Do Not Perceive Me

Written by Sydney Tate Bradford

Graphics by Wendy Lan

I could describe about seven different characters I’ve been perceived as - not one of them entirely flattering. I say this because the practice of casual dating has proven far less productive than my initial anticipation. Lately, I’ve reminisced on a few of those tropes, as I’m attempting to understand what has gone on since August. 

Coming out of a nearly three-year relationship, it’s pretty difficult to explain to new prospects how you’re doing. Whether they cared or not, I’m unsure, but of course, it’s too soon for me to be over it, so how could I? This experience-based fear of being judged caused an unusual blockage in terms of expressing myself. I felt vulnerable in some ways but not entirely emotionally available, hence my “don’t know yet” specification under the prompt of “what you’re looking for” on Bumble. 

I felt that I’d distanced myself from the pain of the severance because it had already come and gone. My relationship was on and off again (patterns so intricate you could have knitted a quilt), and the newness of our separation wore off far sooner than the shock that I’d been duped… again. It’s no one's responsibility to believe me, but I felt okay. 

Explaining this meant nothing to a boy I’d just met -- who was fucking around for about half a year after a traumatic relationship of his -- when I’d said those very words. He was also three years older than me and almost through with his degree, so part of my brain understands the initial assumptions you might make about someone coming out of a toxic attachment who’d dropped out of college. Another part of my brain was completely outraged at the fact that he didn’t want to look past those assumptions. He didn’t want to work together and grow better -- but this was me projecting, as well. 

Needless to say, that person was going through something that made it clear he was disinterested. Not everyone will see us the way we’d like to be seen, and that doesn’t mean we should try to convince them. Furthermore, even if they do see us clearly, not every potential partner wants the same fairytale, or to be with us at all. He shared his experiences with codependency and that coupled with emotional avoidance should have given me pause. Codependency was the whole ordeal in my first real relationship - I just wanted to convince myself I could know otherwise.

Coming out of a nearly three-year relationship, it’s pretty difficult to explain to new prospects why their terms of endearment are so terrifying. A first date is not exactly the time -- nor the place -- to unload your years of detriment unless the mood is right. Maybe you know this just as well as I do, and rarely is it right. 

I wanted to say exactly why I am the way that I am, but all that came out were coy attempts at best. Then, feeling awkward that I couldn’t take charge of a “real conversation,” sex seemed like a reasonable crutch. In backseats, on mountaintops, in one-person hammocks, sometimes in their shower, but hardly in my bedroom. 

With another boy I’d just met, this one younger, I decided to embrace the fact that I couldn’t explain myself on a first date. I didn’t need to because I was charming and good at flirting when I wanted to be. So then, sex was the crutch. It was the whole point of the get-together, and I could fall in love for one night only. Maybe that was what I needed, right?

Consequently, I was the one who disappeared. It always felt important to communicate intentions, including the ones you have when you don’t want to see someone anymore. Here it was impossible. That boy was kind and asked more questions than I’d been used to. Our connection was peculiar in that it was the first artist I’d felt supported and understood intimately by. 

His emotional availability seemed scary because it had been so long since the prospects in my life showed an interest beyond sex, and I didn’t know how to show up for someone capable of more. Saying that to someone after two dates felt a bit much, so I didn’t say a word for months.

There are times when putting yourself first lacks responsibility to others, and that is a valid part of our journey. Albeit, the goal is to reduce harm, especially to others. I could’ve explained myself, but the experience was unclear at first, and I chose to disappear instead.

Coming out of a nearly three-year relationship, it’s pretty difficult to explain to new prospects how unfamiliar it is to get to know someone. But what do you do when someone sweeps you off your feet? When someone is vulnerable, present, and wanting to hear what you have to say instead of assuming… well, I wish I could’ve prepared for that question sooner. Not only did I have low expectations at the time, but to this day I don’t know that I’m ready to accept the love I deserve. 

It’s a bit counterproductive, and I’m okay with that. 

When I think of the characters I’ve been perceived as this year, I see reflections of self-discovery. I chose to explore my sexuality in new ways and avoided sharing myself “too much.” I saw reenactments of the manipulation from my past relationship and saw myself struggling to see others as they were (before I attempted to differentiate between trauma-based fear and genuine red flags). To one, I was perceived as too young, too pained, and too directionless in my career. To another, I was perceived as the one who got away (and ended up coming back to get my heart broken another round). To my previous partner, I have been perceived as someone entirely new.

While casual dating hasn’t introduced me to a continued partnership, I’ve found a brave one within myself. Navigating new situations has brought confidence in setting boundaries, practicing discernment, and moving on from pernicious patterns. I’ve found the most joy in seeing what it all feels like - performing for others in a way I haven’t before - and what I mean is, exploring new avenues and perceptions with the absolute freedom to be whatever feels right that day, and to meet myself again and again.