u/Glittering_Bend_7976

I’ve spent the last month following the seemingly simple advice for meeting someone without apps: I’ve parked myself at bars and coffee shops, and I walk without earphones. I’m attractive, fit, in my early-to-mid-forties, and usually mistaken for late thirties, but maybe one or two men have talked to me each time—either someone extremely old who just wants to chat or the kind of man who approaches every woman. I've tried to initiate conversation too and...they end up being great, but definitely not single, and then I just seem like I'm with someone else, ie not dining/sitting alone.

I volunteered, too. I went to different places.

I’ve also tried newer dating apps and made an effort to be more approachable there, even giving conversations a chance but men open with things like “dang, let me get at it" or I have deeply weird, boring, and somewhat alarming exchanges. Meanwhile, the men sliding into my DMs seem to be twenty years too old or twenty years too young. I gave someone who has been flaky another chance and, well, he was flaky. The one man who is great in every way except I have zero attraction to him and when he goes to kiss me, I feel...ugh. This has not been the case with others.

I don’t have time to join new clubs or take on a whole new social life. I already belong to things, and nothing’s happening there either. I’m doing what I can, when I can, and I honestly don’t know what else to do.

"Put yourself out there” sounds so simple until you’re out there, wondering what’s supposed to happen next. I’m trying several ways to meet someone, and I’m running out of ideas—and enthusiasm. I’d like to have someone to share my great life with far more than time is running out.“

For years, we had an intense, long-distance thing, very unrequited, were we married in a another life kind of thing, that seemed impossible for practical reasons, among others. Then, when we finally saw each other again, we realized how much of what had kept us apart had actually been mutual misreading. The feeling was still there. We talked through what had happened, discovered a lot we hadn’t known about each other’s assumptions, and kissed. Afterward, he swung between saying the connection with me was too intense to treat casually and pointing to the fact that he was seeing someone else. We left it in a strange but almost peaceful place—like, okay, at least we finally did this and told the truth about it. I followed up afterward to say, essentially, that I meant it and still felt the same way. He never responded. It's not weeks later, which is a few days longer than usual, but even then, there was always a way for him to reach out on a related subject or just ignore what had happened. No, nothing. What does it mean when a man goes silent for this long?

I am 43 year old woman. He's a 51 year old man. We have had a thing for years and I don't know what to make of this phase, or possibly end.

We had one of those meetings that feels like a movie. Maybe it was love. I don't know. A handful of meetings stretched across distance, other relationships, wrong timing, a job that made everything impossible (really, not an excuse). But it never waned when we managed to be in the same place, to text a little thing. Every time we found our way back into each other’s orbit, the feeling was still there.

We saw each other recently in different circumstances. The job is over, at least for now, and the distance halved. I didn't realize that, and he thought I did and I was done after we'd had a weird bad talk we both took it to mean different things--I thought he was still marooned far away because he hasn't said anything different. Or maybe he was over it.

The evening was tender and intimate, and we finally said things we had left unsaid for years. It was surprising, we were so scared of each other all along. I had thought that, over the years, he wanted our connection to remain quiet because it could not be named or made practical. Only now do I understand that he may have believed I was unavailable, or that I never truly intended to choose him. He didn't know I would've happily done all the travel, just needed him to ask.

Later on, we kissed. I still felt it. I finally said the thing: I wanted to see if it was real. I told him that I would date him. His response was confusing. He did not say, “I don’t want you.” He said that if I came into his life romantically, he would not be able to go back—that he wouldn't be able to think about anyone else. And then it seemed there was someone else. He never said girlfriend. He also said a lot of different things as I processed it. That perhaps our time had passed. That he always messed things up.

Afterward, I texted nothing heavy, just that I was free on so and so days. It's been a week. That's unusual. I have run through all the reasons. He could be overwhelmed. He could be in trouble with someone else. He could be uncertain, or simply unable to find words. But he is also an adult who has chosen not to answer.

I have spent years measuring other connections against what I felt with him. I just broke up with someone a couple of months ago because it didn't come close. I've been so sad about this, and I just can't dwell here in hope without a word from him. My friends have long wanted me to banish him from my heart, and at this point, I think that might be wise...

Hi Michael,

I’m going to take a few days of quiet and ask that we not try to resolve anything until early next week. This is not a punishment or a disappearance. If you genuinely need me, call.

Our discussion felt disconnected from the relationship we have actually been living. Over the past several months, we created something warm, steady, and real. Our time together recently was not evidence of a relationship collapsing. It was intimate, generous, and deeply affectionate. You made changes in your home and family life that I had always wanted, you promised and I did not know were happening.

I can also see that after a vacation with children such a major step was likely to leave you flooded afterward. I knew I was entering a complicated chapter of your life. I did not expect a perfect relationship, only one in which difficulty would eventually be met with honesty and care.

