I’m not a tough person. I cry in the shower when a coworker makes a nasty comment. I endlessly replay situations where a friend issues me a backhanded compliment.
When it comes to dating, though, I’m pretty tough. Let’s put it this way: if you’re coming to me for advice regarding a guy who just isn’t treating you well, I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that maybe, sweetie, he’s just going through a tough time. I refuse to allow your pretty little mind to think that, yes, it’s acceptable that he won’t label you as his girlfriend or show you off to his friends.
Know why? Because it’s not. Nope, not acceptable at all.
So after he finally breaks up with you (or you’re lucky enough to break up with him) I’m not going to be sympathetic when you keep running back to him. You miss him—I get it. It’s downright painful to cutoff all ties with someone who you’d text midday from the bookstore because you saw something they’d like. You’re probably used to checking on him during his lunch break at work and maybe he called you every night before bed.
But listen, sister, a breakup is just that: a BREAKUP. Don’t you even think of running back to his cozy bed dressed in plaid, unwashed sheets. You can do better—at the very least you can sleep in your own WASHED sheets— and you know it.
Whenever an applicable situation comes up I like to reference one of my favorite books of all time, He’s Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys by Greg Behrendt. (Please note that I’m not talking about the movie with the same title. It was based off the book but failed to sufficiently convey the book’s messages accurately.)
Anyway, this summarizes my above-referenced feelings, which some might perceive as my nasty-bitch side, to a T:
Breakups, I've heard, are supposed to be just that. Breaks. Hard, clean breaks. No talking, no seeing, no touching ... keep your hands to yourself. The relationship is over. Half the people I know move after a huge breakup, and frankly that makes perfect sense to me. You're not supposed to sleep with the guy who just broke your heart a week ago. Fine. Next time I'm in this situation I'll cry. Stay in bed and wail. Go to the gym if I can. Call all my friends and burden them with my misery. Sleep too much. Cry some more. See my therapist more often. Get a puppy. Do whatever I have to so eventually I can move on. –He’s Just Not That Into You
So what if you get that, you’re following the rules and not talking to him, and he’s the one calling you to tell you that he ate a fabulous corned beef sandwich on rye with spicy mustard, ran an amazing 4.667 miles and, oh yea, by the way, he misses you, baby?
Yes, he broke up with you, but he’s still the one running back for comfort. He made the conscious decision to not be with you, but he still feels like it’s alright to call to ask you about your day.
I have no explanation for why this happens, but it seems to happen frequently. Really, a lot. Now I never advocate for retaliation (it’s better just to let things go and, as idealistic as this might sound, “be the bigger person”) but sometimes it’s best to in your own way dig it back to him.
Don’t answer his calls. Don’t run out when he emails asking to meet at Starbucks to catch up. Allow him to miss you, to consider what he gave up. Certainly don’t rerun your dramatic relationship ending where he called you fat and you told him that his member was small over and over. Don’t wish him anything bad or even be rude or short to him. Just don’t. It’s not worth your time.
Over time, I’ve learned that the sooner we let go of these freaks, the ones who treat us poorly and forget that they can’t just have us anytime they so please, the sooner we’ll get closer to finding Mr. Right. I’m not saying that we’ll ever find Mr. Perfect, but with each bad egg we crack, that’s one down and we’re one person closer to discovering someone kind and compassionate.
So, if nothing more, remember this: the next time a guy blows you off for balcony seats at an NBA game, consider what he really means to you and, more importantly here, what you mean to him. I mean, really, he’s not even ditching you for courtside seats, but balcony seats? Come on! Move on.
XOXO,
R.
