Being ghosted never feels good... it leaves this raw sense of incompletion, of “What did I do wrong?” That hunger for an answer can almost become its own loop, pulling you back toward the very person who hurt you.
Polly, I really resonated with what you said about how this woman’s fate was sealed once she started talking to someone who was already unhappy in their relationship. I’ve been on the other side of that dynamic before, and I agree there’s a truth there. But I wonder if there’s a way to frame this beyond good/bad or right/wrong, beyond “mistake.”
Labeling someone as simply “a person to avoid” can become its own kind of fantasy. It keeps us focused on identifying them... the bad one, the escapist... rather than turning inward to ask: Why am I drawn to this in the first place?
That’s the deeper question. Because it’s possible she was engaging in a kind of escapism, too. Even the act of repeatedly reaching out to him, asking what she did wrong, can be seen as a way of escaping her own silence... her own presence with the hurt. It’s a way of outsourcing the work of being with herself.
This is why I think advice like “don’t date people like this” often falls flat. When we’re deep in a fantasy, we can’t control it through rules or warnings. That’s why smart, “self-aware” people still end up repeating the same patterns. Intellectual understanding isn’t the same as embodied understanding. Until you can really feel and name the part of yourself that is seeking something through that fantasy, you’ll keep mistaking the projection for reality.
In that sense, advice that focuses only on avoiding certain “types” of people can actually strengthen the pattern. We’re often most susceptible to the very qualities we’ve exiled in ourselves. What we can’t bear to acknowledge internally, we project outward... and when it appears in another person, it feels magnetic.
The real work isn’t about avoiding these people altogether. It’s about seeing clearly what part of us is doing the seeking, the escaping, the projecting. Once that’s visible, the pattern begins to lose its hold.
Yes, but I think that was the point of Polly's answer. I think it's difficult to see the part that you play in things until you're able to identify that the other person isn't some poor soul who has a mean (or boring & possessive partner); you have to see, first of all, that this person you've idealized is actually not so great after all. And once you've done that, then you can go into the work of examining why you wanted them, and perhaps the ways in which you sold yourself out to get them. Laying that out is what Polly/Heather does here.
I can relate to this. I always thought I needed to avoid emotionally unavailable types, when really, I needed to get more in touch with my emotions and how people make me feel when I'm around them. I also think going after emotionally unavailable types was my own was of escapism, because I knew there would never be real intimacy there and I wouldn't have to truly open up - but it would give me a cheap hit of energy, like an energy drink might.
I would love to know how the writer is doing now; I hope she’s re-married to someone less weasely, or having a fucking fantastic time on her own. Either way, I hope that she’s no longer allocating any emotional space to this guy. What a prick.
I know EXACTLY how it feels to be blindsided, to be getting affirmations (he wrote a love song about me, etc.) one day and then suddenly to be left. A few differences: He wasn’t involved with anybody when we met, we were married 15 years, we had two children. Believe when when I say it is entirely possible not to be able to detect big red flags even in hindsight.
But now I’ve been married to a really good guy for 19 years. And my grown kids and grandkids love him.
Apologies that this isn't about the letter and your advice, but Liz Gilbert did indeed do an extremely honest & impressive bit of the 'I don't fucking know anything anymore!' that you're looking for in the Oldster yesterday - https://substack.com/home/post/p-173182677
Fully agree with Polly’s words, then and now. Whatever they did to their last partner (badmouth them to strangers, cheat on, and so on), they will do to you. And to the next partner. Don’t believe you’re the exception—you are until you aren’t.
(Of course there’s a caveat that some people do work on themselves and evolve past these patterns. But you’d need to see real contrition and changed behaviours, not just taking them at their word.)
I used to share Ask Polly columns on socials and with friends all the time, and have genuinely respected it for many years, even if I disagreed with a post here and there. So it's always a little disappointing when an entry comes across as ill- (or briefly-) considered because it lacks engagement with the discomfiting aspects of Being A Person In The World.
I've never left a critical comment on a substack before, and this isn't going to start a habit for me, but I wanted to share that this was kind of strikingly shallow - striking because I really, really don't expect that shallowness from Ask Polly.
The didactic title of the post and the criticism of Elizabeth Gilbert from the jump were interesting choices; I've never in my life come away from a Gilbert read with the impression that she ISN'T saying, "Honestly, I don't fucking know anymore - but I want to pull something meaningful out of this experience," so the takeaway given here feels a bit more personal than analytical - which is fine, I'm always happy to disagree with a read and move tf on with my day, but I mention these elements because, taken in context of the full post, I think they reflect a discomfort with the type of Relationship Messiness that this column often embraces head-on.
