Last year I had the good fortune of being introduced to someone through a mutual friend. This felt ideal and old timey, reminiscent of friends setting each other up on blind dates or meeting someone in the wild while running errands. After a long marriage, the pandemic, and the
gamification of online dating, meeting someone through a friend I knew and trusted felt like the optimal and safe way to put myself out there.
How it Started:
On a Wednesday, my friend M got the ball rolling with a mutual text once she was sure both parties were interested. She'd met "T" at a professional course for federal employees that were all at high levels within their careers. She shared photos -- T was tall and elegant looking, with perfect posture . His son was a West Pointer, which was a perk; it meant he would have a solid understanding of the quasi-college culture I had survived. He was divorced, and according to M, his lack of being remarried or even in a relationship was a source of mystery among their cohort.
(And before we go any further, yes I asked if he was gay; M assured me he was not - also, I promise this is not going to show up later a la Chekov's gun.)
T was 12 years older, which could skew anywhere from "Ok, Boomer" to a barely perceptible gap, akin to the space between siblings. He was religious and involved in his church, which might mean he was preachy and righteous, or private with his faith with a heart that loved himself and his neighbors. Finally, he was a member of what I believed was the most obnoxious fraternity in the world, which had the potential to be his whole personality or present as one facet of a complex human being.
The morning of the introductory text led to a lunchtime phone call. T sounded very pleasant over the phone, he was clearly comfortable speaking to people. What he shared was a rundown of his resume, thirty years as an artillery officer in the Army concluding in retirement as colonel, followed by a high level position in the Environmental Protection Agency as a civil servant. I didn't get much of an idea of who he was as a person, and thought, maybe sharing the professional stuff up front felt comfortable. He asked what days might work for us to reconnect for a longer conversation and I offered that Friday evening. Right after the call he texted to say it was nice to meet me and that he looked forward to chatting again on Friday.
When Thursday evening rolled around, T texted me to say he had an obligation that evening, and left me with the choice of calling before or after the event. I opted to talk later and thought, how considerate, he gave me a day's notice and asked whether I preferred to talk before or after his event.
Finally, a guy who knew how to communicate!
When the phone call finally happened, I was scrolling on Instagram, and landed on a noisy video that kept playing on a loop. When T called, I picked up, and not realizing that a phone call didn't mute other apps that were playing, I assumed he was still out and about, in a place with a loud background. I knew he had gone to watch an NCAA tournament game with a college friend for his birthday, and I wondered why he didn't move to a quieter location for our call. We must have been ten to fifteen minutes into our conversation with me straining to hear him over my own phone playing a ridiculous instagram video when I mentioned the noise.
"There's no noise over here," he said, adding that he had purposely waited until he came home to call, to ensure he could talk to me in a quiet setting.
Uh-oh.
I held the phone away from my ear, looked at the video playing on the screen and quickly recognized I was the problem. Mortified, I immediately closed the app, put the phone back to my ear and confessed. He didn't think anything of it, while I felt terrible for wrongfully accusing him of having the noisy background. Our talk was surface level stuff. Did I like the mountains or the beach, and other questions. We both liked the beach and he asked if I had a favorite one; I said no, there were too many nice beaches that offered different perks. His favorite beach? Waikiki. I thought, huh, a tourist trap. When I inquired, later, I learned that it was his shorthand for the beaches of Hawaii. T had traveled to the North Shore during a solo trip he took for his 60th birthday, and found the beaches exquisite. His default Facebook profile photo is a selfie of him with a Hawaiian beach behind him.
From our phone calls, I gathered that T had been divorced for five years (initiated by his wife who, according to him, left because "she didn't want to be married anymore.") I replayed his choice of words in my head. I could easily say "not wanting to be married anymore" was my reason to file for divorce, or reason for anyone initiating a divorce for that matter. It was as plain and obvious as saying, "I fell asleep because I couldn't stay awake anymore." Looking back, there were certain pieces of information I needed to know up front, and that intentional conversations in the beginning can spare both parties from wasting time. What I also know is I sometimes avoid these open conversations out of fear that I'll discover a dealbreaker that cannot be smoothed over by looking at a handsome face or leaning my head onto a strong shoulder. We were a week in and I was enjoying our evening calls. I didn't want to delve into interrogating him when he would probably feel comfortable revealing more of his personal history as time went by. What I know now: the dealbreaker will eventually show itself whether you deliberately try to avoid it or not.
