Tinder and Blind

It has taken me years to update this blog. I have thought about doing so many times but life has well and truly got in the way, until today. As I come up to the final few days before I go on maternity leave with my second child (and no step-children!), I thought it is probably time to write down what a contrast my life has taken since my last post.

The last you heard from me (unless you actually know me) was that I had a boyfriend with whom I’d moved from Dubai back to London, and encouraged him to get in contact with his estranged daughter, for which I would become a ‘step mother’ figure to. We were together almost four years before I broke up with him. It was really hard for me to do, but as Covid hit and we were together 24/7, I realised I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. I felt like a mother in our relationship, rather than part of a team. We had very different interests and values and I was staying because I felt a duty of care to him.

I ended up moving out and staying with an old school friend for a few months. During which time, lockdown had opened up a bit and the only other person I knew that had a breakup in their thirties, was a colleague of mine, Max.

Max and I were work friends for a couple of years and had a lot in common in terms of our upbringing. We would also be the ones who left the bar last and offloaded our relationship woes onto eachother, though Max actually encouraged me to stick it out and make things work with my ex, because, after all, lockdown was a whole different situation that no one had ever experienced before. I took his advice after a couple of long lockdown walks around Regents and Hyde Park, where we’d drink prosecco decanted into thermos flasks, and just chat till it got dark (I had invited my ex along to these walks but he always rejected them, telling me to go while he worked). I really tried. But alas, I knew deep down that I wasn’t happy.

The straw that broke the camels back for me was when my grandad had a heart attack; I packed my bags and jumped in the car to drive to Devon to see him. I didn’t even think twice about my ex coming with me or not- I wanted to go alone even though he had offered to accompany me. My grandad luckily recovered well and when I left to drive back to London, I’ll never forget the words he said: “sometimes the hardest things we have to do in life, turn out to be the best. You know what I’m referring to.” I knew in that moment that he was referring to my relationship. I had also walked along the beach and burst into tears to my best friends, telling them I just wasn’t happy and they aired the revelation that they didn’t think we were compatible.

I returned to London and broke up with my ex. It was extremely hard; the guilt of telling him I wasn’t happy- convincing him that he wasn’t either. The words ‘my mum trusted you’, referring to his late mother whom I’d promised I’d stand by her son and ensure he would be okay. The guilt of now having a little girl who saw me as a sort of parental figure, that I’d now be losing. It was hard.

I leant on Max for support; as I said, I didn’t know anyone else that had been through a breakup in their thirties, and he had broken up with his ex a year prior. He went through a bout of depression after his breakup but was coming out of the other side and was a huge crutch for me. He encouraged me to go out and do things for myself, and we planned a summer of fun now that lockdown was ending. I had a few weddings that year and asked him to be my +1 as a mate, we thought it’d just be two colleagues who were good friends, getting drunk and partying all summer- the roaring 20’s as everyone was calling it- by now of course, it was 2021.

I had a cottage in the Cotwolds then, in which I went on my own to visit and get some down time to think. I’d go on long walks and just cry, feeling totally lost. I’d call friends and tell them how lost I felt. Some came to the cottage with booze, sweets, food, a proper girls weekend- for which I’ll forever be grateful. I took some time and moved in with my friend while I figured out my next step in terms of a more permanent living situation.

Max continued to be a support to me, we went on another lockdown walk and he kissed me, saying ‘we knew it was always going to happen’. I genuinely didn’t. I remember saying ‘but we’re friends’, he apologised, and I kissed him back. A lot. I felt a connection and was totally surprised by how quickly I saw him in a different light. He was adamant that I wasn’t to use him as a rebound, that I should spend the summer having fun. I signed up to dating apps, got back in contact with old flames, but still I couldn’t stop thinking about Max. We went to bars again, I was out a lot- any chance I got for brunch, drinks, catch ups, I was there. A group of close colleagues and I all met up and Max and I would sneak off for a kiss without anyone else knowing. It was exciting. I was also aware that I shouldn’t rush into anything, but my god it felt so right. A few months in, Max asked me on a date, a ‘I want to take you out on a date, not as mates’. And he did. Everything just clicked into place and it felt as though my whole life had been leading up to this and it was undeniable.

