Blocked & Breakups

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I thought when my relationship ended, so would my writer’s block. Well it never really was writer’s block, just more respect for the individual I was sharing my days with for awhile. But it seems to have just gotten worse. Maybe it’s because it’s not really over for me yet. (Yes I know. I’m stupid, crazy, deluded, enter similar adjective here.) Maybe I just need time to decompress. Whatever it may be I’m going to force a post in hopes of restarting the rusty word processor.

So let’s see topic. Breakups. Yes. Let’s talk about breakups. But in a very disconnected way that is not reflective of my personal life whatsoever, because I haven’t even really spoken to you in 18 months, guys. Stop trying to pry. Geeze.

Some people handle breakups with such grace and peace. “You’ve enriched my life, thank you for being a part of it during this time. We must part now, go forth and be happy.” Others down whiskey until they can’t feel feelings. Others bounce to the next as though the love from the previous is completely transferrable like a store exchange. This one wasn’t the right fit; let’s try the medium.

Even within each of my own breakups the approach has changed. I’ve had the breakdowns, I’ve had the amicable parting, I’ve left for someone else, I’ve slammed the door shut and I’ve pined for a reconciliation. So all these articles and books about how to survive a breakup seem ridiculous.

You get half the length of the relationship to move on. Nope just two weeks for every month.

Don’t watch romcoms, but allow yourself to mourn.

Don’t ever speak to him again. Well what if you have a child together?

Don’t jump into a relationship too soon. What about those fabled people who go on a date a week after the breakup and end up marrying the person?

Know it’s better to be single than with someone who isn’t right for you. Yeah, ok but who said anything about being sad because you’re single. Maybe you’re sad because you love the jerk and you can’t just turn it off. 

There’s nothing worse when going through a breakup than overused platitudes and plenty of fish speeches. Especially considering that most breakups past high school and even college are nowhere near simplistic. Lives become more intertwined (mostly due to my inability to set up appropriate, healthy boundaries). Baggage from each relationship compounds to mismatched sets that never really make sense no matter how much you analyze your relationship patterns.

So as long as I’m functioning in the world and not breaking down completely, can’t I just handle being torn from someone the way I want? If I want to create an epic breakup playlist and listen to it on repeat for months after the fact, give me that. If I want to binge on Gilmore Girls and cry every time Jess wrongs Rory, it’s my choice. If I want to continue conversations the guy who wronged me, please be patient.

I will say my friends have been phenomenally understanding as I walk through this season. So none of this could be directed at them. Most of the worn-out “forget that jerk, buck up and get yourself out there” talk has come from unsolicited, acquaintance-level sources.

I wish I was better at putting it all behind me. Dispelling the hope and dismissing the ghost. But I’m not. Especially in these uncharted breakup circumstances. And I have no idea what I’m doing aside from taking it one day at a time like a love-struck alcoholic who manages to go about her regular life with an ambiguous hole where a boy used to fit so nicely.  

(Ed note: I apologize for this awkward reintroduction. I promise these will get better as I stretch my muscles and sort out my life a bit more.)

Shut up, everyone, about the end of courtship

What a splendidly hypocritical way for me to come back to the blogosphere. Scolding relationship/dating experts who are desperately seeking page views, shares and retweets. But this topic has been weighing on me for some time and I wanna talk about it, dammit.

I’m completely disheartened by all the hookup culture/end of courtship talk. I know I’ve been in a relationship for over a year so it may seem that all of this should matter little to me. Especially considering we didn’t have a real, take-me-out-to-dinner date until a few weeks into our romance. But it makes me sad to think that singles everywhere are being told to put aside any expectations they have about dating and put up with inconsiderate, non-committal behavior.

It seems to be a byproduct of the constant lectures about being too available to the people we’re attracted to combined with new technology, stunted maturity and media that portrays hookup-only dating as the norm. But I’m not sure it is the norm, just because Girls says it is.

Just as “we accept the love we think we deserve” the same goes for the initial stages of that love. And the dating life we deserve/want looks different from individual to individual so it’s really a matter of finding someone whose expectations align with your own. If you want to be wined, dined, pursued and made to feel special, that’s exactly what you should demand.

That doesn’t necessarily mean writing off someone the second they send you a text at 10 p.m. asking if you care to meet up with a group rather than the one-on-one date you’d prefer. It’s about communicating those preferences. It’s your job to make what you want clear to a prospective partner. It’s their job to step up and comply or step down and leave you open to find someone who can.

