Imperfect Love Stories: Ghosted

“I thought ghosting was a horrible dating habit reserved for casual flings” states the contextual example provided by the Oxford English dictionary. So did I, I thought as I read that. “Is it ghosting if you talk or meet, and then neither person follows up?” A friend asked me. “I don’t think so, that just seems like a mutual acceptance of the truth that neither of you desires to pursue the connection,” I replied.

The ghosting that stings most is when it comes as a shock. Even if you too weren’t feeling it entirely, but had considered giving it another chance, or if you were feeling it, and then they go dark, this can feel confusing, embarrassing, painful, enraging, disappointing etc. I was ghosted recently, and I felt embarrassed for the degree to which I felt blind-sided by this sudden disappearance. And though I know these things happen, I’ve even seen my own brother ghost, and I know it isn’t personal, I felt robbed of my dignity—I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, or thank you, or say anything to honor and acknowledge the connection we had built over two and a half months. This gesture felt like a passive act of violence, in that my experience felt disregarded. Then I felt mad. My inner protector came out.

I’d attempted to balm my own heart by “doing the work”— I tried applying the first three of four components of nonviolent communication, internally, with myself— noting 1) what I’d observed, 2) how I felt, and 3) bear witness to and identify what my heart needed and 4) make a request. Upon reaching the fourth step, Make a Request, I realized that I didn’t have a request because I’d decided to let the connection go.

Here’s what this looked like: I’d observed that we’d spoken for hours each week over video chat during quarantine, about life, family, art, culture, our hearts, some nights for 6 hours. I observed that we cooked virtual vegan mac and cheese together, read our poetry together, and even discussed escaping Brooklyn somewhere in nature once it made sense to. I observed that we had two discussions about dreams and career, that got heated, and opened up deep conversations and wounds, and that he said felt triggering.

The second of those discussions came about on the first day we’d met in person, and the last day I’d heard from him. In my experience, this first meeting felt a bit awkward, unromantic, and a bit tense. I’d imagined that these feelings were here because we were trying to render one another in three dimensions after months of video chat. I chalked any awkwardness up to quarantine. I felt a care, and kindness towards him just because. I’d felt flattered when he asked to draw me, which I thought was intimate, sweet, and sexy, despite the lack of apparent chemistry otherwise at the moment which I chalked that up to newness, and nerves. I felt a sense of patience, presence, jitteriness, sweetness, tension, and unsureness that I wasn’t ready to make a call on what it all meant or didn’t mean. He was handsome. More so in person even than on camera.

He had to leave after three hours, we hugged, and I soon after texted to follow up saying that I enjoyed his company, and felt curious to hear how he was feeling since we had gotten into a tense discussion. In all fairness, this didn’t entirely capture how I felt, but my intention was to abate any further insecurities, more so for myself, and foster the connection further. I was met with a text that said “I enjoyed your company too, I am still processing and I am not yet ready to discuss my experience,” or something like that. I followed up the next day to acknowledged that he was starting back at his in-person job and to wish him a nice first day back.

And then, silence. I initially felt patient, and then confused, and then hurt, and then… the hurt to ease ratio changed to 20/80, and then to 10/90, and finally fully back to ease.

What do I need? My heart desires to feel dignified and cared for. I had to give that to myself. May I feel witnessed in my pain? “I am sorry,” I said to myself, that you didn’t get to say goodbye. I’m sorry that you feel disappointed. I’m sorry for the pain that comes with letting go of the idea we’d connect again, and for the tiredness, you feel as your cue to your heart to remain open as it’s time to start again, and for the pain that came with the flood of memories of starting again, and again, and again, before.

There is no request to him, but to myself. May I remain open and never close. I love myself more for my willingness to show up and care. May I give my heart the time and space it needs to feel all it feels. May I open too, to the shimmer of gratitude, cropping up amidst the unpleasantries, like a flower through concrete. I am grateful—to learn, to have connected, to feel, and to know that within me there is the pain and the balm, and that I can give myself the love I am worthy of. And may I hold a narrative, whether it’s true or untrue that gives me energy. In this case, I choose to believe that this was a capacity gap, rather than disregard.