Some habits are hard to break.
My brain has been set to “serious relationship” for the last eighteen years, so starting to date casually has been a confusing transition. Long term, keep the peace, don’t go to bed angry, salvage at all costs mentality is no longer necessary, but it’s difficult to shut it off. I have operated in this mode since my first serious boyfriends in middle school.
Be low maintenance. Be the type of girl he likes. If he suggests an activity you’re not wild about, say yes and act like it’s fun. Watch the shows he likes. Listen to the music he likes. Show him you fit together seamlessly. Even in my marriage, when an issue would come up and my gut reaction would be negative, I’d feel guilty, reframe, and come around to a positive approach. Don’t hold him back from anything he wants.
I have always been the long-term relationship girl. I dated two boys in high school – one for a year until he moved, and the other for the remaining three years until we both moved. Freshman year of college I was with one guy for much of the year, and that summer I started spending time with a guy who was supposed to be casual summer fun and ended up as my husband. Eighteen years later, I don’t have a casual bone in my body.
It’s not that I’m looking to get married, because I am certainly not headed down the aisle ever again. It’s just that when I started talking to men in the wake of my divorce, I could feel old habits surfacing all over again. “Do you like sushi? Because I love it.” Totally. “Would you go fishing with me someday?” That sounds so fun. “How amazing was that very niche sporting event?” Like, so amazing.
In my defense, men who have been looking for a relationship for a while have very odd deal-breakers and I don’t hate any of those things, they just barely register on my own list of likes and dislikes. I wouldn’t refuse to fish or watch your alma mater lose a game, I am absolutely up for trying things or doing something with a guy that’s not my favorite to see him in his element (this is huge for getting to know someone – get them to talk about or show you something they absolutely love). I just don’t really care much about those things.
When you’ve just started talking to someone, the stakes are much lower, and I finally started to grow a spine, remember my own likes and dislikes, and weed out men that weren’t going anywhere. If I pushed back and he disappeared, so be it. The dating app was going to keep flinging profiles at me day and night, I’d find someone else to talk to. I didn’t weed out a lot of things you’d find on profiles like politics, jobs, an egregious number of pets, etc. I based my exclusions on vibes as the kids say. If the conversation was giving dry toast, I made no effort. I didn’t have the energy to be the entire spark. If you bragged about not seeing your kids often and having a lot of wild times, bye. If I smelled too many red flags to sort through, like the guy who clearly had a gambling addiction, no thanks (but it was difficult because he had a spectacular mustache).
Finally, I had a breakthrough. I have a weird thing about pet names. I hate them. Or most of them. I am a whole adult woman and often go several days without hearing my name. I am Mom or Mommy all day every day. I have a real name and a nickname, both are acceptable, and I loathe being called anything you could also call a small animal or child. So when a man started trying out pet names for me, I had a…violent reaction. I don’t know how to choose someone who will last, I don’t know how to be in a new relationship after divorce, I don’t know how to navigate dating when I’ve got small kids at home, I don’t know what I’m looking for at this point in my life, but I do know I hate being called Princess.
I clung desperately to the one thing I knew for sure, and after I was finished raging about infantilizing women with childlike words, calling us Boo Bear or Sweetie to make us seem small and tame, and probably blaming the patriarchy, he apologized. Apparently, I am the only woman who has ever reacted this way, but I can’t keep going through life being called something you’d name a teacup Maltese just so I don’t damage your fragile masculinity. How can you see a woman as your equal if you can’t be bothered to address her in a respectful way?
Was it an outsized reaction? Absolutely. But it felt good to know at least one thing that I knew for sure I didn’t want in a sea of confusion and twisting and molding myself into whatever a divorcee is supposed to be. So, here’s to being open to fishing, golf, and target shooting, but expecting compromise and effort in return, so you don’t end up a hollow and unfulfilled version of who they wish you’d be.
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