Ghosting. People still do this. Even grown-ass divorced men.
Get this. I finally got myself to go on a few dates after a crazy year from hell. One was with a very cute 40-year-old lawyer. He works at a big firm, he’s gunning for partner, and he’s also got green eyes.
Getting ready for the first date, I wore heels. I rarely wear them, and on a first date from Raya — that obnoxious celebrity dating app — we don’t know much about the person we’re meeting. Only what they’ve volunteered to share. This guy didn’t share his height. And in my internet stalking, it could go either way.
At the top of the year, I decided I’d stop shrinking myself for other people’s benefit. I’d have the courage to be looked at, and I’d wear the loud red dress if that’s what made me feel good. I decided, with my newfound red-dress energy, to look and feel my best, which meant walking to the date in heels.
He met that energy, stood tall, and we gazed into each other’s green eyes. By the end of the date, we were already talking about going on a second date. He texted me before I even made it home, telling me what a great time he had. He also told me that he’s a litigator on two cases, and absolutely slammed until the end of the summer. I believed him.
So when he didn’t text to follow up about seeing each other again, I checked in. He responded warmly, and we went on a second date. It was a night I already had plans for early, but I already had a sitter. We met up, had appetizers and dessert, and then, the moment we left the restaurant, he kissed me. He grabbed my hand and asked if I’d walk him home. I said sure. Two glasses of wine in, he’s sober, and I was having fun. I also had a couple more hours to enjoy before needing to relieve my sitter. By the time we got to his place, he kissed me again. He invited me in. I wasn’t sure there was time. He suggested we make out a little.
My mind screamed bad idea. It is too soon. But my body wanted to be touched. It had been too long. I wanted to feel desired, to let go of all my hard work, and to keep the fun going. In that split second, hand in hand, post-kiss, my body won, and I followed him upstairs.
His apartment felt like a post-college apartment. He had lived there for ten years, and he had lived there with his wife, which was crazy to me, because all sense of female energy was completely gone. I was surprised to find a successful lawyer at a big firm living in a home with a stovetop oven from the 90’s.
Yes, I judged him, but just a little, because I go on playdates with my son to similar-age families’ homes, and this just didn’t feel very grown-up. From the kitchen that looked never used, to the furniture that didn’t quite fit. And in contrast, I have worked so damn hard to make a beautiful home for my son and me. His home screamed immaturity, and it should have been a signal that we are in different places in life.
But perhaps he’s ready for the next step in life, which is why he wants to date a woman like me. A woman who lives with intention, like a grown-up. So I pushed the judgment down, and we made out, and then he got a little bit too naked, and then I got a little too naked, which led us down a path that was way too intimate for a second date.
After a very short amount of time, lying together on his bed, our naked bodies intertwined, I had to relieve my sitter. It didn’t feel good to get out of someone’s bed so fast. But he was respectful and kind. He walked me to my Uber and told me to text him when I was back from the beach, where I was going for the week between school and camp. And, of course, to message him over the weekend.
But this time, he didn’t text me before I got home, or even the next day, and I knew that something had shifted. But I wasn’t willing to give up. Maybe he was busy. My internal nervous system was on fire. I wanted to talk about what we did. Process it together. Tell him it didn’t feel good to leave so quickly, and not to hear from him afterward. We didn’t get to create a new navigation plan for where we were going and how we got there.
The weekend after we hung out, I checked in, and we made plans for the upcoming week. I was going to be in town for a night, and I’d love to see him. He said he’d try; he was out of town in depositions, but should be back. He texted when he said he would, only to say he had more work, and he canceled plans. It was polite. It was cold. The next weekend, I checked in again, then the following Thursday, one last time. I knew my gut was right. I never heard from him again. He slowly faded me to nothing.
This was a man who had been married for eight years, had divorced, and worked in employment law, so he knew how to handle an awkward conversation. And by ghosting me, he denied me one, and I had to have that conversation alone. Once I’m processing in real time on this page.
The first guy I went on a couple of dates with since the top of the year, treated me with such disrespect I felt nauseous. I don’t want to call him names or assume he lacks emotional intelligence, but for whatever reason, he decided I wasn’t worth the conversation. I’m a woman who has intentionally created a beautiful life out of literal ash. I made a family on my own, created a beautiful home, and have ambitions that are coming to fruition. I’m in control of my own time and am ready to make space for romance. I was open to sharing some of my joy with this man, excited to get to know him, and for some reason, he just let go of the rope, right as we were getting to the good stuff. The real intimacy both emotional and sexual. To really see and support one another. To amplify everything we’re building solo as we merge it together.
After this experience, I checked in with a dear friend whom I met when she was my matchmaker in Los Angeles. And she told me I should consider the 12-date rule from Matchmaker Maria. I have a lot of feelings about this. Why do I have to hold back my sexual desires to ensure a man respects me if I sleep with him? Why can’t he just respect me?
It’s meant to protect me and my nervous system, and to weed out the men who aren’t serious. But this man was dating with intention. We had deep conversations about the lives we wanted, and it felt very aligned. We were both ambitious. I didn’t think I needed to play games to make him my boyfriend. So, having this brought up shattered the illusion I’ve been living in. That if I lived authentically, in my skin, my wants, my desires, men wouldn’t judge me, or at the very least, they’d stick around. They wouldn’t need me to play games or withhold a huge part of myself so that he can connect emotionally. Does sex cloud my judgment? Maybe, but also, not really. I don’t want to fall in love with a man emotionally and hate having sex with him. That’s definitely not the life I want.
I let the ideas simmer for a few days. Maybe it lives somewhere in the middle. That there’s a push and pull, a sexual electricity that threads the dates, and my future partner and I take that journey together. The right man won’t put all the pressure on me to steer the emotional intimacy; he’ll see it as our joint responsibility to grow together.
In the end, ghosting isn’t a gift, but it’s a great lesson. He didn’t give me silence. He left me with a load to process on my own. He showed me who he is and that he’s not the partner for me. But he also showed me what I’m looking for, and helped me on my yellow brick road towards partnership.
Keep that red-dress energy. It looks great on you!