By: Winona Young
I’ve received a lot of horrible texts from dates. Some have been an awkward, like the guy who asked me “Where have you been all my life?” when I referenced one (1) nerdy show. Some have been sleazy, like the time I told a guy I was on my period and he replied that “Every pirate must sail the Red Sea once.” And those examples bypass all kinds of other confusing mindfuckery. Despite all those horrible instances, I received my worst text by far only a month ago.
As it always does, it all began with a guy — let’s call him Will. Will was a graduate student in his early twenties with a tall gangly frame. He had a beard, hipster glasses, and eyes that sunk into his face and made him look like he hadn’t slept in weeks (so, he was exactly my type).
At the end of our second date, Will and I got to the emotional equivalent of third base — which is to say that I cried in front of him. Surprisingly, he was very understanding. After awkwardly rubbing away my tears, we had a long talk about mental health and he opened up about his depression. Being vulnerable in a relationship is scary, but it is essential. Trusting someone new with that kind of vulnerability and intimacy, to me at least, isn’t a decision to be taken lightly. And the fact that he was willing to show me that side of him made me feel special. Over the next few weeks, he reached out to me over text about his bad days and I was always ready to reply with a paragraph-long pep talk.
One night, he and I were having our usual chit-chat over text. He was somewhere in Vancouver and I was in Burnaby, bawling my eyes out and debating whether or not I should bite the proverbial bullet and tell him how I was really feeling. I weighed the pros and cons, and deep down I felt embarrassed to ask for his help and support. Part of me wasn’t sure if I deserved it.
But I am a huge sap at heart, and so hopeful that I could put Gatsby’s thirsty ass to shame. I forcefully reminded myself that asking for comfort and attention is nothing to be ashamed of, but a necessity for us to survive emotionally. I rationalized that reaching out to him would be an opportunity for me to lean on him the way he had leaned on me so much the past few weeks.
So I began typing. I wrote about my history with mental health and how on days like today, I didn’t think I could handle everything around me, and just felt so small . . . My entire story took about three paragraphs to text, and I sent them off with bated breath. A few moments later, the familiar ‘ping’ filled the air, announcing his response. In that moment, I was desperate for any kind of comfort or sympathy — anything at all. So when I opened up to our conversation to hopefully see what would’ve been an empathetic reply, all I saw was the single word: “Yeah.”
I paused and refreshed our messages. I couldn’t believe that was all he sent. And then a few more texts rushed in, all of them talking about the rest of his day, and what else he had done. I scanned his texts again, but none of them contained a single acknowledgment of what I just said. It was like he didn’t even read it, or like it didn’t even happen.
Now, if I received a lacklustre response like that from a boy again, I would delete his ass from my contacts so fast that he’d get whiplash. But with Will, I was less sure of myself, crying, and afraid that maybe I did ask for too much. So instead, I swallowed down my disappointment, laughed at his jokes, and asked him more about his day.
I used to defend Will saying, “Oh well, he probably didn’t get that I was upset” and laugh it off as some silly dating shenanigan. But the fact of the matter is that he hurt my feelings and I am finally realizing that it stung so hard because everybody, and I mean everybody, can benefit from deep empathy.
When I had eventually called out Will about the conversation in person, I remember with startling clarity the nonchalant response he gave me. He looked at me, and said very matter-of-factly, “Oh. I remember you being upset. I didn’t know what to say so I just kind of ignored it.”
Since then, I have deleted all the conversations Will and I had off my phone. I’d still take unsolicited dick pics over texts like his any day.
Practicing empathy and honesty is emotional work that is too often neglected. In the modern world of dating, texting is a new setting. But I can’t stress the necessity of being emotionally present and actively listening to someone over text enough, despite it being such a detached and impersonal medium. When faced with someone asking for comfort, kind words and compassion are the standard we all should be meeting. While it’s easier to ignore or to not engage, saying nothing at all is worse.