In June 2021 I went to a friends wedding in Mykonos, and found myself catching the bouquet and sending him photos of me in a veil- anyone would’ve run a mile and thought I was mad. Max sent the photo to his sister in more of an affectionate way than a ‘I have a psycho on my hands’.

At the end of June I took a client out for lunch. Coincidentally, Max was taking his clients to the same place but a day later- he told me to change it to the same day so we could all be there together. I did. No one at work knew about us yet, we wanted to keep it for us, to ensure it was the real deal. But that didn’t stop us from telling our clients! By the end of our meal we had joined tables and Max’s clients all knew what was going on with us. Max had to leave for a stag do so I hosted his clients and we continued into the night. When I got home, I had noticed that I’d been getting up to use the loo way more than usual that day, so at around midnight, I did a pregnancy test (don’t ask why I had one at home). I just knew it would be positive, and it was. I looked in the mirror and said out loud ‘oh my god, I’m pregnant!’. I just stared at myself in the mirror and although in shock, it was a happy shock.

Max was none the wiser at a stag in Devon. I googled ‘what do you do when you find out you’re pregnant?’. and I did not sleep. I text the people I knew who would be up- friends in America and Hong Kong, I also called my brother, to no avail. The next morning at 6am, I called my brother again and told him- ‘oh my gyod’ was his reaction. I had told my brother all about Max, but now something very serious was about to happen. I needed reassurance that I was doing the right thing by not calling Max and telling him over the phone; I got the reassurance and so waited. I went to lunch with a friend and kept it quiet- popping into Boots at Liverpool Street to get prenatal vitamins while I waited for her. I wanted to tell her with every part of me, but I didn’t want everyone knowing before Max.

That felt like the longest day of my life, not telling him. I waited till he was home in London, and walked from Victoria to Battersea Park before texting to ask if he could meet me in the park. I had worked out that the due date would be bang on his birthday, so when I saw him we sat on a bench and I said ‘expect a special delivery on your birthday’. He looked at me with wide eyes (probably from a heavy weekend) and said ‘really? no way? this is the best news ever’. And I said ‘are you sure? are you happy? i can’t do this as co parenting friends, so we’re all in’ and he said ‘yes of course’.

And that was the beginning of our family.

Nine months later in December, on my birthday, we were in Mexico where he proposed in the most romantic way- on the beach with champagne and rose petals, a photographer, and our baby girl. It was perfect. About a month later, we accidentally conceived our second child!

Which brings me to today, writing from our house in Surrey (remember one of my previous posts said one day I want a house in Surrey to bring up two kids, and have an amazing husband? I was 26 when I wrote that, and it’s basically happened). After moving from my friends spare room, to a house in Battersea, completing my Masters in Psychology, working, having our little girl in Chelsea, before moving to Surrey after finding out we were expecting number 2, we are now hoping to buy our first family home here. I do have to reflect and think about how my life has developed, and just sit and realise how bloody lucky I am to have what I have; especially in terms of Max and my daughter- and soon to be baby two!

If my story is anything to go by, it’s proof that life can work out in the most unexpected, magical way.

5th-12th March

Sunday-Wednesday went well, I stuck to the plan and all was well. Then two of my friends landed in Dubai and it all went downhill. Brunch, 32 shots, gin, cocktails, jagerbombs, another brunch, dessert, chocolate, cheesecake, rice, pasta, bread. The list goes on, and on. I went to F45 training for five days last week instead of six, but I’m going to ensure I go six days this week and do a run or two as well.

It’s Monday now and I usually start my Monday on Sunday’s because the working week here in Dubai is Sunday-Thursday, but I had the day off work yesterday so my new week back on the plan is now.

I feel awful for my over indulging, but it was worth the fun with my friends. A weekend of stories that will go down in our friendship history.

This is the final week of the longest phase on the plan and next week will see the start of the keto phase, high fat and low carb to (hopefully) shed the fat and find my abs. Though after last weekend I’m not sure my abs exist anymore. I’m looking forward to being prepped and not drinking or eating anything off plan again for the next three weeks. So don’t invite me on any brunches, please.

Last weekend I received a message from a friend in the UK. It started off with ‘Dear Dating Guru’ before delving into the question which required adequate advice. It struck me that this isn’t an uncommon occurrence, me being asked for advice. I’m some sort of natural agony aunt and I have no idea why, but if it’s because I seemingly give logical advice then I’m happy to help.

