Feb. 22, 2025, at around 10:45 p.m. will be a moment that will be imprinted in my mind until the day I die. It was the moment that I had my first kiss.

It was equal parts awkward and perfect. It felt like a beginning that I was just skimming the surface of, and I’m glad it was then. More importantly, I’m glad it was with someone like him.

A man who’s kind, patient, and empathetic. A man whom I’ll call Joe, because that’s his name, and he knows I’m writing this column about our beginning.

Considering that a mere six months ago, I had practically given up on the notion of having my first kiss, I didn’t have writing this column on my 2025 bingo card. But, apparently, the universe had other plans. Because the 25-plus years that I had waited to have that experience were not exactly easy.

To backtrack a little, the kiss happened towards the end of my second date with Joe. Joe and I had been talking since mid-December. If I’m being perfectly honest, I was surprised that we were even on our second date. Because his infrequent responses in the beginning weeks made me think that he was uninterested. He would argue that he was always interested in me. I digress.

In January, he started messaging me a lot more. We shared some of our deepest flaws with each other, then came the phase where he began mentioning meeting up. So, I had to, essentially, move heaven and earth to arrange a nurse to meet up with him.

Our second date coincided with my mom going on a day trip, which meant I, fortunately, had nurses lined up for the entire day. We had talked about how I hadn’t had my first kiss yet, but I had had that conversation with a lot of other guys before, and nothing had happened.

Granted, the number of guys I had talked to about it versus actually met was a very large gap.

As I put my lipstick on in the mirror that night, I was weighing getting my hopes up, yet again, or being realistic. The hopeful romantic in me couldn’t help but wonder, though.

He and I were still at the point where my nurse had to help with translating what I was saying, until he could better understand how I talk. And honestly, I was so wrapped up in our conversation that I wasn’t even consciously thinking about him kissing me.

When my nurse had to go to the bathroom, I was expecting the silence to be very awkward. Instead, I was looking at the detail in my kitchen table when I heard him ask me if he could kiss me. And I swear I had an out-of-body experience, the way that my eyes snapped up to meet his.

“If you want to,” I managed to say, trying — unsuccessfully, I would later learn, through his gentle teasing of me — to school the look of pure shock on my face.

“Well, what do you want?” He asked me, without breaking eye contact. I could hear my nurse rustling around in the bathroom. I knew I didn’t have much time, or else my decision would be made for me. And that was the last thing that I wanted.

So, with my heart hammering in my chest at a decibel that I hoped he couldn’t hear, I said “yes.” He then leaned in, and pressed his lips to mine for what felt like a second before we heard my nurse coming down the hallway and broke apart.

I really hoped that the scarlet rush creeping into my cheeks from seeing a trace of my lipstick in the center of his bottom lip wasn’t too conspicuous of what had just happened. But my nurse didn’t even notice my giddiness, which lasted for the remainder of the night.

I’m not going to lie, it felt surreal to keep something so momentous and overwhelmingly positive a secret for the last few months. Because I have fastidiously documented the few ups, mostly downs of my dating experiences thus far. This felt like a very important update to share with you all.

But I wanted to wait until he and I felt comfortable sharing. More so, me. Joe knew what he was getting into before we even met, in that respect.

Because, for the past four-and-a-half years, I have vowed to be authentic with you all as I explored many of the different avenues of being a disabled young woman. Dating, honestly, looks a lot different for me than any other girl in their 20s, and dating one person for a prolonged period of time does not mean that all of those issues magically disappear. There are new obstacles that he and I have already had to navigate, which pose a whole new host of topics for me to potentially shed light on as I navigate this new balance of what I want to share.

At almost 26, I’m happy to report that for one of the first times in my life, I’m taking a break from working obsessively on my computer and actually learning how to live.

Columnist Joanna Buoniconti is a freelance writer and editor. She is currently pursuing her master’s at Emerson College.