I know it’s never that simple. Lonely people make concessions they shouldn’t. Deviant people make promises they have no intention of ever keeping. But at least acknowledging that not everyone—male or female—desires to be a part of the hookup culture is a step in the right direction. There are no real norms in this world. Especially when it comes to dating. So it’s a mistake to think you have to accept something that makes you unhappy or uncomfortable just because it’s “the norm” according to some relationship trend piece in a publication that will denounce the trend a year from now in favor of more traditional dating norms. Because, you know, vintage!

The older I get (a year and a half from 30 so I’m basically as wise as I’ll ever be) the more I shake off the expectations and norms I’m supposed to embrace so I can focus on what’s going to make me happy, healthy and well adjusted. And buying into every shocking new fad that crosses my computer screen threatens that happiness more than anything. 

I’m Baaack Or At Least Some Version of Me Is

It’s official. I’m that girl. The one who abandons all her (imaginary) friends when she gets a boyfriend. I didn’t really want to abandon you. Things just got so busy and… The truth of the matter is writing a blog about being single, dating and relationships is a bit of a challenge when you’re in a relationship. Especially when the blog is ostensibly unfiltered. I was faced with pushing out disingenuous posts or revealing too much about someone who wasn’t choosing to have his worst qualities broadcasted on the Internet. (Because let’s face it, no one wants to read about how sweet, cute, talented someone’s boyfriend is. We want dirt!) Plus, given my reactionary nature and the way I use writing to work through my frustrations, I would likely want to take back 75 percent of the posts the day after they were published. Especially the one entitled “Pick Up Your Socks: A Tale of Why My Boyfriend is the Worst Human Being On The Planet.”

Instead of taking either of these paths, I took none. I sat in a stalemate and did nothing. This became an even bigger problem because I missed it. As I said, writing is an outlet for me. A form of therapy. When I’m going through things and I’m not writing, my emotions get all tangled up into a big ball of stress. I could just write for me, but blogging provides some level of structure and discipline that forces me to put words on the page and get it all out in the open. If I can’t pretend I have people waiting to read my brilliant words, I am not as likely to produce anything. Especially if the product is going to force me to take an uncomfortable look at something I’m doing.

I considered breaking it off with the boy in order to continue writing about being single. But that wouldn’t be authentic either. It would make more sense to adapt the blog to my life rather than my life to the blog. (Ok I would never seriously make major life decisions based on a blog… unless someone wants to turn it into a book and move me to NYC… any takers?)

So I must continue writing. And I must continue this relationship for as long as it’s healthy and makes me happy (and makes him happy too I suppose). I’m not entirely sure what form future posts will take. I imagine the relationship will become fodder on some level, but I’m not going to throw it all out there because it’s not solely my story to share anymore. As always, I will offer up unsolicited opinions about general relational topics and analyze friends’ situations (using made up names of course). I do promise not to publish (too many) “I lurve my boyfriend so much and all other people should be as lucky as I am” posts. As I go through this redefinition process, I’m completely open to (nicely stated) suggestions. So speak up!  

Too Much Togetherness

That's me on the right.

Among the many not-so-loveable patterns I repeat in my relationships is my desire to spend every spare moment with the snugglebear in my life. Probably because I go so long between snugglebears that I have to squeeze in as much as I can to catch up. I caught myself doing this again with the boy of the moment this past weekend. We had essentially spent the entire weekend together, so he declined my invitation to share a lovely Sunday with me. My instinctual reaction was to get butthurt and conclude that he chose not to spend time with me because he hated me with the fire of a thousand angry suns.

Then the more reasonable little angel on the opposite shoulder stepped in, smacked me upside the head and calmly explained that a couple does not have to spend every spare moment together in order to be happy. In fact, chances are it’s probably healthier to spend some time apart. Give each other a chance to miss those adorable little habits that you love so much. Like the cute way he clips his toenails in the sink or his sweet concern for your poor housekeeping skills.

More than anything, that free time gives you the opportunity to continue your personal growth outside of the relationship. It seems fairly obvious, but it took a friend pointing it out as I was embarking on my latest romantical adventure: 

When you start a relationship, force yourself to do things you did before meeting him. That way when the infatuation high comes down you won't have lost yourself.