Once I responded to this message I thought that it may apply to others too (I promise I asked more than just the one question, and I realise my sense of time was out here, too!). I asked my friend’s permission before openly publishing it. She shall remain anonymous.

The premise of this dilemma was that after some back and forth messaging over the past week, the boy in question was going through some work issues which my lovely friend wanted to help him with, just by being an ear for him. However, he hadn’t responded to her offer and previously had accused her of being too closed off with him.

It also unfolded that my friend had instigated all messages that week. This is a key detail. She wanted to message again telling him how she felt, namely rejected that he hadn’t responded to her sympathy after breaking down some barriers which she only did once he asked her to. Understandably she was annoyed and found it rude.

Now being the outsider I have to play devils advocate and see his side also. He’s having issues, I tell her, he might be grateful for the advice but just isn’t in the right place in his head right now to read too deeply into anything. So my advice? Don’t instigate any more messages. He knows her offer is there because she has made it clear. Don’t double text. Don’t tell him you’re frustrated/annoyed or think he’s being plain rude by breaking down her barriers then ignoring her. Just. Wait.

This applies to most situations: If he’s into you then he will reply, he will always message first if he is interested. Period. If someone is into you then they will make the effort, even if it is just one message among a busy morning.

Being on both sides I know it’s bloody hard to ignore your phone when you’re the last texter. You start over analysing situations and coming up with scenarios in your head, which ultimately (non rationally ) make you want the other person more. Everyone loves a challenge. If my friend doesn’t message then he will notice it, 100%. She automatically has the power shifted to her, no we don’t like all these games in our late twenties, but I’m sorry The Game doesn’t have an age limit. At the end of the day if you want to be wanted, you need to become a challenge to the other person.

I am assured she took my advice, even if she’s itching to message him abuse telling him he’s rude. She would usually be frosty with him (read message), but again, no need. Wait for him to respond, and if he doesn’t? Not worth the effort. Move on.

Below is an article I wrote for Elite Daily which can also be found here: http://elitedaily.com/dating/single-terrified-settling-down/1512116/

Three years ago, I found out my ex was living a double life. A year later, he was married to the girl he cheated on me with, and last month, I found out they are expecting a baby together.

I’m not an obsessive psycho ex keeping tabs on it. I just found out through various means, and quite frankly, I was over it the minute I found out. But, I’m giving you the context of why I’m such a cynic when it comes to relationships.

Since then, the guys I’ve dated just don’t stack up to my new expectations of what a good relationship should be.

I’m not sure whether or not it’s because subconsciously, I don’t feel like I deserve a nice guy. I know I must have been cheated on for a reason. So, I become attracted to those I know I can’t change.

Another reason could be that I adapted so well to being single and not having any sort of commitment for longer than a couple of months. So now, I’m used to being the single girl with the good stories among my friendship group.

I’m 27, and when my mum was pregnant with me, she was told by a psychic that I would grow up to be a writer and get married at 28. She’s got one out of two things right so far, but the latter point scares me to death. This is especially true because according to my mum’s psychic, I have a year left to fall in love and get engaged. (Highly unlikely.)

What I want to know is, can you become so used to being single that you develop a phobia of being in a committed relationship?

I have been in two long-term relationships, so I know I can do it. But, I was a different person back then and oh so young. These days, the moment someone is interested in me, I freeze after a couple of dates and end up ghosting the guy. I’m the bitch, but really, I’m too scared of committing. So, I don’t want to end up wasting either of our time.

While speaking to fellow single girls, the ones who have been single the longest were also the ones who have been cheated on. So, I decided to do some research to see if it was something in our subconscious. An irrational fear, maybe?

It seems that after a while of being single, we become more selfish and notably more self-sufficient. We no longer need to think about another person’s needs before our own. It’s obvious, I know, but this means it’s harder to care for someone else as easily.

Our defense is on high alert, even during the first date. So, we can usually suss whether or not we will agree to a second pretty quickly.

Going from one relationship to the next within a shorter span of time is much easier for us to adapt to because we haven’t stopped flexing our relationship muscle memory. It makes sense.

For those of us who have been single for a while, at least we know what not to settle for. We know exactly what we’re looking for in the opposite sex. The thing to remember here is, perfect doesn’t exist, and our expectations outweigh reality over time.

