Rudderless love

Divorced in September 2017. After that came the process of rebuilding my life. A new home that needed to become a warm nest again for me and my two children. Processing what had happened to me. I wasn't remotely ready for love yet. That didn't happen until the summer of 2018. And very cautiously.

Afraid of disappointment and perhaps afraid of myself too… made insecure during my marriage as well. Would I ever dare to enter a relationship again? And what would that even look like? From the summer of 2018 onwards, quite a lot happened on the love front. A lot, and a lot of it all at once. I began to develop strongly on a personal level and discovered the recurring pattern in my love life. It turned out to be the unreachable or difficult love, and often being in "second place." This had actually been the case since my teenage years.

The infidelity by my partners in relationships. Once divorced, the pattern continued. I rarely feel instant chemistry with someone. When I do, there's always a catch — men who are already in a relationship or still stuck in the wreckage of something like a divorce. Why do I have this pattern? Why do I attract this? Is it because I'm perhaps not ready myself, because I still have work to do on me?

Or is it because somewhere out there, someone is meant for me who isn't free right now… making a relationship with someone who could never truly choose me a safe option…?

January 2019 — you appeared in "people you may know" on Facebook. Your profile photo immediately caught my attention. Charismatic presence, beautiful smile and teeth, gorgeous eyes. On impulse I sent a friend request, which you accepted. Not long afterwards I received a message from you on Messenger. "Well, it's not every day that such a beautiful woman wants to follow me…!" was your opening line. We got into a lovely conversation in which you also told me fairly quickly that you were married. "Yes, of course — that's always the way with me!" was my reaction.

We stayed in pleasant contact via Messenger and became curious about each other. You told me your marriage didn't amount to much any more. You were 54, had been together for 40 years and married for almost 30 — no love, no passion, no intimacy, everything "switched off" for years. But it was also fine the way it was — never any arguments, a nice social life. You didn't want to speak badly of your wife either; she didn't deserve that. It was like brother and sister, as in so many marriages that have lasted that long. "It is what it is" was your summary of your marriage. And that you would never voluntarily leave — that was clear from the start. You didn't want to hurt anyone, accepted how things were and what was and wasn't there.

At the time we got to know each other, my heart had already been open for another man for several months — one who gave me a great deal of turmoil. I'd met him in August 2018, also through Facebook. Meet up, distance, meet up, distance. Enormous problems still going on in his personal and professional life because of a hostile divorce. I was truly in love with him — was the feeling mutual? I couldn't tell, didn't know which way it would go. So meeting up with you once felt safe for both of us. And the pull was tremendous…

Just under two weeks later, on 30 January, we met. You came to me — we live about an hour and a half's drive from each other. You brought flowers, and the chemistry was instant. We had a wonderful lunch, walked along the harbour and then moved on to wine and bitterballen. We talked for hours — it was good, really good. No dull moments. You were sweet, a gorgeous teddy bear, had an incredible sense of humour, and we were so drawn to each other. More than either of us had probably anticipated. But I still had someone tucked away in a compartment in my mind, someone I felt I hadn't finished figuring out — and you knew that about me — and well, you… yes, you were married. So it felt fine. And safe.

You told me that a few years earlier you'd had a two-year relationship alongside your marriage with a woman who lived in your town. You were very open and honest with me, always — strictly speaking I didn't need to know this. You saw this woman quite often since she lived practically around the corner, and you'd even considered leaving your wife for her. But the feeling changed; she developed a personality shift because she turned out to be psychologically unwell, and the relationship faded naturally after she went abroad to be admitted to a clinic. Your wife never knew about any of it, you told me — but somewhere I have my doubts about that. It wasn't for nothing that your wife became suspicious so quickly.

At that first meeting, we both felt it. The chemistry. We couldn't get around it. The same feeling I had with the man in the compartment in my mind. It had been instant there too. Chemistry. And both of them difficult to reach — if not simply unreachable. I almost never feel instant chemistry with someone. We agreed to see each other casually from time to time. Once I had more clarity about the man still in that compartment, we could simply carry on as friends. Foolish… of course that was never going to work… especially not when circumstances change.

For a long time I could see it that way — it was fun while it was fun. We enjoyed each other and the things we did together. But the man from the compartment suddenly cut things off with me — he didn't know what he wanted again, it was all still too heavy, no meetings for now, just messages. But even that stopped after a few weeks, which left me confused. And you too. We'd seen each other several times by then, and the situation was shifting. The compartment in my mind was suddenly more closed; your wife became suspicious after only our third date — but we still wanted to see each other as much as possible, whenever it felt "safe" enough for you to meet up. The gaps varied — sometimes short, sometimes long — because of your situation at home, the distance between us and your wife's suspicion.