-Big Sister Morgan

Doing the things I loved prior to the relationship helps me stay in touch with a certain level of independence. An independence I need in order to prevent myself from crumbling if the relationship does. I don’t know why it’s been so difficult for me to maintain this balance. I actually feared I had become too autonomous during my season of singlehood. I enjoyed being able to come and go without consulting someone else’s schedule so much that I figured I would be neglectful of the next hunnybun’s needs when he came along.

But it turns out it’s easier for me to fall into old patterns. It would seem an extended period of singlehood did nothing to really change the core of who I am in a relationship. It’s pretty easy for me to blow off lesser obligations to commit to spending time with poodle. That’s probably a good thing to some degree as it indicates that I actually enjoy spending time with the kid.

Though I will say the lessons I learned in loving my time flying solo will come in handy the next time a relationship ends. After years of serial monogamy, being alone felt unnatural and this kept me in a number of truly unhealthy situations. Next time I imagine it won’t be so difficult to bounce back. It’s gotta be like riding a bike, right? Regardless, this bouncing will be much softer if I take the time to foster relationships and interests outside the confines of my love interest. Plus, he will likely appreciate the breathing room.

Crazymaking, Gaslighting and General Assholery

Today I read this article, which led to this article, which led to this. The CC article said it so well I really don’t have much to add other than anecdotal ranting, so that’s what’s going to happen now. You’re welcome to depart at this point. No one will blame you.

After I split with my fiancé for the final time, I spent weeks of therapy learning that I wasn’t (am not) crazy. The real eye-opener was this book. It read like a narration of the entire demented year and a half. It was then that I recognized the gaslighting that was going on inside of my relationship. Evans named it crazy-making, but the concept is exactly the same. He (or she) dismisses what you’re feeling or thinking as a dysfunction of your personality or entire gender in order to control the situation and, ultimately, you.

It’s really a genius tactic to employ if you are a diabolical jerk, because as women we are told for most of our lives that we are delicate, overly sensitive creatures. It’s the punch line of half of all sexist jokes (the other half being “IN THE KITCHEN”). And so we come to accept it as the way things are. Resigning ourselves to the fact that what we feel about things is often out of line, and all we can do is try to overcome our insane emotions with the help of a man who can show us what an acceptable reaction to life looks like.

I’ve been told I need to “just learn to let things go” when I’ve expressed disapproval of a behavior. It could be as simple as “I’m not happy with the way you handle that situation” and in his eyes it was an all-out attack at an extremely inappropriate time. Things like “you always overreact to everything” and “you’re just trying to start another fight” were thrown around at the slightest indication of a disagreement. It was perfect. He could never be wrong if I was deranged.  

A friend of mine is going through a version of this right now. The guy doesn’t necessarily come right out and suggest she check into an institution. He simply denounces how she feels on the basis of “this is who I am, don’t try to change me.” This is just another twist on gaslighting. It implies that there is something wrong with her judgment. Because we’re constantly reminded that we should never try to change someone. (And we should never change for anyone.)

But the thing is, changing someone and asking for disrespectful behavior to stop are two very different things. Behavior and identity, though intertwined, are not completely inseparable. So basically what this guy is saying is “I act like a jerk so that is who I am. I am a jerk. And I don’t want to improve my behavior in any way regardless of how it hurts the people in my life.” Good luck with that, buddy, I’m sure it will serve you well in all of your future endeavors.

The thing we have to understand is, what we’re feeling is valid. Regardless of what it is. His (I’m using “his” to represent all men you—or I—are or will ever be in a relationship with) reaction to “I was hurt by this thing you did” should never be “You’re nuts to feel that way.” Your feelings don’t make you nuts. If you chased after him with bowie knife because of how you felt, that would make you nuts. But that’s a reaction to a feeling, not the feeling itself. His response to “I’m hurt” should be “I’m sorry you’re hurt by what I did. Let’s talk about what we can do so you don’t have to feel like that again.” Even if he had done nothing wrong (psh yeah right), he has no right to invalidate what you’re feeling or who you are. His only right is to explain his point of view so you can come to an understanding together. Someone who cares about you should always be open to discussing how you’re affected by his behavior so long as you present these concerns respectfully (without the bowie knife). 