I have begun hearing an old version of your story return: ordinary conflict becomes proof of incompatibility.

Asking what someone can offer is not the same as insisting they offer more. We have already seen that distance can help when it is named, agreed upon, and handled with some tenderness.

You do not need to answer this. I hope the next few days give both of us enough distance to see the relationship itself, rather than only the fear surrounding it.

I care about you very much.

L.

I share joint legal custody and roughly equal parenting time with my elementary-school-aged child’s father. We currently live in a small Hudson Valley town and follow a week-on/week-off schedule (which the child dislikes but dad won't consider changing). I understand that relocating our child without his agreement would be an uphill battle.We moved from NYC during the pandemic, separated a year later and divorced a little over a year after that.

Our current location is becoming financially and professionally unsustainable for me. I am self-employed, and much of my work—meetings, events, media appearances and travel—is based in the city. It always has been. Living farther away has reduced the work I can accept while adding substantial transportation time and expense. The house where my daughter has always lived here, which I bought my ex out of, may also need to be sold regardless.

Her dad rents and technically his work is in NYC, though he's allowed to be remote. Much of his company, however, was called back last year; it doesn't look like his team will be.

My child spent first two years in the city and still has close relationships there, including family friends we spend most holidays with. I would have a stronger support network, greater access to childcare and more professional stability. His only advantage is that he'd be closer to his office, I imagine socially happier (he doesn't have many friends up here), and that his industry is based there.

The obvious factors against relocation: My child has an established school, friends. I do not want to diminish their relationship or convert an involved parent into a holiday parent. And most important impediment: He's very difficult. He says no, often barters for his interests above hers, etc.

My preferred solution would be for him to relocate or establish a workable home closer to the city so that we could preserve something close to the current division of time. I would consider paying reasonable moving expenses but not much; his salary has only grown. This would not be payment for his consent; it would be an effort to preserve his proximity to our child.

I could perhaps create a role for myself in the city, but I don't do a thing that I can apply for one that exists. Would that help?

I don't really want to trade more parenting time for her sake as much as mine; he's fine but often neglects her feelings, but in the way that makes a therapist, not a court, concerned.

I don't plan on taking any action without a conversation.

Has anyone seen a relocation approved in a genuine 50/50 situation? Did offering meaningful assistance for the other parent to move closer help? What evidence or proposals mattered most?

.

I share joint legal custody and roughly equal parenting time with my elementary-school-aged child’s father. We currently live in a small Hudson Valley town and follow a week-on/week-off schedule (which the child dislikes but dad won't consider changing). I understand that relocating our child without his agreement would be an uphill battle.We moved from NYC during the pandemic, separated a year later and divorced a little over a year after that.

Our current location is becoming financially and professionally unsustainable for me. I am self-employed, and much of my work—meetings, events, media appearances and travel—is based in the city. It always has been. Living farther away has reduced the work I can accept while adding substantial transportation time and expense. The house where my daughter has always lived here, which I bought my ex out of, may also need to be sold regardless.

Her dad rents and technically his work is in NYC, though he's allowed to be remote. Much of his company, however, was called back last year; it doesn't look like his team will be.

My child spent first two years in the city and still has close relationships there, including family friends we spend most holidays with. I would have a stronger support network, greater access to childcare and more professional stability. His only advantage is that he'd be closer to his office, I imagine socially happier (he doesn't have many friends up here), and that his industry is based there.

The obvious factors against relocation: My child has an established school, friends. I do not want to diminish their relationship or convert an involved parent into a holiday parent. And most important impediment: He's very difficult. He says no, often barters for his interests above hers, etc.

My preferred solution would be for him to relocate or establish a workable home closer to the city so that we could preserve something close to the current division of time. I would consider paying reasonable moving expenses but not much; his salary has only grown. This would not be payment for his consent; it would be an effort to preserve his proximity to our child.

I could perhaps create a role for myself in the city, but I don't do a thing that I can apply for one that exists. Would that help?

I don't really want to trade more parenting time for her sake as much as mine; he's fine but often neglects her feelings, but in the way that makes a therapist, not a court, concerned.

I don't plan on taking any action without a conversation.

Has anyone seen a relocation approved in a genuine 50/50 situation? Did offering meaningful assistance for the other parent to move closer help? What evidence or proposals mattered most?

.

I know this isn't quite right for this subreddit but no one else knows your experience. It doesn't help to post to people who haven't lost a SO to death.

I'm a divorced mom with a young son in my late 40s. My boyfriend or ex-boyfriend is a widower in his early 50s whose wife died six years ago. He has two daughters in high school.

His stead stream of relationships since ended because the women wanted more than he could give, weren't patient enough with his grief, couldn't handle the emotional ups and downs, they weren't as interesting or nice or sweet as his wife, who was very much present everywhere, in every conversation, without boundaries.

