Last week I wrote a piece about wanting to be loved. I think acknowledging the desire to be loved is useful to me, and it’s not something I’ve always been able to do. It feels shameful, somehow, to yearn for love. Like if I want it too much then I’m desperate, needy, incomplete without the validation of a romantic partner. But having thought about this a lot recently, I’ve realised that acknowledging this desire has been a net positive. Good for self-acceptance, and perhaps even for my self-worth too. Because being up front about how much I want to be loved means I also have to face the important caveat that comes hand-in-hand with that desire: I do not want to be loved at any cost.

This one’s long, waffly, and incredibly gendered. Sorry about that. 

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For as long as I can remember, I have yearned for a partner. Even when I was too young to understand sex or romance, I pursued boys. With a relentless, aching need. I’m sure some of them could sense it radiating out of me. As a child, when a brand new boy would turn up in whatever context – playing with my siblings and I on holiday, or transferring into my class from another school – my whole being would suddenly snap into focus, laser-targeted on whether or not this one might be a possibility. As a teenager, I was obsessed with the idea of having a boyfriend, and although there was one boy I was wildly in love with, I knew deep in my heart that any boy would do. I just wanted to be loved. When I finally did secure a boyfriend – even though he was entirely unsuited to me – there was a powerful feeling of relief and accomplishment. I’ve done it! I’ve got one! I am wanted! Go me! I yearn for a partner, I always have done. I just really really want to be loved.

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I love Doctor Nerdlove. He’s a brilliant advice columnist whose responses often give me a new perspective on love and relationships. He is kind and patient, but willing to call someone on their bullshit when that is required. This response to a writer who is bitter about women was especially exceptional. I’m opening with a thorough arse-kissing because for the first time in ages I disagree with something he wrote. It’s a really old post, and normally I wouldn’t highlight those because who gives a fuck that I disagree with something that someone wrote ten years ago? I want to discuss it, though, because the emotional wail of anguish that sits at the heart of why I disagree has been on my mind a lot lately. I don’t want to do that without first telling you how much I love his work, though. Tl;dr – I’m using an old Doctor Nerdlove post as the springboard for a rant, but you should know I massively respect him and if he ever finds himself in London I will buy him a pint and a pasty by way of apology. Let’s talk about compromise in relationships, and why I never want anyone to ‘settle’ for me.

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One of the things I often hear guys complain about when it comes to dating is that they got rejected (or sometimes ghosted) without understanding why. They wouldn’t mind a ‘no’ if there was some obvious incompatibility, but as far as they’re concerned they didn’t do anything ‘wrong’. Bear with me here dudes, because you might not like my answer, but if you’re earnestly asking this question then I have a few explanations you could consider.

As with all of my posts, this one is heavily influenced by my experience – I am mainly into men so my perspective comes from there. I also want to acknowledge that one of the reasons I struggled when dating recently was because my heart wasn’t in it. This was in large part down to personal shit, which I addressed a little in this post – it’s not you, it’s me. So the following piece doesn’t tell the full story of why I struggled to connect with anyone, and you should weigh it accordingly. I almost didn’t publish it at all, but in the end I decided that it still covers some useful ground that addresses a complaint I’ve heard a fair bit from guys in the comment section, and my response might be useful to those of you who are asking in earnest. Equally (or perhaps more) importantly, I hope it will be reassuring to women who repeatedly come up against the same problems I do.

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Partway through a kiss – a good one, a promising one – she breaks off and holds her face close to his. Whispers:

“Just so you know, I don’t fuck on the first date.”

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