One week after our introductory texts, I asked T if he was available to meet for breakfast that Saturday. Immediately after suggesting it to him, T called me, joking that I had beaten him to the punch. Coffee felt too short and impersonal for the amount of driving required in the DC area, and dinner felt too ambitious and intimate. By chance I had picked one of his favorite spots for our date, First Watch, which we both took as a good omen.
I arrived at the restaurant first and sat at the table with my eyes trained on the entrance for T. When he entered a few minutes after I was settled in, I recognized him immediately. It felt like the moment the server arrives with your entree: exciting, reassuring, and optimistic. He smiled and I rose from my seat so we could hug. Much of our talk covered his days as a field artillery officer in the Army. I guessed thirty years of that life impacted him in ways that stuck. He also shared that he was a deacon at his church. There was a barely perceptible pause, and I nodded, unsure of what to do with that information.
Was I supposed to be impressed? I'm not religious, so I had little idea of what goes into being a deacon. I knew T had a church-related event to attend after our meeting, and he explained that his schedule was generally very busy. I told T it was a positive thing that he had a life and kept up with social engagements. There were too many stories of men that divorced later in life languishing because they had no connections, no real friends, and no community to provide purpose and belonging. Still, I took note of his word choice.
Busy. The older I get, the more I relate to those lines from a Mary Oliver poem:
Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want it.
T ordered French toast piled with fruit while I ordered a more traditional spread with bacon and eggs. We both had coffee and bumped our mugs lightly, T's idea of a toast. During the date he asked for the date of my birthday and plugged it into his phone. I asked when we could meet again and he offered to meet three weeks later, because, you guessed it, he was going to be busy every weekend until then. He held the door for me as we left and walked me to my car. We shared another hug and parted ways.
"Okay he's adorable," I texted M, my dear friend and matchmaker. "We will meet again pretty soon I'm sure." I reported back to the other members of my "committee" that the first date had gone well. The committee consisted of M, three other close friends, and my sister. They were all rooting for me, and at the same time, I knew any one of them would share their honest thoughts if I shared something about this new prospect that seemed off.
That evening I sent T a text telling him I was reluctant to get in my car that morning, but it had nothing to do with him, it was due to being introverted and a little socially anxious. I told him he had a warm presence and I appreciated the way he engaged in conversation. I wished him a good night and said we'd talk soon. He thanked me for sharing how I was feeling and told me he was glad to meet in person, too. And he closed with "Have a good night and sweet dreams."
Ah, aren't beginnings grand?
We had a few exchanges on Sunday, and I shared some character building events from work, with photos, and we were on our way. The early texts were promising, but texting didn't seem to be a vehicle for long or deep conversations. I am used to having extended conversations through texting but I knew that wasn't how everyone operated. T and I usually talked multiple nights a week, and in the beginning, he had even apologized for not calling one night. No apology needed, I said, you didn't promise to call me in the first place. He seemed like a lovely man, and described himself as always wanting to be a better person. When he said he "cared about how people experienced him," I could feel my brain
light up. After being married for so long to a person who seemed not to care about the ways he negatively affected me, these words put me at ease.
While creating this post, I realized going through everything that happened in sequence was going to be repetitive and tedious when describing a relationship with a person I interacted with for the better part of a year. For the duration of this experience, my trusted committee would all weigh in when I needed objective feedback for those times when something seemed off. If you understand my usual style, you've probably guessed this resulting blog entry means this endeavor didn't work out. Spoiler alert: it didn't work out. If I have to endure a crash and burn, at the very least I'm going to get some writing practice out of it.
Let's get to the main points.
The Good:
- T could be considerate. We went on one date where I didn't bring clothing options; I arrived at his house for one of our dates dressed down in a black v neck t-shirt and a pair of jeans. T had a perfectly coordinated outfit laid out, however, he understood he would be more dressed up than I was, so he adjusted what he chose to wear so we would be at the same "level."
-T knew how to put an outfit together. Some former military men are plagued with a lack of style when their days no longer require a uniform. This man had suits, polo shirts, hats, and even changed his glasses. On one occasion he waited to see what I was wearing so he could wear something with matching colors. T always looked tidy, sharp, and up to date.