I'll never forget the message you sent after the first time we met. "I spent the whole evening last night in a kind of comatose state. Phewww, you're so lovely, phewww you're so gorgeous, phewww you're so beautiful, phewww you're so great to talk to, phewww it was so wonderful being with you, phewww you're so funny, phewww you've got your little home so nicely sorted, phewww what a great body, phewww how lovingly you treat your kids, phewww you're so smart, phewww what a cool car, phewww I enjoyed it so much, I'm practically hyperventilating… kisssss, most beautiful."

And the contact via Messenger continued — warm and loving. Every day you wrote how much you missed me and how you wanted to curl up against me again. How I was your dream woman in every way — beautiful, lovely inside and out. How happy you were to be my boyfriend.

Then the first alarm bell went off with your wife.

On a Sunday morning in February, just a few weeks after our first meeting, you told me: "Phew… it's as if she senses something. She suddenly said to me: blimey, what's got into you — are you in love or something?" Yes, women have antennae. You must have been radiating it — looking different, different body language. And that, in my feeling, she recognised from before. I think she was aware of your earlier relationship, even if you didn't sense it, but she let it go because the "danger" had passed once that woman left the country. In my gut, she recognised the signs. From that moment on, she went looking for evidence to confirm her feeling.

You wanted to keep things calm at home while your wife was so alert, until it felt right to meet again. Somewhere around mid-March the time came — you spontaneously suggested driving to my area on a Saturday for a nice lunch. The evening before we were meant to see each other, you sent me a panicked message. Your wife had read our conversations on Messenger and WhatsApp, via the laptop where you had both installed. "Sorry, I can't come tomorrow. No contact for now, please. I'm an idiot. Sorry, sorry, sorry. And if she calls or messages you, please ignore it." So she had indeed gone looking.

I gave you some space, but after five days of zero contact, I'd had enough. I still don't know exactly what she read — parts of our conversations, all of it? And how she confronted you, how you reacted. You barely said a word about it. You're not a talker, and you especially dislike "difficult" conversations or conflict. That was apparently the case at home too. You'd told me before: "It is what it is — yes, there's nothing left, brother and sister, basically a rubbish marriage, but we never argue and we actually have a nice enough time. And a good social life." The same went for your wife. If something ever came up, you were both skilled at manoeuvring past it, avoiding confrontation at all costs. Then it would ebb away and the air would supposedly be cleared. Same thing now. I wasn't called, didn't receive a single message from her — which pretty much any other woman probably would have done. Just bury your head in the sand, not wanting to know. And if you pretend it isn't there… then it isn't. You both do that — keeping the sweet, fragile peace.

We stayed in touch, but less than before. Because it made you nervous. Every time you picked up your phone, she was practically sitting next to you watching what you were doing. You kept encouraging me to stay open to other men. Knowing that, despite your strong feelings for me, you would never dare leave your marriage. That was clear. I tried too, but it simply didn't make me happy. We kept a line going via Messenger here and there, and eventually it would be eight weeks before you dared to meet me again.

During this period I met a man. Through Facebook, again. He was charmed by me and had invited me and my friend to come and eat at his restaurant in Amsterdam. You encouraged this too. But it was short — three weeks, brief and intense. I didn't really even want to try, but I forced myself to see whether I could develop feelings for someone despite the familiar chemistry not being there at the first meeting. My friend saw it that very evening. "Don't do it — I know you. There's no chemistry at all with him…" I didn't listen enough to my gut and tried to convince myself that if I saw him more often, it might come. I never have chemistry — except with you and the man in the compartment in my mind. With both of you it was instant. BAM. So perhaps a different approach — could it work after all? No, apparently not in my case. Just listen to my intuition after all.

This man was, as I see it now, mainly focused on reeling me in. At all costs. From the moment we met he stormed into my life — I was fantastic, I was everything. I was honest with him: I thought he was nice and good company, but I didn't feel "it" yet. "Let's just meet up often and see if it comes," I told him. And he so hoped I would come to feel the same way about him as he did about me — he was already completely certain. I was absolutely the one for him. He was already making future plans. It made me uneasy. Although I have to say it was also pleasant — cosily strolling through the Westerpark in Amsterdam, on the scooter through the Jordaan.

