How love can make you crazy. Here's an example of the kind I hear all the time in my practice: “I texted him at 11 a.m. the day after our date and.
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And only for a little while, until we get talked back to earth. And yes, it can happen for the most mature and astute of women. Among women we might speak of it in hushed tones. We have briefly lost our mojo. Yes, we can hear ourselves, but we are powerless to stop the onslaught.
I gotta get out of here. We know we sound insane. We even sound insane to ourselves! Did we even want a future? Where is this going? And it may or may not be something you did or said; it may simply be us having our own little Love Panic Attack just because we like you, we really really like you. But in those moments we feel like we are all of those things. We might be a CEO, a concert pianist, a neurosurgeon, or a world class athlete, but invariably in our freakouts it will boil down to us feeling like a goofy mess.
What kinds of thoughts run through our minds? Do we like him? Does he really like us? Is now a good time in our lives to date this person? Are we ready for a relationship? Are we ready for love? Does he even like us? Did we ask ourselves that already?
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Is he pulling away? Am I too available? How do I get my mojo back? Am I not the Cool Girl anymore? And then, through the loving support of our close friends—we can get back to ourselves. We level out our breathing and we can start thinking rationally again. But for that night, day, or moment: We know which wires to cut, and which wires will send our friend off into another mini-panic explosion.
In my field studies I would say yes. They will also begin to question themselves. It could be the subject of another article or series of them! Maybe in that moment of caring, all of our wires cross and light up.
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Awesome Guy Advice on Women's Crazy Dating Freakouts - The Good Men Project
Theresa Byrne has natural-born protective instinct and is an expert in personal power who loves teaching people to step into their innate power. A nationally recognized defense expert, she has taught tens of thousands martial arts, boundary setting and personal safety, and appeared in several national and local television shows and magazines teaching her unusual mindset and methodology.
She knows what it's like not to feel powerful and have a place to turn, so she's dedicated to being a mentor for others on their journey. Her background includes a B. T focused in sports, kinesiology and healing, as a certified Anger Mangagement Educator, and a certified fitness teaching professional since This site uses Akismet to reduce spam.
Personal Data Collected
Learn how your comment data is processed. Not good at all. Sure, if she is certifiable, but its not at all the norm and we guys know it. No explanation, no feedback, crickets. I grew up with three sisters, married for 23 years. I had been dreaming of heading home and watching Netflix. Plus, he was bizarrely into charming me with nostalgic expressions of chivalry holding doors open, paying for me, and so on.
As a feminist, I was surprised and somewhat disgusted with myself that I was falling for these totally superficial expressions of care. And why was I acting so passive? Rob had caught me at a weird time. It was the end of August. I was in the midst of an uncomfortable transition. I had left a full-time job to pursue freelance writing.
I was about to move into a new apartment. I was getting over a breakup. And I was feeling a resurgence of body image issues and other psychological crap coming to the surface. Everything in my life at that point felt so uncertain, and I was dealing with crippling self-doubt. In a weird way, I felt somewhat addicted to confirming my own insecurity, and dating Rob certainly heightened my insecurities.
At the same time, it also provided me with a sense of potential security — at least theoretically. Amid all of the chaos in my life, at least I could have a boyfriend — even if he made me feel like shit. Sure, I was drunk. When we got there, it was clear that sex was going to happen note the passive voice.
I asked Rob if he had a condom. I told him his response made me feel uncomfortable and pressured — and I was proud of myself for speaking up. I was ready for the tides to turn. Rob smiled, told me there was nothing to worry about and cursorily convinced me that everything would be fine if we slept together sans condom.
So I went through the motions. After that night, Rob always wanted to spend time together. He texted me every day throughout the day. When he arrived, he spent the entire time asking me why I had roommates, why I lived in Brooklyn as opposed to Manhattan , and critiquing my furniture. And there I was — doing just what he wanted, and still somehow attracted to him, even though he made me feel, quite literally, like a crazy person. The combination of his pseudo-obsessive way of letting me know he was thinking of me all the time and his total disregard for what I actually wanted and needed from a partner resulted in my feeling completely obsessed.
Plus, as I mentioned, there was my superficial interest in Rob-as-idea. The concept of dating someone who was good-looking, who had a great job, and was intellectually brilliant gave me enough fodder to entertain rich fantasies of a good relationship. Somehow, each time Rob and I were apart, I would kind of forget about how shitty I felt when we were together. What the hell made me go through all of this — voluntarily? At the same time, testosterone is heightened, which distorts our judgment.
The scariest thing was my willingness to neglect myself. But the scariest thing was my willingness to neglect myself. For me, the greatest irony is that I was completely aware that Rob was wrong all along. After growing up in a close and stable family, I was flirting with emotional danger and adventure. I think I wanted to show myself that I could change Rob — that I could be so easygoing and kind that he would eventually show me actual love.
I talked to therapist and writer Linda Carroll about this. Her take was a bit discouraging but it made sense. In other words, our biology e.