-T was chivalrous. He always walked on the outside of the sidewalk. He always opened doors for me. He held my hand when we walked together. When we crossed the street, he remained vigilant of our surroundings and made sure I knew I was safe. He requested that I text him to let him know that I made it home safely after our dates. He asked for permission to kiss me when things were still new.
-T could be supportive. He called before my second
name change appointment to encourage me.
-T made coffee for me on the mornings after I slept over, and when he wasn't rushing off to a morning event, breakfast too.
-T was great at phone conversation; we had quite a few laughter filled talks and would wish me "Sweet dreams" when we hung up.
-T could plan a date. More than once he'd make reservations and send me the link. He chose a restaurant for my birthday dinner, and came up with plans for an afternoon into the evening date on the fourth of July. Yes, this is basic, but essential so one person doesn't wind up being the planner every time there's an opportunity to go out.
-T was engaging in person. I enjoyed watching him interact with our servers at restaurants, and seeing how he was in the world. On our third date, he corrected the server, who had asked our names, because the server pronounced my name with a hard G. This led to me explaining my name was a French interpretation of a word with a German origin. The server turned out to be fluent in German, which allowed T the chance to practice speaking with the server. T knew how to look at you with his big brown eyes and focus on the conversation. He was pretty good at
responding to bids, like the time I sent him a photo of a rainbow I'd caught that day, and he responded with his own photo of the one he'd captured.
-T was in touch with both of his adult children. When they're adults, they have a choice whether to include you, so being in regular communication with both of them was a positive sign.
-T was cute, and a pretty good kisser. He looked younger than he was and didn't have "
old people smell." Yes, I acknowledge I'm scraping the barrel for more positives to put on the good list, here.
The Bad:
-Embellished variations of "Have a Nice Day."
Most of the days of the week had an alliterative well wish from T. There was, "Have a Magnificent Monday," followed by "Have a Terrific Tuesday!," Not to be outdone, Wednesday was always wonderful, and warranted a mention of hump day, accompanied by a camel emoji. Thursday, like Tuesday, was also "terrific," Friday was "Fantastic" with the occasional mention of "TGIF," Saturday and Sunday were usually wildcards that could range from good, great, and sometimes even
superb. There was even a holiday version of this, T wishing me a "Happy Memorial Day" with a string of emojis accompanying the message, which I found odd coming from a military veteran with three decades of service. There were other times when T would send a meme or gif for a little razzle dazzle. He sent an image of Mickey Mouse on a Wednesday in early June and I distinctly remember thinking,
I can't do this.
I can't do this
These messages from T were simultaneously well meaning and meaningless. There was no real inquiry about how I was doing, or what was going on that day. "Hope you're doing well!" and "TGIF!" leave no room for a response, and also seem to say: if you're not doing well, save it for someone else. These messages felt automated, formulaic, a way to ensure "Message Giselle today" could be checked off of the daily
Dumb Things I Gotta Do list.
-His views about gay people. I broached this topic with T on a phone call because I didn't want to get too involved without checking if we had the same beliefs where it mattered. He said he thought gay people should have the same rights as anyone else. I also eventually learned some of his coworkers were gay, and one in particular wasn't discreet about sharing more graphic details. "I don't want to hear about that," T said in a rare moment when he complained about the coworker. I validated him by saying certain things were inappropriate to bring into the office, and that we don't want to hear a graphic rundown of someone's escapades whether they are gay or straight. On another occasion, I brought up a book I was reading, titled "
The Tragedy of Heterosexuality," which seemed to alarm T, and cause him to share that he knew what
he believed. "It's not a book to convert straight people," I said, "It's more of an observation from the queer community with advice on how to improve things between straight men and women." "Oh," T replied, "In that case, I need all the help I can get." Despite saying that, he never asked to borrow the book, or expressed curiosity about the key takeaways.
-No bids. There was no "Hey, I read this article and thought you'd like it," with an accompanying link, or shared podcasts, or songs. I shared a few things, but eventually realized there would be no sharing back.