Meanwhile, we stayed in touch via Messenger. "You look happy, sweetheart — give it a chance," you encouraged me. "No, love, I don't think this is going to go anywhere. I do find him increasingly nice, but I just don't feel it the way it should be, and there's a gut feeling I can't quite place." And I was right. After three weeks this man panicked — it was as if he realised that now I was perhaps starting to warm to him, it was suddenly becoming "real." Game over. Of course… someone with commitment issues. I drove him back to Amsterdam that Sunday evening, after telling him I wasn't sure I wanted this. The signals he gave clearly pointed to fear of commitment, and perhaps more. Pull you in and then push you hard away. I didn't have the strength for it. Also because I didn't truly feel it. Better to end it now than in two months. Well no, I shouldn't see it quite like that — he just panicked sometimes and it would be fine. I should forget what he'd said; he was really mad about me. But I went quiet, shut down, retreated into my head and had already closed the book. "Have a good think about it," I said as I left. I had something to eat there and then drove home from Amsterdam, and when I pulled the door shut behind me, I knew I would never see him again. And I was fine with that. "Just listen to your intuition," I told myself. Eventually, four days later, he messaged me to say he'd thought about it and we weren't quite right for each other after all. Fine. Book closed.

That Sunday evening, arriving home from Amsterdam — the door there already shut behind me — I received, as the final blow, a screenshot forwarded by my friend from Instagram. A photo of the man from the compartment in my mind. "I think you need to see this, sweetheart…" she began. The man I had fallen so deeply in love with after my divorce — my first love after my divorce — in a photo, intimately entwined with a woman I immediately recognised as a colleague of his. The caption beneath was clear enough. He was in a relationship with her. That explained why I hadn't heard a word from him in at least six weeks. It was the last straw — I'd just closed the door in Amsterdam, then there was the distance between us because of your wife's suspicion, and now the man in the compartment turned out to be definitively past tense? In a relationship, openly so, while our contact had become increasingly difficult lately and I still wasn't allowed to be visibly present because of his ongoing divorce. He'd been burnt out from everything surrounding the separation and kept his distance — meet up, then distance again. Over and over. And now this. And I had always been nothing but understanding of his situation, with an enormous dose of patience.

The ground fell away beneath me. I went to bed — sad, angry and unable to sleep. The next day I sent him, the man from the compartment, a very long message via WhatsApp, pouring out my feelings about how I'd experienced everything from beginning to end. I didn't really expect a response, but got a short and rather cold reply. He said he'd told me he wasn't in love with me. Huh…? That was news to me. The word "in love" had never been used — by either of us. There had been feelings. He'd always left things in the middle; it was always just "too heavy." I'd leave him be, and then he'd suddenly reappear, when he felt he could handle it again. Always trusting that we'd have more time to really get to know each other once the divorce was behind him. In his message he also said he'd fallen in love with his colleague three weeks earlier. That there was still a lot going on and he'd had enough of it all, that the divorce had already cost him far too much money. A few more pointless sentences and he ended with: "And beyond that, I'm not going to explain myself any further." And I was blocked. Of course…

I discussed all of this with you too. You knew about him after all. You even vaguely knew him — you live in the same town. You couldn't make sense of any of it, let alone how he was now treating me. During one of our early meetings we'd talked about him. You couldn't understand why he kept his distance, why he was just letting "such a gorgeous woman" walk away. "You need to ask him for clarity, sweetheart. You need to know where you stand with him — this is making you restless." But I didn't. I gave him his "space" and held on to the trust that we'd get to know each other properly once the divorce was done.

After the cold response from the man in the compartment, I was truly done with everything. The only person I still wanted to see was you. That was enough for me — I had no appetite for dating. If a man was ever going to enter my life, it would have to happen through a chance meeting, and if not, then so be it. A lot had happened recently, for both of us. Constant monitoring at your end, turmoil for you, turmoil for me. You missed me, I missed you. "I miss you, love — just your warmth, love, scent, touch, everything so familiar," you sent me multiple times. But there was also the fear in you — that things at home would come out. You told me several times that I should move on, that you loved me terribly but could never be a full partner for me, that you were gutted about how things had turned out and that it had never been the intention. That you could see it was making me sad and unsettled, and that you were getting nervous when she'd plop down next to you on the sofa again to see what you were doing on your phone. "We have to stop our contact," you'd write. But we kept being drawn to each other, missed each other, and as soon as it felt safe enough, you wanted to see me again. You dared to try — on a Wednesday in early June you'd come my way. You were on the road, but after forty-five minutes you were stranded on the motorway with a broken-down car. As if it was meant to be. Your wife picked you up, so we had to set another date. A few days later your first granddaughter was born — you proudly sent me photos. I was moved and so happy for you, but it also felt so strange. I would never be part of this little girl's life. She would never know I existed. I would only know her through photos and stories from you. It was a confronting feeling. With the birth of your grandchild, meeting up was pushed back again. Eventually we saw each other in mid-June, after a very long and unsettled time. And everything was just like before…

