I knew this day would come eventually. My worst fear was finally confirmed (well, at least in my mind). For the first time, I believe my age scared a man away.
I was under the impression that a man I briefly became entangled with who was in his late 20s already knew I was 33, since he had known me for a while and was in the vicinity when my age was discussed at one point. After briefly chatting, we went on a “date,” or at least what felt like a date, and near the end of the evening, as he was describing his lack of life direction, he asked how old I was. I was disheartened and felt my stomach drop. I warned him that I was a bit older than him, to which he laughed and replied, “What – it’s not something super old like 35 or something, right?”
Upon hearing this thoughtless yet not malicious comment that was meant to be lighthearted, I cringed and said, “No, but I’m 33.” He tried to hide his surprise, but I could sense that he had no idea what to say or think. He kindly replied, “Oh, that’s nothing.” However, when he began asking if I wanted children and his body language became more tense, I knew it was only a matter of time until I got his version of the “it’s not you, it’s me” text a few days later.
Had I not had my heart decimated multiple times by this point in my life, my episodic shower cries and monologues with ChatGPT following this abrupt rejection may have lasted longer than 48 hours. I’d be lying if I said finding out additional information about him out of the blue that gave me the “ick” didn’t help my healing, but with a few good nights of sleep and gaining perspective on my ambition in life and his lack thereof, my rejection sensitive dysphoria was shockingly resolved much faster than usual. I was not down for the count for months on end. As my need to cry evaporated, I felt like something was missing. So, this is it? I’m actually fine with this outcome for once? You mean I’m not going to spiral into another depression?
It doesn’t exactly feel great that my age made a man wince for the first time. With this rejection, however, it became hard to ignore the idea that a woman with an advanced degree and three jobs is objectively intimidating to a man struggling to get out of bed before 11:00 in the mornings. While I was initially humiliated and discouraged (to put it lightly), I was – for once – empowered and flattered that my maturity scared a man off.
To his credit, I give him kudos for having the courage to break things off cleanly instead of ghosting like many men in his small shoes would do. Perhaps a clean break is what made the healing process less lengthy, albeit acutely painful until a mutual friend informed me of less-than-flattering information I didn’t know prior to engaging with him. It felt odd to stand solidly on my 33-year-old feet for once and internally say, “This is me. I am driven. I am responsible. I don’t have time for guessing games.” It only resulted in me losing a liability, and at the most, someone to make small talk with until a man capable of leading a relationship steps in.
I can’t pretend like it doesn’t sting to believe that a man recoiled due to my age or life stage, but alongside the (now) minor pain lies empowerment in being too much for someone for all the right reasons. Tossing me away to frolic along the path of least resistance isn’t my mistake to make, but it may be his.