The best thing I read during my research was this paragraph on thoughts4men.com, which states the following about settling down:

It’s all just to cover up the face you’re scared, and your instincts are telling you to run in the opposite direction as fast as possible because then you can’t be hurt by this person who now has partial dictatorship over your happiness. The greatest risk of all is..staying..and giving in to the fact you’re actually starting to care about someone. Someone who now has the ability to destroy you.

Which just about sums up how I feel. Why give away a piece of yourself that could get trampled on again? Instead I created a barrier which hasn’t been chipped away at in close to three years. Commitment phobe or what, eh?

We are in Generation Y. This means we’re different to the majority of our parents and our grandparents when it comes to the dating game. Firstly it wasn’t a game to them, the male stereotypically courted the lady they liked, if she reciprocated they would usually end up getting married and having babies usually before they turned 25. More so in our grandparents era, they stayed together till death did them part, that is if they aren’t still alive,  still well, and probably still together.

On average these days, by the time we blow out our 25th candle we have been through (what we deem) two long term relationships and countless flings. Our generation rarely finds ‘the one’ at school age before going on to plan their funerals together.

I do have friends however who are in this minority, well at least they are on the road to it. Childhood or teenage sweethearts who turned into husband & wife, and parents- with no break in between.. so it does still happen.

But what about going back to your first love? Our first relationships are poignant because we have nothing to compare them to, we think this is our life with this one teenage dream forever; but then we grow up, drift apart, get into other relationships and move on as a natural progression, or in other words; life happens. A decade later, you have grown, physically and mentally. You have experience under your belt (literally), you’ve built up a career, tried new cuisine, travelled, been out with crazies, had one night stands, woken up in awkward situations, been in more long term relationships and read every man hating instagram account out there. So, armed with all this knowledge & experience and an opportunity presents itself to your ex, should you go back there, ever?

I got into my first real relationship aged 16 and we broke up exactly three years later during my second year at uni and his umpteenth deployment with the Navy. We broke up amicably and stayed in touch sporadically ever since. We both got into other relationships but we always kept in touch just as friends and never in person.

Years passed, eight to be precise, before we met up face to face. Both of us single, me now living in Dubai; a very different life to that of circa 2008 at uni in Portsmouth living the skint student life. Him still in the Navy having worked his way up the ranks. Both considerably better off in many senses than when we last sat eating breakfast across from eachother.

It was totally natural, we were friends catching up on life but we were still the same people, or we are still the same people, I should say. We grew up through the most crucial teen years together, experienced many firsts together and it was the first time our families accepted that their child wasn’t their little baby anymore. Our circumstances have changed, yes, but we are essentially no different to who we were when we met.

So how the eff have we managed to go from grabbing breakfast to the point where we’re going on holiday together? (firstly we all know I’m a fan of an international date).. I live in Dubai, he has a month off work, we are friends and Dubai is a holiday destination..Literal Ex on the Beach shiz is going down. Okay, we are taking a week to travel around Sri Lanka too and are going to be staying at the most incredible places: elephant orphanages, beach houses, a safari hotel, so that’s my holiday bit.

After booking this trip I started to think about all the advice I have read and have given, how you should never go back, always look forward, never back. Remember your first love and how you talked about all the future plans, with no doubt whatsoever that it won’t happen? the probability is that those plans turn into fantasies which are now cute little memories of things that never were meant to be.  Well this is actually happening a decade on which I would never have advised, but we are grown ups and we will always be in touch no matter what.

Although nothing long term can or will happen because we live on different continents, I think what I’m trying to get across is that going on holiday together feels totally normal because no one knows you like your first love knows you, so I won’t care as much when I inevitably fall off an elephant or get bitten by a rabid dog because he will fully expect that of me.

Update: We went on holiday, remain as firm friends. There’s a reason we shouldn’t go back, and I learnt it while travelling. There’s no point in forcing something that isn’t meant to be. We were always meant to be just friends, and that’s fine with both of us.

I recently turned 27 and I joke a lot about my eggs ‘dying’ mainly because of that episode of New Girl when Jess freaked out. But despite being perfectly happy with my man (read: ‘pain’)-less life, during a boozy lunch with my gay best friend in London he asked me outright if I wanted kids.