After that we met up with some regularity again. Always lovely, always a wonderful day. But always with an uneasy feeling too. Is this really happening — are you really coming tomorrow? Because then your wife would fire questions about where you'd been that Monday, and you wouldn't dare meet again in the short term. Then you'd postpone it another three weeks or so. I also discussed with you the idea that kept circling in my mind — to send the man from the compartment a letter, because I needed clarity about how things really stood with the woman he'd "suddenly" fallen in love with. In the end I decided not to do it. I wrote "the letter" in the notes on my phone. That helps — getting it off my chest by writing it down. And perhaps one day I'd send it after all.

In August I left for Canada. It was you who first drove an hour and a half to my place to drop me off at Schiphol a few hours later. Proud and happy that you could do this. It was you from whom I received the first message when I landed in Vancouver, and again twelve days later back at Schiphol. And it was there, in Canada, that total panic suddenly hit me. I don't know what it was — it just washed over me. Turmoil, the feeling that the day when all of this would truly "come out" was getting closer and closer, and that then it would be over…

And I was right. The week after I returned from Canada, you spent the whole afternoon with me. Together on a pub crawl during the local fair. Brilliant and great fun. Once home, you were questioned again about where you'd been all day. And you're a terrible liar… it's written all over your face. So distance again. After that I saw you one more time. On 9 September. Then more turmoil at home, and it kept getting worse. You kept your distance from me — just let me simmer for a bit. "The hassle wouldn't stop," you told me. Constant monitoring and interrogation. It was driving you mad with nerves.

At the start of September I'd sent the man from the compartment a letter after all — suddenly. I needed clarity. I sent it to his Instagram account, but we weren't connected there. No response. It later turned out that my message arrived as a message request, and he'd missed it entirely. It frustrated me, and four weeks later I decided to send it again via his Facebook Messenger. It should come through there, since we'd been Facebook friends in the past and had communicated via Messenger. He replied. Within five minutes. And normally. Apologies too for the previous period, how things had gone, for his cold reaction back then. Never expected — at best I'd anticipated a message telling me to let it rest, or perhaps no response at all. He'd explain, he said. Unblocked me on WhatsApp immediately and called me the next day to explain. The relationship with the colleague had ended fairly quickly, but there were business interests involved. He still had court cases related to the divorce and things to wrap up.

On Monday morning, 30 September, I received a message from you. Three weeks after we'd last met, and three weeks in which the turmoil had been building for both of us. The feeling that had started in Canada — that the day when everything would come out was getting closer — was growing stronger. If I'm honest, your message didn't come as a complete surprise. I read it calmly… "Sweetheart, good morning. As you may have noticed these past few days, I've been different lately, but the hassle just won't stop here. Last night, out of nowhere, she said she knew I was constantly chatting with another woman and that it was the same woman whose messages she'd seen before. She wants me to cut all contact on Messenger, Facebook, WhatsApp. Fuck, love, I'm crazy about you, but I don't want this tension. I'm cutting all contact, only keeping SMS open. I'd do a lot for you and you'll always be inside me, but I can't take this. Kiss, most beautiful person in my life xxxx." And then the tears came. Since then we've had sporadic contact by text. Where at first you held back considerably — because your priority was getting things back on track at home, and any message from me caused new turmoil, pulling you out of the comfort zone you were slowly settling back into — I can tell you miss me too. You completely missed my 50th birthday… you forgot to congratulate me. That hurt. Was I no longer in your system? A thousand apologies. "I'm clumsy, I'll make it up to you… kissss." You're cautiously beginning to send the occasional text again. I think we'll see each other sooner or later, but that needs more time. I don't know how things will go from here either.

Meanwhile, careful contact again with the man from the compartment in my mind. And we've seen each other again. Two days after my birthday. And where you completely forgot my birthday through all the stress in your head, he brought me an unexpected birthday surprise I never saw coming. I remain cautious — I still don't know which way any of this is going. Not with you and not with him. Where one door closed a little, the other opened a little more. Two doors are still ajar…