He said I was finally different but it's been a roller coaster, which is new to me. We broke up once after he went totally dark around a grief milestone and emerged ready to pounce on anything I said. Two months later he came back saying he'd made a terrible mistake, wanted a real future with me, saw me everywhere, and spent the next six months making meaningful changes that most widowers make in the year or so after, including cleaning out used tissues from her nightstand that had been there for six years. He was invested, and we began carefully introducing his girls and my boy.

The pattern never completely disappeared but grief doesn't either. That being said, ehe reverted. If I had any basic emotional needs or wanted to talk about how to handle future dates around his wife so it would go better, he projected his stress onto me, created distance between us, and experienced everything as pressure or conflict. He would withdraw, then reconnect. In person, it was always different. He melted into me.

His girls were away with their grandparents for six weeks this summer and my son, who starts kindergarten next year, is home with me now and goes to his dads for the rest of the summer halfway. He invited us on a work trip abroad during my portion. I had held and relented on so many boundaries but was clear here: if he already believed there was any chance we wouldn't last, I didn't want him deepening that relationship. We could see each other when he got back and keep working on it. He was volatile but assured me he knew as a father how important this was.

It went well but after we returned, he went back and forth about relationship, saying he didn't want his daughters seeing us "fight," though any real disagreements were private and infrequent. It sounded like he may have told them that before we took the trip. At that point, my head was spinning and then he got off the phone. I will ask him but first I asked for space. We haven't spoken in almost two weeks. I don't know if we're broken up.

For those of you who have lost a spouse: does this sound like grief continuing to shape someone's capacity for intimacy years later? Or does it sound more like an avoidant relationship pattern that grief made easier to explain?

I'm not looking to blame him. I'm trying to understand whether I accepted behavior I shouldn't have because I believed grief explained it, or whether this is something other widowers recognize in themselves.

I'm hoping to hear from widowers, especially those who started dating seriously several years after losing a spouse.

I'm a divorced mom with a young child. My ex-boyfriend is a widower in his early 50s whose wife died six years ago after a long marriage.

He told me his previous relationships had ended for similar reasons: the women wanted more than he could give, weren't patient enough with his grief, couldn't handle the emotional ups and downs, or ultimately weren't right for him. I believed our relationship was different. He said it was too.

We broke up once after he became emotionally distant around a grief milestone. Two months later he came back saying he'd made a terrible mistake, wanted a real future with me, and spent the next six months making meaningful changes. He was warmer, more invested, and we began carefully introducing our children.

The pattern, though, never completely disappeared. Whenever I had emotional needs or wanted to talk about distance between us, he often experienced that as pressure or conflict. He would withdraw, then reconnect.

Before my child became a bigger part of his life, I made one thing absolutely clear: if he already believed there was a good chance we wouldn't last, I didn't want him deepening that relationship. He assured me, as a devoted father himself, that he would never do that.

Not long afterward, after another difficult period for him, we took a trip together that included my child. It went well. Then, almost immediately after we returned, he ended the relationship, saying he didn't want his daughters seeing us "fight," though our disagreements were private and, from my perspective, infrequent.

I'm left wondering whether I misunderstood grief entirely.

For those of you who have lost a spouse: does this sound like grief continuing to shape someone's capacity for intimacy years later? Or does it sound more like an avoidant relationship pattern that grief made easier to explain?

I'm not looking to blame him. I'm trying to understand whether I accepted behavior I shouldn't have because I believed grief explained it, or whether this is something other widowers recognize in themselves.

I'm in my late 40s, divorced, with a young son. Henry (fake name) is in his early 50s, a widower with two daughters. We're both reasonably good catches in that bracket.

His wife died six years ago after a long marriage. Since then he'd had committed relationships that never became lasting partnerships. I dated briefly and ended things before they became serious whenever I realized they weren't right.

He described those relationships as being with women who were very different but who all ran into similar problems. They wanted more than he could give; I was getting more without asking and was patient with the rest. They weren't patient with grief; I was. They couldn't handle the emotional roller coaster; I held on tighter. They weren't warm; I was. They weren't especially interesting; I was. Some, he thought, valued him for the wrong reasons; I didn't. Most were heartbroken afterward, and he admitted he'd handled the endings poorly and has, since our first breakup, made amends with them.

None of that scared me. I assumed this was his history, the way mine is mine.

Then a milestone came. He became distant, and if I tried to talk about it or make things better, he experienced that as conflict, pressure, or proof that he'd reached his limit as a partner.

I never experienced those conversations as fights. Sometimes they were difficult, he would always withdraw. Then we had a couple of testy talks because I had stuff going on and didn't have the bandwhith for him and he abruptly ended the relationship and disappeared. I was heartbroken and wallowed. He sought solace in the world and saw me everywhere.