-The mask. It's understandable to want to impress someone on a date, especially if you think you like them! It becomes burdensome when you want to maintain this impressiveness for weeks and months at a time. It meant T wouldn't admit his vulnerabilities and kept me perpetually at arm's length, preventing any real or meaningful connection. Whenever I asked T how he was doing, he would say: Good, great, tired or busy. When I told him he could be honest, because no one is "good" or "great" all the time, he said, "I'm generally a positive person." He admitted to sometimes not always sharing how he really felt because he was a "proud black man." "You don't have to wear a mask with me," I said. I got a glimpse into some real talk when he voiced some frustrations about people at work, but it was rare.
-Lack of follow through. T had all sorts of things he would have liked to do with a romantic partner. On one date he said it was so nice to go out to dinner and not be seated alone. I wondered if this was meant to say he was glad to look at a pretty face on the other side of the table or if he was glad it was
me. His laundry list of date ideas included hiking, museums, live music events, winery tours -- all things that were happening around us. He mentioned wanting to walk through the monuments in D.C. at night, pausing to add,
with you. As we got to know each other, he also mentioned I would eventually visit his home, and he would visit mine, too. We checked off live music as well as me visiting his house and the rest of it remained on the list. This wasn't only about me -- I noticed T didn't do things he wanted for himself. When we met, he shared that he wanted to visit Germany. He had fond memories of the time he was stationed there and wished to make a return trip in the fall, which then shifted to Christmastime, and eventually the following summer. Time kept slipping away like sand through his fingers and instead of marking dates, buying plane tickets and making reservations, he kept moving this trip to a more distant target on the calendar.
-Busy-ness. If you guessed part of the blame for not going on all of those potential dates was because T was too busy, you guessed correctly. I left him alone on Sundays because I knew he often attended both scheduled services. Saturdays seemed to be a mixed bag of church events with different groups. He also attended funerals and memorial services, fraternity events, or activities related to his alma mater, Hampton University. He had every other Friday off but he usually used that time to tend to his 91 year old mother, who lived an hour away from him. He would do her grocery shopping, tackle a few home repairs, and make sure she had what she needed before heading back home. And weekdays? In addition to a full time, and (according to him) demanding day job, his evenings usually included one or multiple Zoom calls for church. During a dinner date, T shared that "The pastor likes us to have our cameras on." "Ugh," I said, "that would drain my
soul." On that same date, in a moment of self awareness, T acknowledged his busy-ness might be a sign of avoidance. More than once, usually following a funeral or memorial service, he would claim he was going to "take stock" and make more time for himself, but saying something is easier than doing it.
-Invalidating himself. T was an "It could always be worse" person. If something impacted him negatively, that was his go to phrase, which I suspected would eventually be used on me. There's nothing wrong with admitting something in life sucks without downplaying it by reminding yourself it's not as bad as it could be.
-Lack of regularity. Dates could range from being one week apart to over a month, and initially I became overaccommodating, trying to find a place to make my mark on his calendar. This got old quickly.
-Treating me like a task on the list. More than once T would call and reveal that I was one in a series of his nightly calls. I knew he had many friends and family members in his circle, but as time went on I felt like an obligation -- a chore -- not a person he actually wanted to call.
-Lack of inclusion. There was never any integrating me into his real life. That's a sign for sure, right -- when you're excited about someone, when things settle in after a few months you're excited to introduce them to your friends and family, your trusted circle. The closest I got was when I was headed to Dulles to drop off my best friend and her family at the airport. I inquired if we could meet for dinner, since I was going to be on his side of the river. His daughter was visiting and he was open to including me in their dinner plans. I declined; it was one of her last nights in town before she had to return to dental school and I didn't want to intrude. Besides, T had mentioned she was very protective, and based on my
Facebook profile snooping internet sleuthing, she was his "Ride or Die." I wasn't ready to mess with that. Aside from that example, there were no invitations to events surrounding his college, fraternity or family, which is understandable in the beginning and increasingly questionable as time goes on.