Religion, Dating & Finding Out I Can’t Remain Detached

I’ve dated on nearly every point along the Western religion spectrum from atheist to spiritual-ish to Jesus freak. In theory, if a guy hates Jesus, it should be a deal breaker for me. But I’ve blurred the lines on that rule, probably one time too many. For the most part it hasn’t been a major problem in the early stages. Mostly due to a mutual respect for what the other individual believes. Healthy conversations can be had without turning into conversion attempts or all-out arguments. Much like a friendship on the same plane. Except, unlike friendships, you may have to raise a child with this individual so that can be a problem down the road.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. As I said, in the past these relationships have functioned on respect and understanding. Until recently, I’ve never encountered a situation where someone has actively tried to change my faith. We went through a great debate when things finally came to a head. Well not so much a debate as a berating of my faith. I was denounced as a little fool for believing in a joke of a religion because I was “smarter than that.” After this encounter I’m thinking it might be too dangerous to dip into those waters.

I was floored that someone I cared about could belittle something that is at the very core of who I am. I couldn’t reconcile the idea that someone who thought me to be such a wonderful person could implore me to change the very convictions that made me that person. It was a rather eye-opening conversation. He couldn’t have meant all the things he had said about caring about me or liking me because he basically loathed everything I stood for. So often Christians get pigeonholed as this hateful, judgmental bag of tricks. But even in my stalwart faith I have never launched a vicious attack of this nature on a non-believer.

I know that our life paths all take very different turns and that the curves in my road have made it easier for me to land on the proverbial straight and narrow than if my life was dealt from his deck of cards. I recognize that our unique trials and moments of peace shape our dogma. This outlook is probably one of the main reasons I get involved with the wrong people. In addition to the fact that I don’t fall into the pit of butterflies and giggles very easily anymore, so when I get that twinge from someone, I revert back to the stupid girl who loves (likes) blindly with no regard for the logic that guides someone out of unhealthy relationships before they can start.

I’ve been able to erect a boundary in certain situations before that feeling germinates, but if it takes root before deal breakers are uncovered, I’m basically screwed for the duration. I was able to extricate myself from this particular situation a month or so after the fact. But it required much more power of will than it should have. And I’m still left reeling more than I expected.

He actively hid his feelings about my faith in an effort to keep our relationship going. I’m not sure what he hoped to accomplish long-term with this. He could only keep his disdain from bubbling up for so long, and then what was going to happen? He shared that he was ready to settle down and could see doing that with me. So how could he marry someone who he couldn’t possibly respect on the basis of her faith? Whatever, that part of it was somewhat irrelevant to me because of the multitude of other reasons he wouldn’t make a good life partner for me. I was trying to be casual and aloof about the whole situation because since getting a taste of it, I was craving that connection. But that was never going to work.

The end game for me is always going to be love, marriage, baby carriage. I need to recognize that I can’t be easy and breezy when I feel a connection with someone. I can’t even claim I was trying to change this one’s mind to make him into the husband I want. I know he is where he is going to be and I didn’t suffer from any delusions that would suggest otherwise. In high school I might have thought, “all he needs is to be loved in the right way.” But not with this one. I figured I could just dabble in him until I got him out of my system. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to get him out of my system without removing him from my life. Spending time with him was only weaving him more intricately into my life and my nature.

Ultimately I learned something about myself I should have always known. No matter how unsuitable an individual may be, even if the thought of him being a long-term solution to that love problem is a damn impossibility, I can’t remain detached. I was designed to feel and feel deeply. Because I’m emo like that. By the time the hook is set, it’s too late for me to not become immersed in the elements that make him who he is. 

A Mistake I Have to Make

As growing and evolving human beings our lives are strung together by a series of lessons we’ve learned from mistakes we’ve made and sworn never to repeat again. But for some of us (hopefully there is an “us” and I’m not completely alone in my shame) there are mistakes we knowingly repeat and can never explain our motives to the satisfaction of anyone with half an ounce of common sense. The routinely revisited error is a difficult one to comprehend. There are a slew of quotes floating around the universe pontificating on the absurdity of reverting back to old missteps.

One of the most popular, beautifully illustrated by a myriad of self-proclaimed graphic designers throughout all of Pinterest, is “you can’t make the same mistake twice, the second time you make it it’s no longer a mistake, it’s a choice.”

[Side bar: I can’t find actual attribution to that quote anywhere because it seems to be bastardized by the Internet like so many other quotes before it. If I’m to trust a Google search, at least 73 teenage girls from the Midwest said it first on Twitter. So for all I know some cast member of the Hills said it and I’ve completely discredited anything further that comes onto the page.]

