Hello, Dear Ones.

It’s good to be back. Am I back? I’m not sure, but I know this is Issue 128, so let’s get into it…

Last week, a reader asked whether I was still with my boyfriend.

I’m not.

Why?

Stephen had a side hustle—connecting with women online. It didn’t start that way, but it ended that way.

A little over a year into our relationship, things began to wane. I had my doubts; he had his—clearly. Much later, I learned he felt abandoned, so he sought attention elsewhere. By the time I understood this, his feelings and mine were tangled in a web I wasn’t willing to untangle. So sue me!

Leading up to our breakup, I was preoccupied with myself and, yes, quite possibly, abandoning him. I was turning over every stone in my garden, asking whether it would stay or go—plant medicine will do that to you.

I was investigating early emotional traumas and my inner child—the stuff that picks up steam as we embark on the second half of our lives—and pick up steam, it did.

The work is never done, so I don’t mean to imply I’ve conquered the mountain—but I’m definitely on the other side of something. My perspective has shifted, even as the work continues, and life looks largely the same on the outside.

Filling your holes with someone other than yourself (not those holes!), and most certainly, someone outside the relationship, rarely works. It’s a flawed strategy. There are exceptions, but it’s guaranteed that what caused the behavior will seek your attention at some point. You may unknowingly cloak it in other behaviors. At which point, the root becomes harder and harder to reach, often by design.

When our roots are touched, it’s painful! (Hello, receding gums.)

It’s rare to find someone who hasn’t cheated (cough me), especially in the post-divorce/mid-life/dating sphere. Many are single with stories of infidelity.

This is a major over-simplification, as infidelity is a symptom, not a cause. And I don’t mean a symptom of the relationship—I mean a symptom of the person in the relationship, out of connection with themselves, and using other people as their drug.

Usually, whether spoken or unspoken, someone in their family modeled the behavior. The tricky bit—you don’t have to be conscious of a parent or guardian’s infidelity to repeat the pattern. It’s true with almost anything. Conscious or not—and usually not—we may abhor a circumstance (cough divorce) and still unconsciously walk into the same behavior we swore we’d never repeat.

It me!

The do-I-stay-or-go scale was tipping in the direction of no for me. So, the catastrophe hit, and I hit the ground running.

Bye-bye, Beekeeper.

Again, he felt abandoned.

I was really sad. Disappointed. I couldn’t believe it came to this. However, I felt 100% committed to myself and my self-discovery. If that was the reason I wasn’t available, and he went elsewhere, I could live with that. If it had been the opposite, and I’d have abandoned myself, I would have felt something entirely different.

I’ll be damned if I let a rich experience like this go by without doing research. During one of our few conversations afterward, I said, “Help me understand what goes on for someone who is holding one relationship and attempting to build another. I’ve never done it—honestly, what’s the thought process?”

He alluded to some sort of dissociation. An out-of-body experience where consciousness and consequences evaporate. Wanting and blindly seeking.

We’ve all been there. Eaten more, or not nearly enough. Drank. Smoked. Exercised. Numbed ourselves with our drug of choice—hoping to relieve the emptiness many of us have.

This was that.

A guy with holes in his soul, filling his bucket and leaking water as he walked.

As level-headed as I sound today, it was painful at the time. I don’t have to search the annals of my calendar to recall: It was Sunday, April 7, 2024, at 9:30 pm when the shoe dropped. A dear friend and her dear friend made the connection and did what women do: brought it to my attention with grace.

Stephen was striking up conversations with women on Facebook—women who found his man-of-the-earth status as a Point Reyes ranger appealing.

He had doctored his profile, hiding friends and other squirrelly behavior, so connections couldn’t be made. Facebook banter transitioned to texting, and he took the conversation to the next level.

As I write, it’s been 1.5 years. The pain is gone. What’s left is the pattern, not the person.

I tend toward the underdog—the one who appears soft and kind (read: emotionally available), without oodles of money, and who doesn’t fit the conventional description of hot. Only half-consciously, I reason: if they’re anything but, why on earth would they want me?

No surprise, with this logic, my attempts at securing a failsafe partner don’t work. For one, I’m acting from a wound—which means I’m guaranteed to re-open it with the actions I take to protect it. For two, it’s built on the belief that some people are better than others. That’s an RFD—a recipe for disaster.

I don’t know how long he had been fishing before I found the net he had cast, but he was in another relationship in a flash.

This one didn’t last very long. How do I know?

He texted a few times with unsolicited updates. Once, with a backhanded compliment—praising my communication skills and trash-talking hers. Another time, to share that karma had bitten him—his current ex-girlfriend had dumped him when he accused her of cheating.

The karma card—I’m not a fan. Pulling it, even when confirming your shitty behavior, is a sneaky way of distancing yourself from the equation. If karma did it, somehow I don’t see myself as the star of the movie.

Alas, we’re the stars of our movie.

I don’t want to tear him down. He’s a nice person who’s doing life the way he knows how—like the rest of us. However, I do want women considering his company to be aware of his tendencies—at least in our relationship. And I’ve wanted to share the story with you, my newsletter friends.

He’s on the apps. If you are…

He’s a ranger in Point Reyes. I won’t share his last name because I’m classy, but it may be the same word you’d use to describe a small group of quail—i.e., a school of fish, a blank of quail.

Have at it, puzzle lovers.

There you have it—the story of the Beekeeper and me. Now you’re up to date, and we can move on. Phew!

PS: I’m not actively dating. I feel a responsibility to understand my pattern toward unavailable men—especially the ones who seem emotionally open—before I enter another partnership. Could this be done in a relationship? Yes.

But, as a single parent, I run a household, raise my kids, care for my pets, hold a job, and make time for myself—all as a party of one. Add a partner, and something has to give. But what?

PPS: I know. Partners don’t have to take—they can add. But it’s not their job to add. It’s their job to be.

This is your job, too. Mine as well. Our children’s. No other requirement. Just be you!

Get this: I got my Sociology degree from Boston University, also known as B-U. Um, kay!

Thank you for joining me for another issue of The Letter—and thank you for being beautiful, messy, and imperfectly YOU.

Until soon-ish,
Simone