What, I wonder, is the arbitrary division between "friend" and "sexy potential partner" being drawn here? I can't tell if this is just Straight People assumptions about friendliness between men and women - in which case, SEE YA, adios, godspeed, your lives continue to sound absolutely miserable - or if the Sexy Other Person label being proposed is something that can only be applied in hindsight, after that person becomes a partner. The distinction matters: COMPLAINING TO OTHER PEOPLE ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIPS IS HEALTHY AND COOL 😎 👍. If I treated every friend like a potential romantic partner while I was in a monogamous relationship, then yeah, sure, any conversation becomes a bit sketchy - but man, if we're being totally honest with ourselves, couldn't you fall in love with any of your friends? Joking, bitching, sharing, teasing - isn't that how you fall in love with someone in the first place? My friends are beautiful, searingly intelligent, relentlessly funny women; the things we tell each other are often flirty or deeply personal because they're witty and shameless, not because we plan to jump each other's bones later - but that latter condition could change, one day! If my girl needs to sit and cry with me one day because her husband always assumes that she will take up the bulk of childcare, even though they agreed to share responsibility equally when she found out she was unexpectedly pregnant, that MIGHT lead to them breaking up! But it also matters that she can HAVE that conversation with another person at a time when her feelings are too raw or too scary to share with her current partner! The conversation does not automatically become a red flag afterwards if she decides to date me!
What is the line between telling your friends that you're hurting, you're upset, you're unfulfilled, and "badmouthing red flag oh my god everybody we have to start finger-wagging because women can't complain about their HUSBANDS who they've MARRIED which means they should NEVER CRITICIZE OR LEAVE THEM" ? Hello. What century is this.
Jokes aside, I get it. I'm not trying to be deliberately obtuse. Cheating is wildly painful, often for everyone involved, maybe to different degrees; it sucks to be cheated on. I have dated, and broken up with, a serial cheater after I realized that she had fallen in love with someone else. The love wasn't inherently incompatible for our relationship, but HOW she treated both the Other Woman, even before she knew what she was doing, made me lose a significant chunk of respect for her, and our relationship couldn't survive the rocky patch after that loss. But realizing that things are rocky, and talking to other people about it, and LISTENING to how a friend responds, FEELING LOVED by that other person, and even discovering that your friend's opinions on the matter reflect important shared values that you didn't fully appreciate before - that is not an inherently shitty place from which you can take stock of your relationships and conclude that, Well, Damn, I'd MUCH rather be in a relationship with someone who values X, Y, Z more than my current partner, or would approach these problems differently, etc.
Relationships are more organic than that. Loyalty isn't a band-aid you slap onto marital problems to make them go away. It should be a gift, not a hindrance: I love you enough to accept the wrinkles and the cracks, and to work with you as far as you're willing to work with me, but I also love you enough to respect that our lives WILL, INEVITABLY, change - and we may not be the best partners for each other when they do.
YES, there is an element of escapism to falling for people who aren't your current partner - but isn't imagination a space for discovery? For finding out what you want and what matters to you? And, most importantly, for making a path towards a life that is richer, more honest, more fulfilling?
Idk, man. It all depends, no? Am I overreacting? Maybe part of my reaction is out of concern that parts of the world, including the U.S., are increasingly pro-natalist and phobic of any kind of love, sex, or marriage that isn't Man + Woman + Forever. YES, we should take our partnerships seriously, because the world is a wildly, unrelentingly - sometimes, it would seem, increasingly - cruel place, and we have to take care of each other, maybe more than ever before. But part of that care is being fucking honest with ourselves and EACH OTHER when something isn't working. And, my god, if the thought of your husband playing golf irl and then playing a golf game on his phone makes you want to claw your eyes out, maybe "boring" is the word you use to describe the problem now, but something else is happening. Or maybe you're Heather, and it really is JUST boring, which connotes the security of a long-haul relationship, and doesn't run counter to the feeling of, "That Guy, My Boring Golf-idiot, My Husband, I Love Him Real Real Bad." Of all the adjectives I might use to describe someone I love doing something I find insane, "boring" is pretty safe! It might be a starting point to thinking more or the relationship - not necessarily a well-examined, definitive and beloved feature of it.
I have to get on with my life, now, but as much as I appreciate many things in this post and the original response (and I know, it's very evil of me not to include the Good Stuff in my critical sandwich or whatever), I'm still a little disappointed. But love you anyway.
I see what you're saying, but I think there's a difference between a friendship, in which you may bitch about your partner sometimes, and having a sexual interest in another person/using them as a stepping stone, and bitching about your partner in that context. How do you tell the difference? I'm not so sure, but there is one.
Being ghosted never feels good... it leaves this raw sense of incompletion, of “What did I do wrong?” That hunger for an answer can almost become its own loop, pulling you back toward the very person who hurt you.