And if there is any area of my life where I knowingly make bad choices it’s in the male relational department. I’m a complete moron when it comes to a pair of dimples and a resonant voice that seems was created just to say things that make me feel pretty and special. Especially after months of being made to feel unpretty (that definitely comes from TLC so don’t you even try to steal it, Midwestern teeny boppers). I know, I know, my codependent insecurities are showing. But I got ‘em. So deal.

I have a list of deal breakers designed to keep my heart logical and out of relationships with boys who are no good. And those deal breakers have rescued the sappy, brainless organ that beats within my chest a number of times. But, I’m ashamed to say, sometimes the right combination of jawline perfection, mischievous eyes, five o’clock shadow and charm without a hint of irony will take my brain completely out of the equation. Because who needs logic when the flawless marriage of Adam Levine and Cecil Otter is dying to see you again? (Ok that combination won’t float everyone’s boat, but it will end me.) In particular when this gorgeous dude can make you feel like the sole bird in the lounge (I had to go British with that to make it less clichéd, did it work?).

I’ve been down this road and know what waits at the end of it. Those deal breakers are there for a reason. I’m not suddenly going to become extremely accepting of the fact that he smokes copious amounts of weed, can’t afford gas for his car and has trouble defining a single major life goal beyond buying that Camaro he’s always wanted. And eventually he’s going to realize I’m an uptight Jesus freak whose no-sex rule isn’t just me playing hard to get. Despite being fully aware of these realities, I’m going to travel down that road slowly becoming attached to an empty prospect as I approach a dead end that can’t get here soon enough. And when it does, it will sting. But I will live.

Ugh. This whole thing is so painfully emo. I’m sorry. It’s probably because I’ve been listening to Green or Blue for two weeks and their music, while spectacular, turns the 15-year-old girl in me into a sniveling twit.

I’m not sure where I am going with this. I obviously have no real wisdom on the matter. If I did, I would smack the stupid girl who wittingly took my life in the wrong direction when the misadventure began. So maybe this is an admission of guilt. I know you’re all shocked to hear that I do stupid things at an age when I can no longer blame them on innocent naiveté. Maybe the moral of the story is we must allow ourselves to make mistakes so we can put them to rest. Conveniently, I watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother wherein Lily eloquently explained this phenomenon for me:

There are certain things in life where you know it's a mistake but you don't really know it's a mistake because the only way to really know it is a mistake is to make that mistake and look back and say, "Yup, that was a mistake". So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake because then you'll go your whole life not really knowing if something is a mistake or not. 

So perhaps that is all this vague situation I’m alluding to was. A mistake I had to make if only so I can look back on it now that it’s over and say, “Yup, that was a mistake.”

The Love Gene

After spending some time with my grandmother discussing dating and such, I’ve come to the completely unscientific and most likely false conclusion that romantical preferences are a hereditary curse. I also did a Bible study this past summer that suggested there might be some truth to this theory. Though the study was more about bearing the emotional burdens of our mothers and their mothers before them, naturally some of this translates into how we approach our relationships. It suggested that even though we may not have some life-altering traumatic experiences in our lifetime, the damage inflicted on the women in our blood lines before us may spill over into our lives without our knowledge or permission.

I began exploring this possibility when my father once expressed his devastation in my choice of men, because of the long-standing belief that women date the men who remind them of their fathers. And my shoddy taste in the stronger sex hasn’t done any justice to the reality of my near-perfect father. But there had to be something that led to my codependent tendencies, it couldn’t possibly be my fault, I needed something to blame—er I mean explain?

Although my mother apparently chose the “last good man on earth” (words of outside sources, not my own), her relationship with her father was nothing like the one she would have with her husband. I remember my grandfather as being an over-sized teddy bear of a man whose heart was bursting with love for his family. But I also remember him as a distant, crotchety man whose disdain for children was made apparent every time we were hit by the shrapnel of his short-fused temper. The latter man was the original before he learned to appreciate the warmth one could gain from inviting the love of family. I’m not sure what flipped the switch in him, but we were definitely blessed to experience the softer version of grandpa before too deep an impression had been made.

I sometimes wonder if my mother was not so lucky. She clearly loved her father and her heart breaks over and over again when she thinks about losing him in October of 2009. But she spent her entire childhood and most of her adult years with the man who didn’t have the patience for needy children and didn’t understand how to express the love he ultimately learned to engulf us with in later years.

