easier to ask if it’s okay that I’m having a hard time, am riddled with anxiety and feeling far less sexy and confident than my usual self. If he still loves me anyway. 

I just want to say something I’m a little scared to say. I always get there, just have to get through the Territory first. It gets easier every time you pass through, unharmed.