Polly, I really resonated with what you said about how this woman’s fate was sealed once she started talking to someone who was already unhappy in their relationship. I’ve been on the other side of that dynamic before, and I agree there’s a truth there. But I wonder if there’s a way to frame this beyond good/bad or right/wrong, beyond “mistake.”
Labeling someone as simply “a person to avoid” can become its own kind of fantasy. It keeps us focused on identifying them... the bad one, the escapist... rather than turning inward to ask: Why am I drawn to this in the first place?
That’s the deeper question. Because it’s possible she was engaging in a kind of escapism, too. Even the act of repeatedly reaching out to him, asking what she did wrong, can be seen as a way of escaping her own silence... her own presence with the hurt. It’s a way of outsourcing the work of being with herself.
This is why I think advice like “don’t date people like this” often falls flat. When we’re deep in a fantasy, we can’t control it through rules or warnings. That’s why smart, “self-aware” people still end up repeating the same patterns. Intellectual understanding isn’t the same as embodied understanding. Until you can really feel and name the part of yourself that is seeking something through that fantasy, you’ll keep mistaking the projection for reality.
In that sense, advice that focuses only on avoiding certain “types” of people can actually strengthen the pattern. We’re often most susceptible to the very qualities we’ve exiled in ourselves. What we can’t bear to acknowledge internally, we project outward... and when it appears in another person, it feels magnetic.
The real work isn’t about avoiding these people altogether. It’s about seeing clearly what part of us is doing the seeking, the escaping, the projecting. Once that’s visible, the pattern begins to lose its hold.
Yes, but I think that was the point of Polly's answer. I think it's difficult to see the part that you play in things until you're able to identify that the other person isn't some poor soul who has a mean (or boring & possessive partner); you have to see, first of all, that this person you've idealized is actually not so great after all. And once you've done that, then you can go into the work of examining why you wanted them, and perhaps the ways in which you sold yourself out to get them. Laying that out is what Polly/Heather does here.
I can relate to this. I always thought I needed to avoid emotionally unavailable types, when really, I needed to get more in touch with my emotions and how people make me feel when I'm around them. I also think going after emotionally unavailable types was my own was of escapism, because I knew there would never be real intimacy there and I wouldn't have to truly open up - but it would give me a cheap hit of energy, like an energy drink might.
Your comment is very eye-opening. Thank you!
I would love to know how the writer is doing now; I hope she’s re-married to someone less weasely, or having a fucking fantastic time on her own. Either way, I hope that she’s no longer allocating any emotional space to this guy. What a prick.
I know EXACTLY how it feels to be blindsided, to be getting affirmations (he wrote a love song about me, etc.) one day and then suddenly to be left. A few differences: He wasn’t involved with anybody when we met, we were married 15 years, we had two children. Believe when when I say it is entirely possible not to be able to detect big red flags even in hindsight.
But now I’ve been married to a really good guy for 19 years. And my grown kids and grandkids love him.
My ex … his life doesn’t sound so good.
Apologies that this isn't about the letter and your advice, but Liz Gilbert did indeed do an extremely honest & impressive bit of the 'I don't fucking know anything anymore!' that you're looking for in the Oldster yesterday - https://substack.com/home/post/p-173182677
Damn, Polly - you nailed it. My last husband and I met online while he was still married to his first wife. He wanted out and spun a tale I believed.
Fast forward 11 years later and I'm newly disabled and he moves on to a mutual friend because I'm 'old, broken and not making the big bucks anymore'.
Patterns repeat if you don't open your eyes and see them. Took me a few years to get that clarity on what I'd participated in and what I let happen.
I'm happily single and living a good life - and I hear things are shifting for him once more. How exhausting is that kind of life?
Fully agree with Polly’s words, then and now. Whatever they did to their last partner (badmouth them to strangers, cheat on, and so on), they will do to you. And to the next partner. Don’t believe you’re the exception—you are until you aren’t.
(Of course there’s a caveat that some people do work on themselves and evolve past these patterns. But you’d need to see real contrition and changed behaviours, not just taking them at their word.)
If you can help it, strive to be an interest that sparks in a vacuum.
I used to share Ask Polly columns on socials and with friends all the time, and have genuinely respected it for many years, even if I disagreed with a post here and there. So it's always a little disappointing when an entry comes across as ill- (or briefly-) considered because it lacks engagement with the discomfiting aspects of Being A Person In The World.
I've never left a critical comment on a substack before, and this isn't going to start a habit for me, but I wanted to share that this was kind of strikingly shallow - striking because I really, really don't expect that shallowness from Ask Polly.
The didactic title of the post and the criticism of Elizabeth Gilbert from the jump were interesting choices; I've never in my life come away from a Gilbert read with the impression that she ISN'T saying, "Honestly, I don't fucking know anymore - but I want to pull something meaningful out of this experience," so the takeaway given here feels a bit more personal than analytical - which is fine, I'm always happy to disagree with a read and move tf on with my day, but I mention these elements because, taken in context of the full post, I think they reflect a discomfort with the type of Relationship Messiness that this column often embraces head-on.