-The ambiguity. Whenever I do these post relationship autopsies, I try to identify the alarm call. Where was the breaking point? There usually isn't one. If things were vague from the start, they would have ended quickly. In the beginning we had clear communication about when T would call and when we would see each other next. It all felt intentional and considerate. By the end? T would end his phone calls with "We'll talk soon," and I didn't press for specifics, I just thought,
When is "soon?" Was it tomorrow? In a few days? In two weeks? Texting waned, with fewer emojis and fewer "heart" reactions to my replies. The relationship itself remained undefined. We went out on dates but were we "dating?" I'd ask T if he wanted a companion or a connection and I'd be met with confused silence. We never had the "What are we?" conversation, and pursuing the answer felt like one of those cliched discussions of people desperate to have someone to call their own. At one point I said, "I don't have any sense of how you feel about me," and got "I care deeply for you," as a response, which seemed more like proclamation of someone who cared deeply about not appearing heartless than someone who cared deeply for me. T's shift from being intentional and impressive to being dodgy and obscure was a gradual slide that spanned months.
The "Odds and Ends"
These are not good, bad or ugly things, but observations that struck me as strange but harmless.
-We never connected on social media. Maybe we each knew even if it was "just Facebook" we were sparing ourselves from the inevitable unfriending.
-T had two vehicles. He drove a sleek silver sedan to our breakfast. Over the course of months, that was the last time he brought it out on one of our dates. I never got to ride in it. Yes, I have feelings and opinions about what that might have meant, but we'll keep it in this category.
-Religion. For someone who didn't miss a Sunday in church, I found it odd that T was open to dating someone who was not religious. On our third date, I asked, and he admitted there were women who expressed interest, but he was "picky." There was nothing wrong with having standards; I had asked the question to protect myself. I'm not a church goer and don't see that changing as I get older and wiser about the world around me. If his religion was so important to him, why didn't he seek someone who valued it the same way he did?
-A house that was not a home. T had lived in his house for five years, but it looked like he had just moved in, or was getting ready to move out. There was enough furniture to be comfortable, but I noticed folding tables in lieu of desks, an outdoor patio set in the dining nook, and metal folding chairs, yes
that kind, in his bedroom and bathroom. I noticed the light fixture in his entry way had a flickering bulb, which had apparently looked like a distress signal to a neighbor who messaged him out of concern. He never changed it. There were stacks of framed photos and art on his bedroom floor. T's house felt like a place where he slept and kept his things, but it didn't feel like a home.
-This crippling indictment from my sister: "He sounds boring." That was at the end of May, and she wasn't wrong. There's nothing wrong with
being boring but "boring" was not a guarantee of clarity, stability, or safety.
The Ugly
-The sex. I am not talking about the act. I never got the feeling this man cared much about what I was experiencing, or understood that penetration isn't what makes sex enjoyable or meaningful, for those reasons, it is not something I miss.
-Unavailability. "Single" is not the same as "available." This on the list because I don't know why someone who knows they are unavailable would volunteer to meet the friend of a friend unless there's a...
-Fear of disappointing others. This was something T openly admitted, which served to explain some of his other behavior. Fear of disappointing others can result in people pleasing, which is dishonest and controlling behavior. Instead of knowing you are getting true and honest answers from someone, they are gaming the conversation to get you to produce the response that spares them from being disappointing. There were many times when I wondered if T was being sincere, or if he was just saying what made him sound good.
-Associating sacrifice with love. The last morning I saw T in person, I initiated a
conversational card game with T. I thought it would be helpful for both of us to discuss topics that would give us deeper glimpses into each other. One question from the card asked what our parents taught us about love. "Sacrifice," was T's answer. He'd alluded to how he had sacrificed to stay in his marriage so his children could grow up with parents who stayed together. I suspect he shared this to provide insight, and it did. My thought was, if you sacrificed years of your life so your kids could have married parents, what are you teaching your kids to accept? I didn't think the same way, and in my own marriage I had done the calculation to figure out how long I would have had to stay until my youngest child reached adulthood. I judged T for his choice, and I also understood how being raised a certain way can bake in values that we adopt without question.
-Insisting that he was a "good man." Inexplicably, T said this to me twice on the last morning we spent together: "I'm a good man." I had no reply, though I thought,
if you have to tell me, it's probably not true. Wanting to maintain the image of being a "good man" can become an obstacle preventing a person from actually being one. I had no concept of what T considered to be a "good man," and I didn't think to ask.
-Attempting Jedi mind tricks. A few months in, T promised to call one night, and didn't. The problem was, he didn't let me know he wasn't able to call, and didn't acknowledge that he didn't call. When the other person is the one suggesting the idea, failing to follow through and then *poof* moving on without another word -- it's a
denial of my experience. The first time it happened -- T promised to call on a Wednesday night, didn't call, and we rolled right into Thursday without any acknowledgement -- I
almost let it slide. I even texted niceties back before deciding, nope, I need to say something.