I reacted quickly with ‘Yes! But my eggs are dying!’ as I usually jest, but he found my comment so hilarious that he posted my one liner as his Facebook status. After returning to my desk at work I read his status and typed into Google:  ‘the best child bearing ages’ out of curiosity. The first answer that appeared pulled a recent study from the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists which stated that the average childbearing age is now 29, whereas in 1968 (our parents era) it was 23.

The most ‘secure’ age to conceive a healthy baby is between 20-35 years old for women. Relief washed over me as I read that, knowing I’ve got at least another two years to find myself a boyfriend, husband, baby daddy, soulmate. Plenty of time to live the dream. But guys who are looking to settle down at that age may be older, seeing as men mature later than women. Not a problem, right? Wrong.

I was under the impression that a man of any age could easily get a fertile woman knocked up overnight. But according to the study, the average 40 year old man takes two years to get his partner pregnant, even if she is in her early twenties.

More data from the Millenium Cohort study which followed 18,000 British children found that those born to women in their thirties tended to be more intelligent with high cognitive scores. Various factors contribute to this, including that women in their thirties are stereotypically more physically and mentally prepared to have children, they are likely to have higher incomes and be in more stable relationships which in turn provides a better environment for their children.

So it shouldn’t be us women panicking about our body clock ticking overtime because our eggs are drying up. We shouldn’t be feeling the pressure if we’re single and wanting to conceive just because of timing. I’m a big believer in fulfilling your own ambitions and goals before unnecessarily panicking about getting knocked up just so you don’t miss the fertility boat. There’s plenty of time..

Girls are weird. We want to be swept off our feet by someone with looks and a personality trait list as long as our ASOS history orders, and yet when we are courted by a genuinely nice guy, we label him as ‘too keen’ or quickly dismiss him into the well known Friend Zone where flirting goes to die.

We complain about players, man whores, cheats; yet we pine after the bad boys, hanging off every word, waiting for the blue ticks on whatsapp then analysing the duration from ‘read’ to ‘reply’. These are the boys who will only message us when they feel like it and drop us when they’ve had their fun. And stupidly, we thrive off it.

The term for this type of male is the F**kboy, and yes it is a noun. F**kboys usually come in the shape and size of something that is hard to reach. We want the challenge of changing them once we get them, if we get them.

But what if you’re not a F**kboy? Well, then you are the guy who we dub as the keeno, aka genuinely nice but too easy and too predictable. Nice is fine once we think we’ve caught ourselves the player who has changed for us because it boosts our ego knowing that we wanted them so much, went through the mind games, and we now have them and they have turned into a doting prince for us. Winning. However, this is a rare occurrence, which is why I’m still single along with the majority (though quickly becoming the minority) of my friends. It can also often be laden with trust issues, either because the guy knows how easy girls have been and think all girls are like that, or the girl knows their new beau’s history which will bring on doubts as to why he would have changed for you. But if you are in this situation, I would just go with it and trust until it’s broken.

I digress. So what about those genuinely nice guys who don’t play the field and are focused on one girl? I have many male friends who are in this category (and unfortunately they live in my Friend Zone where they live happily), I try to set them up with female counterparts by describing him as ‘I have the nicest guy for you, I would only ever introduce you to someone lovely’ .. but what is lovely? Why does ‘lovely’ not sound attractive and why do we associate the adjectives nice and lovely as ‘boring’? I get so annoyed with friends who I know have passed up a great guy, and yet I’m also extremely guilty of it.

So after spending time with a friend who treats the girl he likes, the way any girl would love to be treated if they were into someone (‘if’ being the operative word here) she’s gone off the radar. My advice to him was to start behaving like a F**kboy. Even if it’s not his nature to be one, act, play her at her own game, go off the radar. It doesn’t mean he has to sleep around, just don’t double text, don’t answer if she calls, don’t send her a photo of something that reminds him of their time together, don’t reply to the next message, she will eventually have to get in touch and the power is then shifted. It’s a guarantee. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know why we are ungrateful to those who care about us and show an interest unless we feel the same way. It’s beyond the realms of my brain power, and I’ve had many a conversation with girl friends about why we are so anti when it comes to nice guys, yet we complain about them not existing knowing full well that at least one of our ‘nice’ boy friends have been in love with us at some point. (This is also true vice versa)

There have been many times where I personally have really liked someone who I thought I would never get, then they became the ‘keeno’ before I was ready and it totally put me off, even though they were exactly who I thought I wanted them to be, and I kick myself for not feeling the same.