He lasted two months. He'd made a terrible mistake, he said. He wanted a real relationship, a future, and eventually to bring our families together. A miracle: for the next six months, he actually did it. He did work he should have done all along in his life and in the one we were tring to bridge. He did a few generous, thoughtful things for me that were very much his way of showing care. He wasn't emotionally expressive but he was warm and I accepted him for who he was and loved the effort. Our connection never waned.

At the same time, I felt like I was doing most of the work actually in the relationship. I driving to him because his children (my son spends about a third of his time with his father). He stopped initiating most conversations, but sometimes I'd comment on a withdraw and he'd explain he had been doing one of the post-loss changes he hadn't done years ago and it was taking it out of him or there were legitimate crises at work and with kids. I asked next time for a quick sign it was happening but I admired him for trying. I wasn't afraid of difficulty. When we restarted the relationship, I said I'd work hard as hell but my greatest fear was investing in something that still felt emotionally provisional.

We'd repair, but once we were apart, especially over the last couple of months, it seemed as though he'd gotten enough closeness to sustain him until the next time we saw each other, and any attempt by me to maintain that closeness at a distance felt like a demand. He'd rather be distant. I stopped naming it to relieve the pressure and hoped he'd notice it which wasn't so difficult because there were still big things happening. We met each other's families. We left it at that but enough that the next steps were lightly discussed, like taking a family vacation at the end of the summer.

His daughters were away for the first half visiting grandparents in Vermont. My son was mostly with me. I was ready to spend more time together, but I also told Henry that I didn't want that to happen simply because it was convenient. I did not want him becoming a bigger part of my son's life unless he genuinely felt good about us. I wasn't asking for certainty. I was asking him not to deepen that relationship if he already believed there was a strong chance he wouldn't be around much longer. That was probably the only boundary I've ever been completely inflexible about. Being a good mother is the thing I care about most in the world. Henry knew that and admired it about me.

Around that time, Henry hit a real low and came out of it still volatile, dropping a great deal of it into my lap during an unusually stressful week for me when the girls were already at their grandparents. We were supposed to join him on a quick work trip to Mexico and I had gotten nervous before we went because he'd been so distant. He made it all about his experience, as he always does, and every time I mentioned anything about me or my experience, he took it as an attack and said things that left me feeling more worried about the trip. I heard myself being unusually frustrated because of the timing and the stakes, which he later described as shocking, but I'd also say it was warranted. And that I'd expected to be forgiven, as I had done so many times when he'd acted far worse. We made up. Apart from that, the relationship remained soft, generous, affectionate, even loving.

Henry assured me he understood my concerns. As a devoted father himself, he said he'd never do that to either of us. I apologized for raising my voice. Then we joined him on a work trip abroad, and it went well. He was emotional and distant, then close again—the same pattern as always. At many points, we were genuinely great together.

After we said goodbye at the airport, Henry retreated. Then one day he said we should break up before his daughters returned from their grandparents because he didn't want them seeing how poorly we got along. I got upset because this seemed too much to bear, said let me go, calmed down and apologized, and then he backed away from that a little and blamed himself. It went back and forth with both of us sobbing for hours. At the same time, I keep thinking about how he reverted to many of the things he'd said during the first breakup: maybe he couldn't have a real relationship, couldn't do better.

We never had conflict in front of my son.

I don't think my delivery mattered very much on any of it. I'd said as much when calm, which he had often praised as reliably admirable. What mattered was that my needs were criticism and I made this need unmistakable. But I also made clear that I could handle difficultly with him and still think it was worth it because it was special. And since he'd changes in important ways so I'd come to think of grief almost like an allergy. He couldn't control the reaction itself, only how he managed it.

I didn't get that same understanding. In our last talk, Henry focused on me "yelling" at him during the conversations before and after the time with my son. I did get upset, and at one point I was trying to shut down his borderline hysterical, sobbing, completely outlandish conclusions with repetitive "stop" but it bore very little resemblance to him describing me yelling while he quietly absorbed it.

One thing I'm still waiting to ask him is this, which I've thought about constantly: at one point, it sounded as though Henry told his daughters he didn't think we were going to work out before that trip.

I have no idea where we stand now. I asked for space and we're nearing two weeks of no contact. I started out hoping it was another bout for him and that he would not have crossed this line but now I think he may have. If he was already moving toward this conclusion, why reassure me? Why keep moving the relationship forward? Why not slow it down instead of deepening it? I could not have been clearer about the one thing I believed couldn't be undone.

But I let it happen. I've made plenty of mistakes before, but when it comes to my son, never like this. I always believed I'd never override my instincts if I could avoid it. This is the one time I did. Was it because I accepted everything through grief?

How do I ever trust anyone again? By anyone, I mean me as a mother more than other men. I may be done there.