What followed was a lengthy paragraph with a play by play of his hectic evening, which included an uber ride to his car on a rainy evening commute, and a church call. My sister described this as, "the dog ate my homework." She went on to explain that this is a tell of dealing with a perfectionist who feels shame when their shortcomings are revealed. It felt unnecessary; all I wanted was a simple acknowledgement that he promised to call (ensuring I wasn't crazy, or imagining things), and an apology that he couldn't.
The rest of the committee weighed in.
"You don't need someone who offers scraps. Hopefully he'll change this after you talk to him."
"See what the patterns are."
M seemed the most disappointed of all; as someone who also maintained a very active schedule, she knew it didn't take long to send a text. She dissected T's response to me and identified pockets of time when he could have let me know he would be unable to call. Even though our conversations occured entirely via texting, I could hear her saying:
It's not that hard, G.
-Communication. Topics that should have been discussions just... weren't. The first night we slept together, when certain, uh, "events" did not occur as anticipated, T rolled over to his side, with his back to me, and said, "It's not you. I'm still healing." I let a few silent minutes pass before I finally asked, "What did you mean when you said 'you're still healing?'" T was a prostate cancer survivor and was two years out from his diagnosis and subsequent treatment. He acted like he had already told me (reference "attempting Jedi mind tricks," above) when this was the first I had heard of it. Sure, it's a difficult topic, but things could have been far less awkward if he had shared this information earlier on.
How it Ended.
I'd describe the ending as a slow collapse that occured over months. The last time I saw T in person was in October, and I had stayed overnight. That last night we spent sleeping together wasn't a euphemism for sexy times. He went to bed in a t-shirt and pajama pants and I figured he was tired and signaling that he needed to rest. It wasn't until the morning that he shared that he wanted to abstain from sex. His epiphany occured when he had to record a video for his church's cancer ministry encouraging everyone to go in for their necessary follow up appointments. He felt he wasn't showing gratitude to God for sparing his life and abstinence was his chosen sacrifice. T said he didn't want to have sex without being married, and acknowledged that he hadn't followed that. He said he hoped to get married again someday. Based on the six months of dating that started off strong and morphed into something sporadic and confusing, I had no illusions that I had any place in this marriage fantasy.
I felt duped, and foolish, not because of his decision, but because T didn't bring any of this up in conversation until the following morning. All of that time he had been harboring knowledge that he had made this choice without saying anything about it to me.
"What are the rules of engagement?" I said, "What is your definition of sex?"
"Well," T started, "Penetration..."
I refrained from pointing out that given his definition, we never actually had sex. Had I been bolder, I would have asked him to explain the logic of abstaining from sex that he was technically unable to have, by his own definition.
When I got up to take my shower, T lingered by the threshold of the bathroom, asking if I wanted him to join me. "I wouldn't want to tempt you," I said.
"Temptation is okay, as long as you don't act on it." T said.
I gently shut the door, leaving him on the other side. I didn't need any more confusion.
When I got home, I typed T a short letter highlighting my feelings about the entire conversation, to include the level of confusion I felt. T replied that he would follow up and proceeded to not text or call until the end of the week, until I prompted him by texting "How are you?"
This resulted in a "dog ate my homework" reply.
I'm okay, it's been an extra busy week and I'm trying to complete my responses to your questions. I wasn't avoiding you but was thinking you're expecting my responses. People tell on themselves if you sit back and let them explain. We finally talked over the phone about his failure to communicate important information, and in a moment of self awareness, T admitted he was "stunted," and "had some work to do."
In the next few months, I invited T to a book signing, which he couldn't make. I also invited him to a movie screening for a film by one of my college classmates, an extension of an invitation from M, who was coming to D.C. for the occasion. I paid attention to his language when I asked. "I'd love to attend the screening with you," was the initial response. That's not a yes, I thought. Days later, when M was purchasing tickets, I pressed for a definitive answer, and he not only said he was going, but he offered to buy "refreshments." Even his solid answer felt shaky, which was why I wasn't terribly surprised when he called and shared that he wouldn't be able to make it after all, and asked, "How can I make it up to you?"
