The 3-Step System I’m Using to Avoid Relationship Purgatory
And the sole difference between exclusivity and a committed relationship
“Are you sure you want to have sushi? The last time we had sushi we didn’t talk for two months.”
I hold the door open and raise my eyebrows. Brian (yeah — that Brian) raises his. I raise mine higher. He folds with a chuckle and walks inside.
Sushi it was.
I haven’t seen Brian since the middle of December. I’d caught him lying to me, as I dipped my chop-chop cone in soy sauce and knew — as much as I liked him — this was the last time I would be seeing him.
For a period of time, anyway.
Brian was the first person after my last breakup that made me consider getting into another relationship. We dated casually for two months, neither of us wanting to commit to anything serious, and man — did we have fun.
We watched skunks at midnight in the park and bickered about which gun was the best to Pack-A-Punch on zombies (HAMR, people). We devoured family-size bags of Cadbury mini eggs while watching serial killer documentaries and rode gondolas up mountains on foggy days. Can the Indian outdrink the Irishman? After two and a half Asahi’s, we determined no — no she cannot.
The world was our oyster and we loved seafood night. I can’t recall another partner who complimented and encouraged my playfulness the way Brian did. We were silly and care-free and loved each other’s company.
But silly and carefree doesn’t always equate to more.
I left BC for a month and half and when I came back, the red flags I couldn’t see (or didn’t want to see) were now impossible to ignore.
- The effort was largely disproportionate. I often didn’t feel considered.
- He skirted around serious conversation with jokes.
- We lacked vulnerability.
- There was misalignment between behaviour and words spoken.
- Oh, and let’s not forget — he lied to me.
Brian didn’t want to commit to a relationship but prior to seeing these red flags, I did. He talked about how much he loved my company and showed it. We were all but boyfriend and girlfriend — the only factor missing was a commitment to exclusivity.
I found myself in relationship purgatory. I was having so much fun with Brian I began to think the one thought that never yields what we think it will:
If I give it enough time, things will change. I can forget about my needs for a little while if it means keeping him around.
But Susanne’s words — best friend, relationship guru, and one who often subs in for my intermittent voice of reason — echoed loud and clear in my head:
“Do you want to mother your partner? Become his life coach? Teach him how to treat you? Gross!”
I was sad but I knew the long term sadness and frustration I’d suffer from pretending my needs didn’t exist would be much worse.
I sent Brian a message the night I caught him lying:
Spending time with each other is going to do us both more harm than good at this time.
There was protest on his end but no room for give on mine.
My friends won’t tell you I believe in second chances — they’ll tell you I believe in thirds and fourths (hey! In my defence, I was going through some shit). Old habits die hard and I recently responded to the last email Brian had sent me.
We sat down in the restaurant and did the obligatory menu glance before diving into discussion. He looked at me with a cheeky grin and said, “I feel like you’re about to ask me a whole bunch of questions.”
I shrugged. “Let’s hope you have answers.”
He’s open, frank and honest. There’s no subject that’s off the table and he doesn’t shy away from conversation when things become difficult. The time apart removed impulsive emotion from the mix. We could talk about our history and laugh about it while still being truthful.
Eventually, I ask, “What is it you want from me?”
I know this isn’t fair — I don’t even know what I want from him — but I ask anyway.
“I want to spend time with you the way we did before. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how we got on so well. I fucked up — I miss you.”
Ah, yes — Brian spoke the magic words: an admission of fault paired with sentiment. Coupled with being reminded of how charming his smile is, I was almost convinced I could jump back into the way things used to be.
I went home that night and listened to my gut. It was quiet — the desperate shrieks of my libido near drowning it out — but it was there. I had to listen carefully.
It said one word:
“No.”
Purgatory sucks. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know if I’m wasting my time. I don’t need to put a label on our relationship but as a serial monogamist, it’s near impossible for me to express vulnerability (and therefore depth) if exclusivity isn’t reciprocated.
I’m not willing to jump into a relationship with someone when the trust has been compromised. I am willing to date exclusively to navigate what reestablishing trust looks like — if it can be done. I mean, c’mon — I still like the guy. His accent doesn’t help.
Dating exclusively and a relationship are not one in the same. Exclusivity is a test drive to see if a relationship is worth aspiring towards.
If I didn’t want to end up in purgatory again, I had to do something different.
Acknowledge your needs:
I had to stop pretending I didn’t have these. We all have needs. I was selling myself short by believing otherwise or thinking I was clingy for having them. Hey — I’m the fun gal who’s cool with having no strings attached. That hurts nobody but me in the end.
Don’t be shy in expressing your needs:
I was assertive. I spoke up. I sent Brian an email after our last sushi date telling him I want exclusivity. If he’s not prepared for that at this time, I respect that — but this is a non-negotiable for me.
Be prepared to walk away:
If the fulfillment of my needs ends up being promised in the future, I’m letting go. I’m not going to appease Brian while my needs are placed on the back-burner. I come first — I can and will be selfish.
I’m no longer making the mistake of figuring out what my needs are in the middle of a relationship and hoping the person I’m with can fulfill them.
No — the needs are clearly defined and the prospect fits or they don’t. It doesn’t make them a bad person if they don’t. But I’m not going to try and bridge the gap between who they are and who I want them to be. I’ve burned bridges trying to build them, let me tell you (sorry fellas).
If Brian can’t commit to exclusivity, I’m more than prepared to walk away. Hot guy likes interested girl, “let’s hangout” doesn’t cut it anymore — regardless of how well he sings “Take It Easy.” Where two people are involved, both parties deserve to have their needs met and figure out how to establish a means for this to be the outcome.
Instead of having my abandonment issues on full display by trying to reel in a specific response, I’m comfortable and content in knowing it could go either way.
Besides — do I really want a boyfriend who asks for a fork when we go out for Japanese?