I swear being single before dating apps like Tinder was easier, these mind games were less of an anxiety. These days you can’t do right for doing wrong, no one knows where they stand, if you tell someone you like them, they immediately dismiss you as too keen, whether you’re male or female. Being single is hard, dating is hard, and what’s harder is the effort you have to put your mind through to try and analyse situations.

As I said. Girls are weird.

It has been a month since I smuggled 50kg of clothes, shoes and a Nutribullet into a 30kg weight limit on board an Emirates flight. A month of moving into an apartment higher than Sushisamba, attending three brunches, drinking spirits out of watermelons, drenching myself in sun, making new friends and starting the job of running the MENA arm of a global company, with one other.

I haven’t had time to touch the ground and think about home properly. Although a few days ago was the first time I missed it slightly, when I would usually be around my aunty & uncle’s watching the rugby with my family and dog, instead I was round friends’ who I’d met but a mere few weeks previous, and yet felt like I had known them forever. Eating lasagne with my new ‘Dubai family’. It was at that point I thought ‘this is my life now’ no more going home for the odd weekend to see the fam.

I’ve already learned a lot from just one month being here. Firstly, as just noted; your friends become your family. It’s different from London because although I wouldn’t see my family for months at a time, bar my brother, I knew I could get on a train and three hours later I would be in front of the fire with dinner being cooked for me.

I would see my friends in London on more of an individual basis, dinner with one on a Tuesday, happy hour with another on a Thursday, out with the girls on a Saturday. The lifestyle here is more of a big group vibe. Brunches here aren’t like brunches back home.. a brunch back home consists of being hungover and going for poached eggs and avocado on sourdough at midday in Brixton Village while resembling Vicky Pollard. Brunches here are quite the opposite. Think dressing to the nines, heels, makeup, hair. Arriving at a plush venue (by home standards) and being greeted with drinks on arrival; any drink you like in the majority of cases brought to you by a dedicated waiter for the duration of your stay, followed by food. Lots and lots of food. I’m talking sushi, roast beef, chocolate tarts, cheese boards. The lot. This lasts around three to four hours before you’re spiralling into an all encompassed hangover by 6pm, and, if you can muster the energy for an after party, basically the rest of your weekend is spent feeling like death. Then when you don’t have a brunch booked in, you’ll have a yacht party, or a beach party. Every single weekend is taken up with some sort of party, life’s a f*cking party (and I’m loving it).

Second learning: No one walks anywhere. Like literally you get a cab bloody everywhere because they’re so cheap/it’s too hot/everything is too spaced out. See a trend here? Loads of food and drink, no exercise. Heeey weight gain. But it’s okaaaay, we all have gyms and pools in our buildings. We know they’re there, on the fifth floor, or was it sixth? Erm, they’re there somewhere and we will find them.. when a muffin top starts forming and spilling over our bikini bottoms.

Thirdly, what you’ve probably wanted to know more than anything. Boy goss. Not one to kiss and tell.. mainly because this year has been particularly ‘dry’. Owing mainly to the lack of men with confidence in London/ me not wanting to go on random Tinder dates anymore/me being hugely fussy and a bit of a bitch.

But here, fresh off the boat, I have had a bit of an eventful month of it (by my standards). But it’s not like me at all, I feel like I’m back at uni and I do need to chill out a bit. Although meeting people here is part and parcel of moving to a new place, jumping into bed with partial strangers and spending a week feeling guilty about it is not cool, drunken or not. Cue best behaviour and my wifey-material self.

I have had a few messages wanting advice on moving abroad. I would say it’s different for everyone, if you’re a home bird who can’t miss their mum’s Sunday roasts, stay put. If you’re not afraid of meeting new people and immersing yourself into the unknown, do it. I am so lucky to have good friends already here, from whom I’ve extended my friendship group, and without them I probably wouldn’t have made the decision to move. To me this isn’t the start of a new life, it’s an extension to it. The goal is to always settle back home, live in a big house in Surrey with dogs and kids and all that jazz. The best advice I ever received from my gran is: “Only settle with someone who has the same goals as you. You can be totally different people but if you are both going the same way in life, it will always work”. But until then, I need to live life and ensure I’ve got no regrets before I pop sprogs, oh and find a potential suitor of course..

Doin’ it.

