I Don't Do Surface Level

I didn't realise how much I needed it until I had it.

Until I found myself in conversations where I didn't have to pull back, where I could say what I meant without worrying that it was too much, too deep, too intense.

My friend once introduced me, saying this is Audrey and, "She doesn't do surface level." 

And they were right.

I don't.

It's not that I don't enjoy the easy stuff. I can talk about TV shows, restaurants, and weekend plans like anyone else. But if that's all there is, if there's no curiosity, no real exchange, I check out.

I crave the richness, the conversations that make me pause, that make me think.

That's what I'll miss the most about him. Not just him, exactly. But how we were.

I never had to shrink myself with him. I never had to filter my words into something more palatable. There was no hesitation, no fear that I was asking too much of the conversation of him.

He spoke in a way that slowed me down, made me take a breath, made me want to respond rather than feel obligated to.

Because, for once, I wasn't too much.

And it wasn't just that he spoke with depth; it was what that depth unlocked in me. I didn't have to reach for it. It was just there, already present between us. No effort, no explaining, no trying to wedge meaning into a space where it didn't belong.

I think that's why I struggle in certain spaces and why I find myself disengaging when conversations stay too light for too long. It's not that I expect every moment to be profound, but I want to feel engaged. I want to leave conversations feeling like I learned something about the other person, about the world, about myself.

If I can't, I switch off.

I see it in the moments when people have a chance to say something real, and instead, they opt for nothing at all. And it's exhausting. Because I know what it feels like to have the opposite.

I know what it's like when words carry weight when someone meets you in the space of real honesty, when the exchange isn't just words but meaning.

I felt that with him. But it wasn't about just him, not really. It was about recognising that this depth, this ability to go there is what I need. Not just in love, but in everything.

Like the other night, when I was in the pub with a colleague. He had his coat on, ready to leave. I expected a quick goodbye, maybe a polite, "We'll catch up soon." Instead, we spoke for fifteen more minutes. About the kind of husband he wanted to be. About being more deliberate with friendships. About all the small things that make up a life when you actually stop to examine them.

And that? That's the kind of conversation I crave. Not necessarily deep and meaningfuls on a Thursday night in the pub, but real ones. Where two people are actually there, engaged, curious, pulling at the threads of something bigger than "How's work been?"

I think we talk about love in such narrow ways—reserving the best of it for romance, for the big, defining relationships.

But, for me, love is in the conversations that make you lean in.

The ones that make you feel seen.

And that doesn't just happen in relationships.

It happens in friendships, in unexpected moments, in connections that can last an hour or a lifetime.

So, no, I don't do surface level. I never have.

And now, I know I never will.