On my father’s side my grandmother made a few missteps in love. Though she bonded herself to a man who adored his wife until the day cancer took over his once “hunky” frame, loving an alcoholic was a challenge. No matter how much he loved her back. His alcoholism never led to violence. Only distance. It was something he and his family struggled with until the year my little brother was born. And though my memory box of my grandfather only holds the moments when he nuzzled my grandma in the kitchen while she prepared Christmas dinner, there was undeniable damage done along the timeline that came before me.

If the butterfly effect holds authority over the love as it allegedly does every other corner of our existence, the family love stories told before my inception may be the source of some of the men I’ve fallen prey to. But I can’t continue fault my family history for what are ultimately poor decisions on my part. We all have baggage: some put upon us, some saddled on our own. Though I tend to be empathetic to the human condition I also have little patience for people who point the finger at unfortunate circumstances in hopes that it will excuse their bad behavior. It doesn’t. And I’m no exception. I’ve been in abusive relationships where I’ve chosen to stay. I’ve been with great guys who I’ve chosen to leave. And I’ve been a crappy insecure girlfriend because I chose to let past losers dictate how I feel. I’ve made poor choices in my life and been in ill-fated situations, but the responsibility for my future romantic adventures rests very much in my hands.

Confessions of a Mistress

Ok that title is unnecessarily dramatic. I’m sorry. I’m not really a mistress per se. But no one is going to read a post entitled: “Confessions of a Girl Who Maybe Flirted a Little Too Hard With Someone Who Was Unavailable.” Now that I got your attention by misleading you, let me explain my mistress-light circumstances.

A while back (foggy timeline so you know it’s juicy) I was hanging out with a former flame under the pretense of getting back some long-forgotten artifacts left behind when the relationship fizzled. Even years after we had ended our relationship, we always had the tension of lingering attraction between us. I can’t explain why this one plays the Hubbell to my Katie, but we easily fall into those roles when we are together. So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when an innocent invitation to imbibe a single beer led to more than it should have.

I knew I was in trouble when he passed up the spacious couch and opted to join me on the love seat (Ugh could there possibly be a more clichéd piece of furniture for these events to transpire on?), settling in close enough for the heat of his arm to transfer to mine. Normally I wouldn’t have given a second thought about giving in to the advances that would inevitably come to pass. However, the last I heard, he had a new girl now and common decency demanded that I refrain from making a cuckquean of this poor thing. So I chose to ignore the obvious and continue making useless small talk. Soon his arm was around my shoulders and then my waist. I began to wonder if maybe he had dropped his girl and failed to tell me.

I only discovered that this was not the case when he murmured, “I shouldn’t be doing this,” close enough for his heavy Marlboro breath to offend nearly every one of my senses. When I heard those words confirming that he wasn’t mine to pursue I should have shut it down completely. But I didn’t. Instead we continued this dance of, “Should we? No, we shouldn’t,” over the course of the next hour. Each time taking one step closer to that line of regret and only half a step back. Part of my participation could be attributed to the aforementioned magnetic draw. The other part was due to a desire to be desired that had taken ahold of me earlier in the week.

By the time the spell was broken with the practicalities of late nights converging with early mornings, he felt he had succeeded in escaping the temptation a faithful man. I knew what he had done would have been considered cheating by any wronged girlfriend. He was pleased with his willpower and I was wracked with guilt.

I had made no move to stop him from breaking his trust with a girl I had never even met. There was a point when I began to do everything I could to convince him to do exactly that. As I said, I had never met this girl. What did I owe her? He began the whole affair, why should I take on the responsibility of keeping her man honest? That was his burden to bear. Not mine. Still, no matter how I tried to convince myself that I held no alliance to this unknown and therefore didn’t owe her the loyalty of her boyfriend, I couldn’t shake the thought that I had broken a code. Not just some arbitrary girl code but a human code that would demand we treat any other person on this planet, as we would hope someone would treat us in similar circumstances.

Sure, he instigated the waltz, and it was his relationship he willingly put at risk. But I kept imagining how heartbroken I would be if I knew some woman I had never met accepted an invitation to lead my boyfriend astray. Yes, the sanctity of his relationship lies within his realm of authority, but life isn’t always about who should hold the blame. Maybe sometimes it’s about stepping up beyond your accountability to protect someone you’ll never meet from a devastation that you can prevent by making a sacrifice you know you don’t necessarily have to make.