We often hear about the women or men in relationships being cheated on, but what if you’re the other woman? How do you deal with knowing you’re embarking upon a one sided affair? Will you always be second best? Or what if you don’t know you’re seeing someone who’s taken?

At drinks last night after a particularly long day, a friend and I had a few stories about ‘the other women’ between us, not least because we’ve both been there. Two hours and the same amount of double gin and soda’s later as we left she said I should write a post on this very subject. All the anecdotes below don’t contain real names because I don’t fancy getting sued.

Story one was about a girl called ‘Amber’ who had been dating a guy for a couple of months. She had slept with him and he was a bit shady in general, so after a bit of standard social media stalking, she found out he had a wife. Not only was he married, but the wedding was two months earlier, meaning he had only been married for a month when he slept with her.

Now, morally, my inclination would be to tell the wife, to save her from a potential lifetime of cheating. Girl power and all that. Then we discussed the repercussions of telling her.

This would destroy her world, everything she’d built up to since she met the man of her dreams, shattered in one fell swoop. And who’s to say the wife would even believe Amber? At the end of the day, women believe what they want to believe, even ignoring friends and family.

We wear rose tinted glasses when we’re in love or we’re blinded by it, and without hard evidence we choose to believe the person (we think) we know, and of course love. It’s only hindsight that makes us realise what idiots we’ve put up with.

If this bride were a friend of hers then she would obviously have known she was married to the guy, but in my opinion that’s even more of a reason to tell her. Or just use common sense and don’t get with your friends man, like duh.

We agreed that in this situation, Amber was best to leave well alone and cut contact from the rat. The wife would find out eventually if he made this a habit, rather than come across as the ‘psycho other woman’ who ruined an early marriage.

Another double gin and soda ordered and we discussed another story we knew of and asked ourselves some questions on how we would deal with it. This was a puzzle.

What happens if a guy was in love with a girl, let’s call them Ben and Emma. Ben was really, truly in love with Emma, but she was somewhat unobtainable, however Ben still held out hope that it could work out, so for convenience he hooks up with a girl he knows to fill the void in the interim all the while keeping it from Emma, yet telling Emma she is the love of his life and other sentimental garble that men say when they want to have their cake and eat it too.

Emma eventually found out about the other woman. So then does that make Emma the other woman? Apparently Emma asked Ben about it and he confirmed that it was a random hook up because he wasn’t in a position to know if it would work out with them or not, and he would essentially drop his current beau for Emma because he loved her. So this is the awkward situation. Morals vs ease. Emma saw how quickly Ben could brush off a girl he’s with, so she definitely didn’t want to be with someone who treated a girl like that, but for female empowerment, is it the same as the last story?

My friend and I had two arguments to this story. I said if they aren’t friends then the new girl would just think that Emma wants to swoop in there and steal Ben back, even if that is absolutely not the case, this is where the rose tints come into play again.

So then should Emma just walk away and leave them to it, maybe his love would grow for the new girl and they can live happily. Or should she give the new girl a heads up so she’s not second best to Ben? In my opinion absolutely no girl should come second best to a guy they’re meant to be with so surely she deserves to know? Or maybe not?

Now for me. I saw a guy once who had a girlfriend, I didn’t know he was in a relationship and we even had mutual friends who thought he was single. Luckily though, Lu (the girlfriend) messaged me and asked me about it after noticing an innocent photo on Facebook. A woman’s intuition knows no limits, and she instinctively knew something was going on. I was gobsmacked when I found out he was in a full blown relationship, and I was for once, the other woman. I felt awful and suggested we met up. We did, and turns out he had great taste, because she is now one of my best friends. She is in a new amazing relationship and she’s a friend for life. Without me telling her the gory details of her ex and I’s relationship, she would never have known what a rat he was and maybe not have moved on. This is the epitome of female empowerment and I’m still so proud of how we dealt with that. A lot of girls would have fought over the man, or the girlfriend would have blamed the other woman, even if she, like I, had no idea he was in a relationship.

When I brought up my example last night, my friend said it was different to the Emma and Ben situation because Lu had contacted me first, so it didn’t seem as though I was trying to break up their relationship, because I had no idea about it!

So I guess there’s the difference. It’s a minefield. I know that I would want to know if I was being played, but many girls like living with rose tinted glasses, mainly because they’re terrified of being without.