I’m Looking for a Fucking Savior

I don’t need to be saved, but I want someone who sees me as worth saving.

I grew up on Disney movies, like hundreds of thousands of other kids, and watched princes slay dragons and climb towers and drink potions all for the love of the princess. I graduated to romcoms, where meet-cutes and boy-chasing-girl dynamics and third-act airport chase scenes were the expectation, not the exception, and I believed that one day I’d have that delusional, reckless, gorgeously chaotic type of love too.

I have a friend who is rather picky when it comes to partnership, although not nearly as picky as me, and she waited and waited and waited until she found a man who treated her like the princess she knew she was and bombarded her with grand gestures, expensive gifts, and epic orgasms. Friends told her it wouldn’t last, that she was being love bombed, and encouraged her to move on to a healthier dynamic, as if being worshipped was somehow toxic.

And then there’s me, still searching, not just for love, but for something earth-shattering, exhilarating, existential. That potent combination of love, lust, friendship. And the people around me think I’m crazy.

I ask this a lot, but I’d be remiss not to pose the question again: why is settling considered practical while waiting for something extraordinary is treated like a disorder? And yes, it’s probably marginally unhinged, especially when viewed through the lens of a person who has settled. But I see my friend who waited for exceptional, and then I see the ones who just grabbed the last seat when the music stopped. Both sets of couples have ebbs and flows, and I’m not denying that partnership, at its core, is complex, difficult, and requires work… but that’s not the part that scares me. I just happen to view one of those couples as #goals, and the other I find slightly depressing.

So here it is: I’m looking for a fucking savior. Maybe not a savior exactly, but something close to the magic of the fairytale endings, the romcom meet-cutes, the quintessential airport scene where my man bolts through security checkpoints and jumps over turnstiles to be with me. People will say I have unrealistic expectations and I’ve been conditioned by the Sandra Bullock Julia Roberts of it all, that I’m feeding into the patriarchy and setting myself up for disappointment, but I’d rather risk that than settle for mediocrity.

perhaps my favorite line in a julia roberts rom-com

I’m looking for someone who wants to cook dinner for me and take Harper on a walk first thing in the morning and pour me a tequila on the rocks with just the right amount of lime after a rough day and make sure I have a fresh glass of water next to my bed before I fall asleep. I want someone who thinks about the little things, those tiny insignificant gestures, and the grand ones and can master both. If that makes me a bad feminist then honestly feminism needs a rebrand. Yes, I grew up on happily-ever-after and some may say I was conditioned to equate a dashing man with a savior. But I know what I want, and I’m not afraid to admit it. This isn’t conditioning, it’s reclamation. This isn’t loss of autonomy, it’s a declaration of worship.

So where is this rare breed of men? It’s as though men these days don’t have that savior mentality, or maybe it’s that women have been conditioned to believe that accepting help is toxic, so those men lurk in the shadows.

Here’s the thing, I don’t need to be saved. I want it; to be with a partner who yearns to make my life easier.

And if I don’t find it, well, I’m not settling for something subpar. I’d rather be alone because I am utterly capable of taking care of myself; in fact, I excel at it. I am fiercely independent and have saved myself numerous times and I will continue to do so. But it would certainly be refreshing, for a fleeting moment, to allow the space for someone else to care for me.

I wouldn’t say I have a savior complex, but I do find the simple act of my partner wanting, needing, to please me incredibly sexy. To know that someone else is thinking about me throughout their day and engaging in little thoughtful acts to make my life easier is such a turn-on. It gets me wet just thinking about it because pleasure isn’t purely sexual, it exists in the banality of everyday acts of kindness. The showing up and doing. And I want—no, demand—that.

Is that so wrong?