Rule number one. The most sacred rule of all: boundaries. You need boundaries. Without them you compromise yourself, values and worse you send out the signal of DESPERATION.
Women appear to have much more desperation when looking for love than men. If there is any cue that can bite you, it's being desperate. Nothing men like more than a desperate woman and a woman with low self-esteem. It attracts the worst. There are blog sites that train men how to find a desperate woman out there.
Desperation can bring out the worst. It leads us to wear the too tight dress, revealing too much cleavage, coming off to sexual and nixing the chance to find that commitment switch. Being the girl next-door is probably the most powerful tactic you can take in finding Mr. Right. One of the biggest mistakes women make is in amping up their sexuability too soon. Good men want wholesome women who will be fabulously sexual with them and only them. If you don't agree go into therapy or become an escort.
Let me tell you about what my friend Tara did. She is probably one of the most beautiful women I know. She had one goal: to find love. For the next year I watched her fumble and bumble her quest with at least twenty different guys. For the sake of parsimony I'll narrow them down—I want you to see how attachment style feeds off of desperation. It you looked up that word in the dictionary her face would have been plastered to it.
At the time of her divorce I was a teaching at a small college and I introduced her to Rob, a clam handsome divorced father of two. I knew him well, he came from a wonderful family and had strong values and was looking for exactly what she was; a loving partner to spend the rest of his life with. He was secure, came from a close knit family and they hit it off. She'd call me each day and tell me of their wonderful conversations and how quickly they found shared interests and that connection. But a months into their connection I sensed something was wrong.
Driving some 60 miles each way to his house, she was there every day and had practically moved in. "Don't you think you're moving too fast," I asked her. She thought nothing of it and waylaid my fears. But soon after he called me to tell me that he had to cool it all off. "She's a great woman, but she is too over powering. I think she needs time to figure out what she wants," he said to me. The next weeks were spent weeping into my pillows and accidentally texting him.
Her next plan was on-line dating. After hundreds of profiles she found Barry, he looked good, had a great job and relayed that he was seeking a long-term relationship. Barry however was our dismissive type; he was already forty and had never been married. All his vibes told me he lived to fly solo and had little need for a real relationhip—one that required real interaction—because for the next weeks they texted compulsively, chatted on the phone all night and there was still no meeting. I had no doubt he was a pretexter- my term for those people who form on-line attachments and never move beyond the surreal world of texting and sexting because it satisfies them. Finally she wrangled a meeting out of him. When she stopped over before her date I was shocked. She stood in a revealing dress, too blond, too overdone and raged desperateness. So can you guess what happened? His picture didn't say that his head was far too puny for his body, that he had a weak chin and small female-like hands. Nor did it say I hate desperate women. Before they even ordered the entrée he fled the scene. We had another week of crying and self-loathing.
Even approaching that desperation thing was impossible. Next was Mr. Preoccupied—Nate. The desperate meets the desperate. Nate was handsome and giving and soon I named him Mr. Velcro. That name—preoccupied—it means they are preoccupied with getting dumped. When you are afraid to lose in the game of love, you tend to do one thing; wind your way into that target's life. He whined and wined her—practically moving into her house. He had no career to speak of other than worshiping the various women he had loved, or professed to have love. I listened to his syrupy sweet anthems each night, and watched her walks around my house like a deranged Fellini character, in a bra and thong. I wanted to vomit.
Way too fast is how these relationships work because desperation feeds off other desperation. It took some shocking realities to lift the veil; he was an alcoholic, had a criminal record, was living off his mother's credit card, had no real job aspirations and the house he supposedly lived in? At forty, he had 8 college aged roommates. Her puppy dog turned into a monster.
Now that we've described it, my next blog will detail the signs.
In the meantime tell yourself you are worthy, he needs to prove himself- not the other way around. Men need to compete, to woo and to work for our love. THAT IS SCIENCE my dears.
Anything worth having is worth working for- the principle of effort justification. Google that !