I Don’t Date at Work

Summary

The author reflects on the complexities of workplace relationships, personal growth, and the emotional intricacies of moving on from a difficult past.

Abstract

The narrative "I Don’t Date at Work" delves into the author's resolve to avoid romantic entanglements at her workplace, a commitment tested by her interactions with a supervisor who showed interest in her during a vulnerable period post-divorce. Despite the comfort and support he offered during her recovery from a traumatic marriage and divorce, she maintained her boundaries, even as she grappled with her own desires for love and companionship. The story unfolds the emotional turmoil of navigating attraction and the realization of unreciprocated feelings, ultimately leading to acceptance and personal growth.

Opinions

The author initially found it easy to reject romantic advances due to her marriage but faced a challenge post-divorce.
She acknowledges the similarities between fear and love, emphasizing how her supervisor's emotional support helped her through tough times.
The author expresses a sense of emptiness and loss following her divorce, which contrasts with the supervisor's belief in her potential.
She critiques the societal perception of her age and readiness for the challenges she faced, implying that her youth was seen as a barrier to understanding her experiences.
The author admits to making poor decisions in her search for love, recognizing the impact of her divorce on her judgment.
She feels it was not her fault for developing feelings but acknowledges a shift in responsibility upon learning about her supervisor's partner.
The author describes a sense of competition and insecurity when comparing herself to the supervisor's partner, highlighting her struggle with feeling second best.
She eventually accepts that the relationship with her supervisor was not meant to be, despite her initial attempts to rationalize why he should be with her instead.

No exceptions

It was easier to say no when I was still married: tied up like I had been since a couple of weeks before my fourteenth birthday. It wasn’t hard to keep words, as kind as they were, at a healthy distance. He was nearly ten years my senior; he was my supervisor. Objectively off-limits even if he said or felt otherwise.

Then, I ran away. And things changed.

See, fear and love appear so similar from a distance: feelings and delirium sound about the same. When I was scared, he wove a blanket out of words to cover me: long nights melted into early mornings and he’d talk to me until I finally fell asleep. I was sick but he made me feel healthy: I was malnourished and my skin was yellowing but he believed in a woman whose shoes I had yet to step into. Shoes, he believed, had always been mine.

I had a brush cut, hair so thin that my scalp was visible. I wore a hat until I could stand to look at myself in the mirror without one. He told me I was beautiful when wild laughter was the only response I could summon from a heart that felt so, so empty. The divorce took it all and then it took some more: my home; my belongings; most of my clothes; my savings; my sanity.

“She’s too young for this”, said absolutely no one.

21. Too young, but in the face of brokenness, lines are blurred. I started turning left on red in the dead of night, and, against my better judgment, if there was any, let the walls come tumbling down. I stopped resisting and even encouraged the conversations that carried me through the first four brutal post-divorce winter months. Conversations that I hoped would lead to something because, after two long decades and some change, I just wanted to be loved.

Bad call.

I told myself that I should have known better. My divorce had taken a toll on me as years and years of trauma had finally come to a head. I should have known better. I wish I could have known better.

It wasn’t my fault…until I knew about her.

Her. Illusive. Stunning. Mystifying. Mixed like me. Insecure, unable to shake the feeling of being second ten years ago. Her. Successful. In some ways, a broken little bird just like me: but back then, all I could think about was why he chose her over me.

He told me almost everything and I overstepped my boundaries. These were the days in which I believed that everybody was entitled to my opinion. As he kept me on the backburner, I used mathematical equations to explain why he should leave her. I graphed trigonometric functions. I tried everything. Until I finally accepted that it wasn’t meant to be.

If this had been how she lost him, this is how he would have left me.