After my breakup with The Spaniard in 2022, I took half a year off dating. Learning to be content with myself, I turned inward. I settled into my new job, cultivated friendships, and leaned into the joy of lindy hop and the community that made it so special. I was building and savoring a life that made me feel so, very rich. Rather than conforming to someone else’s ideal, I resolved to only settle down with a partner who enhanced the life I’d painstakingly crafted – a life brimming with joy, love, and self-assurance. 

Just when I least expected it, serendipity intervened. Over breakfast with my friend Sophiya, I confessed that I was enjoying my freedom too much and not actively looking for love, only to find myself swept off my feet that very night.

Let’s call him Mr. Who. Our attraction was immediate, our conversations effortless. We exchanged Instagram handles and, the very next day, he asked me out. 

Our first date was perfect. He was charming, I was smitten. 

Over the following two months, we would continue to talk and go on dates. He would cook for me, spoil me with foot and back massages, and even introduce me to his best friends.   

Mindful of past lessons, I was intent on showing up as a secure and authentic individual. I embraced radical honesty, laying bare my vulnerabilities without reservation. I dished out snippets from my childhood. I told him of the recent revelation I had in therapy about me and my neurodivergence. I shared about my past relationships. I even revealed the fact that my best friends and I enjoyed watching shitty reality shows like Single’s Inferno – something I would never admit to prospective partners in the past for fear of being seen as shallow.

I also stopped holding back how I felt. Before, I used to follow those silly unwritten rules of playing it cool, like waiting for the other person to text first, or letting a few hours go by before replying. This time, I didn’t feel the need to. If I wanted to send a text, whether it was about a stunning sunset or just to say how happy I was to have met him, I sent the bloody text. I made sure he knew that I appreciated him, looked forward to getting to know each other better, and simply enjoyed our time together.

Every now and then, my old friend, Anxiety, would visit me. Its grip would be especially strong if I perceived a change in communication patterns right after I’d shown my vulnerable, sensitive side. When this happened, I’d practice the self-soothing mechanisms I’d learnt in my last relationship. 

First lesson, be curious and empathetic. Rather than assuming the worst, I would place myself in his shoes. I would ask myself, “What other reasons, rather than him losing interest in me, could there be for the lack of communications? Maybe he’s overwhelmed at work? Maybe he needs some space? Maybe he doesn’t know how to communicate all these?” 

Another lesson was to assess the facts versus the story I was telling myself. Apart from this incident, how has he been showing up? How long and how often has this been going on? Has he given me any concrete reason to worry? 

Last but not least, instead of choosing one or the other extreme – spiraling alone or blowing up – I would check in with him in a way that was both direct and kind. I would ask him what was happening in his world, offer support and comfort, and give him space if he needed some.

To save you the cliffhanger, we didn’t end up together. 

While we shared moments of connection, I noticed patterns that didn’t sit right with me. The further along we were, the less we’d talk. He would say that we should go on all kinds of dates, but never followed through. I was left with all the reaching out and the scheduling.  

Perhaps it was two months too late, but I finally asked him what he was looking for out of dating. It turned out, we were not on the same page. I was looking for a partner, he was looking for something casual. My heart broke as he told me that he’d been entertaining other women the whole time we were seeing each other. He apologized, told me that he did enjoy our time together, and asked if I would consider keeping the status quo while he sorted his life out. 

It wasn’t easy, but I resisted the urge to settle for less, and walked away with my head held high. 

I passed the hardest test yet; I chose myself. So, why did it break me? 

Why did the end of a two-month situationship leave my heart completely shattered? Why did I spend as much time grieving a man I barely knew as I did dating him? 

The truth is, I fell in love with the person I was when I was with him. It was the healthiest, the most secure, the most genuine version of myself. 

Which, I guess, explained why his rejection was so painful. If I was the best version of myself, and it was still not enough for someone to choose me… what hope did I have?

There is this quote from Grey’s Anatomy that perfectly described how I felt.

“You know I used to walk tall around here. Then came George. He took off at least an inch. Then Erica went and left me, that shaved off a few more. I got shorter. All that humiliation, it makes you shorter. So yeah, I am scared of getting hurt because one more personal disaster right now would cut me off at the knees.”

I didn’t realize it then, but this experience would even go on to shape how I approached dating and my next relationship. One step forward, two steps back. (Again, more on this later.)

When I had that conversation with Mr. Who, it was raining. How apt. As we side-hugged for one final goodbye, I accidentally poked him in the face with my umbrella. He yelped in pain and, even in the middle of my heart breaking, I still reached out to make sure he was okay. I brushed my fingers over his forehead and caressed the side of his face to take the pain away. 

That’s the kind of person I am. 

My friend Yeeching told me that I am generous with my love. (Perhaps, a little too generous.) I feel deeply, whether it’s awe, joy, or grief.  

As a result, I sometimes worry that I’m too much. That sooner or later people will have enough of me and leave. That is not true. 

The truth is I care, a lot. But caring is not a bad thing.

Sure, people might choose to leave because they’re not ready or willing to accept and reciprocate the amount of love I have to offer. If they do, it’s only natural for me to feel sad and mourn the loss. But I will try my best to remember that their departure is about them and where they are in their journey — not about me being inherently too much or too little. 

Perhaps Mr. Who was not meant to stay in my life forever. Perhaps he was only meant to show me that I was ready for love again. That I was capable of showing up as a secure, healthy partner. 

That, as my tattoo says, I’m good enough.

How do you cope with rejection?

How do you maintain your self worth?

Credits:

Images by Daria Nepriakhina & Mary