There wasn't any "making it up." This was a one night movie screening with a live and in-person question and answer session that included my classmate and some of the guys featured in the documentary he directed. This wasn't like buying another ice cream cone to make up for the one that had fallen on the ground.
It took several months for the wheels to fall off. On a Friday night phone call in late January, T offered to take me out to "take (my) mind off of all of the 'court stuff.'" By then I had backed off completely from pushing to see him. I noticed the phone calls spread further and further apart, and he didn't text me every day. My backing off was on purpose; I wanted to observe what happened when I took my efforts out of the picture. T promised to call me on Saturday to check schedules.
For someone who was so "busy" T didn't seem to have a handle on what he was doing from day to day. In a way that was disappointing, yet somehow didn't disappoint, T never called me on Saturday, like he'd promised. Based on previous actions, if you guessed he didn't acknowledge that he didn't call, congratulations for understanding past behavior predicts future behavior. As someone with a bachelor's degree in individual psychology, I should understand that too, but sometimes you make yourself stick around to collect enough data to be sure. My conclusion: Gaslighting by omission was T's schtick.
I received texts on Sunday, Tuesday and Friday, none of which acknowledged that we were supposed to discuss schedules, and didn't, or any other talk about taking my mind off the "
court stuff."
Jedi mind trick, anyone?
I finally texted back, saying I felt rude not responding to his texts, adding that his good morning texts seemed well meaning but not acknowledging that he didn't reach out as promised felt unkind. He was "so sorry for disappointing" me and not sharing that he "got busy dealing with snow and ice." Also included in the message:
Please forgive me.
When people ask for forgiveness, it feels like adding insult to injury. Forgiveness happens on the schedule of the person who was harmed, and they shouldn't be burdened with this kind of plea. I wasn't trying to punish T; I hated being pushed to forgive when he wouldn't even properly acknowledge the offense. Being busy shoveling had nothing to do with not saying, "Hey, I know I said I'd call and I'm sorry I didn't."
T left two voicemail messages, a week apart, and then ceased texting and calling. This was not a person who "cared how I experienced him," this was a person who cared how I
saw him. Maybe he gave up when he realized I had stopped believing he was a good man and I was perpetually at the bottom of his list not because he purposely kept me there but because he was
just so busy. This was a person who knew how to say "Sorry," and push for forgiveness so he didn't feel bad, but did nothing to change his actual patterns.
When you stop hoping for someone to show up, and care, and be consistent, there's a sense of relief in sparing yourself from giving them a chance. There's no more subjecting yourself to a fool's errand after so many iterations of similar disappointments. By the end, I hated receiving the dressed up "Have a Nice Day" text messages, I hated wondering if he was going to call, and I hated feeling like I was imposing for wanting basic courtesy and consideration, a standard this very person had shown me when I was a stranger to him.
My mistakes? Patterns that bothered me in the beginning kept showing up; walking away as soon as I noticed these issues would have spared me from months of confusion. I didn't ask enough questions, and I stuck with giving the benefit of the doubt in the beginning when in truth, that advice should be followed after someone has done the work to build trust over time. I learned that I can like someone without feeling the need to try to turn it into love. I learned that someone who seems stable and even (to use my sister's indictment) "boring" doesn't make them someone who is safe; a well dressed, well spoken, seems-to-have-his-shit-together guy can also be an agent of chaos.
By the end, I had a visceral feeling that T actually hated me. This is the type of accusation the other party would never admit because it makes them look like a terrible person. Someone who wanted to see me would have shared that he couldn't follow through on his promise, and he would have gone through his calendar to suggest a time when he was available. He wouldn't casually let me know I might be bumped by a zoom call or tell me, after I pressed him to share a week later, that he was so busy shoveling snow that he couldn't spare a minute to call or text. He wouldn't bypass acknowledging his failure to follow through on a promise with a series of meaningless text messages. His decision to abstain from sex felt like a passive aggressive ploy to get rid of me, and another accusation I'll never be able to prove. I wondered about T's marriage, and what his ex-wife must have endured. I thought about the saying that women don't divorce good men. I thought about how often women have to do the dirty work of ending things with men who care more about looking like a good man than actually being one.