What, I wonder, is the arbitrary division between "friend" and "sexy potential partner" being drawn here? I can't tell if this is just Straight People assumptions about friendliness between men and women - in which case, SEE YA, adios, godspeed, your lives continue to sound absolutely miserable - or if the Sexy Other Person label being proposed is something that can only be applied in hindsight, after that person becomes a partner. The distinction matters: COMPLAINING TO OTHER PEOPLE ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIPS IS HEALTHY AND COOL 😎 👍. If I treated every friend like a potential romantic partner while I was in a monogamous relationship, then yeah, sure, any conversation becomes a bit sketchy - but man, if we're being totally honest with ourselves, couldn't you fall in love with any of your friends? Joking, bitching, sharing, teasing - isn't that how you fall in love with someone in the first place? My friends are beautiful, searingly intelligent, relentlessly funny women; the things we tell each other are often flirty or deeply personal because they're witty and shameless, not because we plan to jump each other's bones later - but that latter condition could change, one day! If my girl needs to sit and cry with me one day because her husband always assumes that she will take up the bulk of childcare, even though they agreed to share responsibility equally when she found out she was unexpectedly pregnant, that MIGHT lead to them breaking up! But it also matters that she can HAVE that conversation with another person at a time when her feelings are too raw or too scary to share with her current partner! The conversation does not automatically become a red flag afterwards if she decides to date me!
What is the line between telling your friends that you're hurting, you're upset, you're unfulfilled, and "badmouthing red flag oh my god everybody we have to start finger-wagging because women can't complain about their HUSBANDS who they've MARRIED which means they should NEVER CRITICIZE OR LEAVE THEM" ? Hello. What century is this.
Jokes aside, I get it. I'm not trying to be deliberately obtuse. Cheating is wildly painful, often for everyone involved, maybe to different degrees; it sucks to be cheated on. I have dated, and broken up with, a serial cheater after I realized that she had fallen in love with someone else. The love wasn't inherently incompatible for our relationship, but HOW she treated both the Other Woman, even before she knew what she was doing, made me lose a significant chunk of respect for her, and our relationship couldn't survive the rocky patch after that loss. But realizing that things are rocky, and talking to other people about it, and LISTENING to how a friend responds, FEELING LOVED by that other person, and even discovering that your friend's opinions on the matter reflect important shared values that you didn't fully appreciate before - that is not an inherently shitty place from which you can take stock of your relationships and conclude that, Well, Damn, I'd MUCH rather be in a relationship with someone who values X, Y, Z more than my current partner, or would approach these problems differently, etc.
Relationships are more organic than that. Loyalty isn't a band-aid you slap onto marital problems to make them go away. It should be a gift, not a hindrance: I love you enough to accept the wrinkles and the cracks, and to work with you as far as you're willing to work with me, but I also love you enough to respect that our lives WILL, INEVITABLY, change - and we may not be the best partners for each other when they do.
YES, there is an element of escapism to falling for people who aren't your current partner - but isn't imagination a space for discovery? For finding out what you want and what matters to you? And, most importantly, for making a path towards a life that is richer, more honest, more fulfilling?
Idk, man. It all depends, no? Am I overreacting? Maybe part of my reaction is out of concern that parts of the world, including the U.S., are increasingly pro-natalist and phobic of any kind of love, sex, or marriage that isn't Man + Woman + Forever. YES, we should take our partnerships seriously, because the world is a wildly, unrelentingly - sometimes, it would seem, increasingly - cruel place, and we have to take care of each other, maybe more than ever before. But part of that care is being fucking honest with ourselves and EACH OTHER when something isn't working. And, my god, if the thought of your husband playing golf irl and then playing a golf game on his phone makes you want to claw your eyes out, maybe "boring" is the word you use to describe the problem now, but something else is happening. Or maybe you're Heather, and it really is JUST boring, which connotes the security of a long-haul relationship, and doesn't run counter to the feeling of, "That Guy, My Boring Golf-idiot, My Husband, I Love Him Real Real Bad." Of all the adjectives I might use to describe someone I love doing something I find insane, "boring" is pretty safe! It might be a starting point to thinking more or the relationship - not necessarily a well-examined, definitive and beloved feature of it.
I have to get on with my life, now, but as much as I appreciate many things in this post and the original response (and I know, it's very evil of me not to include the Good Stuff in my critical sandwich or whatever), I'm still a little disappointed. But love you anyway.
I see what you're saying, but I think there's a difference between a friendship, in which you may bitch about your partner sometimes, and having a sexual interest in another person/using them as a stepping stone, and bitching about your partner in that context. How do you tell the difference? I'm not so sure, but there is one.