What I Miss the Most

Do you know what I miss the most? Holding his hand. More than all the text messages, the checking in, the phone conversations–I miss those too–but I especially miss holding his hand. I don’t think I’ll ever forget being tucked into his jacket one cold night, chests and hearts connected, shivering against the brutal San Francisco wind.

Less than one month later, he sent me a curt text on Memorial Day: “Sorry I need to cancel tomorrow. I’m going to try dating someone I met exclusively.”

My heart sank.

It was a shitty way to handle the situation and I told him so. He had the decency to pickup the phone when I called. But he’s not a shitty guy. In times like these, you wish whoever is scorning you were Trump or JD Vance or Kash Patel or Pam Bondi or any other heartless MAGA detritus. He was the opposite: kind, generous, thoughtful.

Our second date was to Cirque du Soleil. He squeezed my hand during intermission, “We should have brought your son. He would have loved this.”

He took me on the very best dates. I remember having cocktails at the bar of Bix restaurant. When he went to the restroom, the woman sitting in the barstool next to him turned to me and asked, “Is that your husband?” I laughed and said we were just dating. “He seems like such a catch!” I giggled even more and asked if he’d planted her there.

He was a loving son. Spent quality time with his dad, talked about him a lot, said he was his best friend, just like my dad was my best friend.

Nevertheless, a text is a shitty way to end things with someone you’ve been dating for 5 months. He had stated on his dating profile: “Sorry if I ghost you. I’m picky.” I thought it was an odd thing to put on a profile–cocky and insensitive.

He defended his final text to me: “I didn’t have to tell you anything. I could have ghosted you or just kept sleeping with you while I was with someone else.”

It reminded me of Maya Angelou’s quote: “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Damnit, I should have swiped left.

With him, however, I finally found someone who was emotionally available and vulnerable. He was responsive and communicative. He knew how to calm me down when I was upset.

He asked why I never reciprocated with a fraction of the praise he showered on me. I told him not to take it personally, it just wasn’t my approach. “Do you think I tell my kid how great he is? No, we talk about how we can be better. Do you think I’m paid to blow smoke up my clients’ butts? No, I give them clear, specific feedback on what we need to do to succeed. It’s all about improvement!”

He gave me the answers to the test and still I failed. I pride myself on being a straight A student. I tell my medical team I will be the best patient. I show up. I do the work. I’m receptive to feedback. I make changes. I get better.

Blaming him for ending things didn’t last long before I turned and started blaming myself. I deserve that–the self blame. I realized how selfish and unsupportive I had been, not just with him, but in all my romantic relationships.

I am the unicorn and I prance around expecting nothing less than adoration. No one can beat my pedigree. I am an amazing mom to the best 12 year old in the universe. I don’t work full-time. I have a flexible schedule. I have an excellent relationship with my ex-husband. For the most part, I am friends with my exes. I have the best friends and family. I’m athletic. I can sing, dance, play the piano, do cartwheels.

I have pretty strict criteria and very few guys pass my filters. But in the rare case a unicorn does get through, even he will eventually leave if I never encourage or compliment him, or show any interest in his passions.

I understand my accountability in this most recent relationship failing. It has taught me a lot about genuine partnership. Luckily, the next person is going to get an even better version of me. Hopefully the best partner I’ve been thus far. It’s all upside from here. I needed this time to process, grieve, and figure out how I was culpable in its demise. My poor bruised heart. I am working on healing and hopeful for the future.

He was writing a book, using AI. Science fiction, I think. I rolled my eyes when he talked about it. If you’re going to write a novel, use your own brain and creativity.

So I’m taking my own advice. No AI. All Catherine. I wrote this to capture the highs and lows of dating in narrative form, something that can’t be captured in a few seconds of an Instagram reel. I also wanted to prove that I’m a better writer–a UC Berkeley English major for Christ’s sake. Not only am I a better writer than him, I sure as hell am a better writer than AI. I have feelings and emotions and self-awareness that AI will never understand.

I’m thankful for the last five months of dating him. He was a gift. And this personal essay is my gift to you.