I Pretended To Be A High-Value Woman For A Day
Low self-esteem makes it tough to demand your worth.
Do you know what a “high-value woman” is? It’s someone who is in touch with her feminine side, dresses classy, has a strong social circle, is powerful in pursuing her dreams, and takes care of her appearance. It’s a woman who will walk away from any situation where she is uncomfortable or isn’t treated well.
Yeah.
That’s tough for anyone suffering from depression and low self-esteem.
Tonight, I’m pretending to be a high-value woman.
For eight months, I’ve blissfully dated Jeremy. He’s everything I didn’t think I’d ever find in a guy. Good-looking. Great job. Funny. Has kids. Full head of hair. A self-deprecating sense of humor. Confident. Knows how to fix shit around my house. Lets sarcasm roll off him and isn’t a douchebag.
Most importantly: I still adore him. Historically, the red flags and random irritations seep in within the first week. I resorted to a lifetime of collecting cats and finding random fuck buddies. Instead, I’m in love with him and could see a life with him.
The problem? I’ve tried to get him to open up about his thoughts on “us”. What are we? Is he banging other people? Is this a fun ride, all casual? I resorted to the belief that I’ll wait until he falls in love with me and it’ll sort itself out.
After a day of not hearing from him and my anxiety shooting through the roof, I decided that I deserve better. Jeremy’s perfection doesn’t trump my need for inner peace. His inconsistent behavior hurts me and I had to be willing to cut him loose.
I wrote my plan for tonight in this Medium post:
In a nutshell, I’m confronting Jeremy.
As I get ready for the night, I’m annoyed. First, I have to drive to his place. From there, Uber it to the restaurant where he’s having a work dinner. Then, Jeremy and I will grab drinks somewhere nearby.
I text when I arrive and sit at the restaurant bar. It’s multiple levels and I don’t want to wander to find him if he’s still wrapping up his work event. The bartender tells me I’m “absolutely gorgeous”, which are two words that have never been uttered about me. It gives me a much-needed confidence boost.
Jeremy shows up and we sit at a high top. He’s borderline drunk. “Before my coworkers show up, I wanted to tell you about the house. I finally made a deal with my ex-wife to buy it!”
I exclaim in excitement while internally dreading meeting his coworkers because I thought they were leaving after his dinner. I’m wearing a low-cut tight black dress with no bra. Slutty Classy isn’t the look I want when meeting business professionals.
Jeremy continues. “But that means for a while cash is going to be tight. I can’t take you out to a lot of places.”
I put my hand on his face. “Do you think that matters to me?” It does, but he’s buying a six-bedroom house by the ocean so I’ll let it slide. “We can stay in, watch movies, and eat sandwiches. What have I done to make you think I need fancy things?”
“Because you deserve it,” Jeremy drunkenly slurs. “You deserve all the things.”
Wait, what? This is the first time I’m hearing him speak of him and I like we’re in some relationship capacity.
After an evening of drinking and pretending to give a shit about his coworkers who joined us (all dressed in suits or business casual, while I’m covering my chest to avoid them seeing my nipples sticking out like a whore), we step outside and wait with a female coworker until her Uber arrives. Given that it’s St. Patrick’s Day, there are loads of drunken partiers everywhere.
“Hey!” a guy yells at us as he leaves the restaurant. “We’re going to the Rusty Bird, you wanna join us?” I look over and see he ordered an Uber SUV, big enough to carry more people. Jeremy is surprised when I tell him we’re hopping in this Uber with strangers. I’ve got a cool go-with-the-flow persona to uphold.
The Rusty Bird is a dive bar with a live band. We get the worst drinks I’ve tasted in my life and sit down. With the cover band wailing, I bite the bullet and begin my spiel with Jeremy about his inconsistency. It’s shorter than expected given the music is loud, it’s late, and we’re both drunk.
I tell Jeremy how he’s dependable with everyone in his life and his routine is like clockwork. I end it by explaining how being the outlier in his life sucks and to stick with a pattern. He replies, “this seems like a conversation we should have back at my place.”
“Wait, really? Why?” I reply.
“Because I want to be able to defend myself,” he answers. Defend himself? What the hell does that mean? Why does this sound so serious?
We hang out for a while longer and eventually head out. In the Uber back to his place, my brain is reeling. But I need to stand my ground that I can’t handle the waffling in his behavior between being all up in my nuts to complete crickets.
Back at Jeremy’s place, he wanders towards his bedroom. “Oh, hell no,” I tell him as I lead him to the couch. We flop down and I reiterate my stance of not knowing what’s going on and that if he only wants to contact me once a month, then stick with once a month.
From this point onward, I’m paraphrasing as best I can what became a three-and-a-half-hour conversation.
“Listen, I’m jaded from everything with the divorce.” Jeremy prattles in a drunken haze. “Defining things, using the L Word, that’s just too scary to do.”
Wait, what? Who said anything about love? I just want the guy to commit to texting on a regular cadence. He goes on a spiel about short-term and long-term relationship ideals.
“You’re awesome. You’re so fucking hot. And you’re smart. Like, really fucking smart. I don’t know who was the fucking idiot who ever made you feel dumb because you’re like, really smart.” Jeremy prattles. “I have so much fun with you. I think we work well together.”
“Okay, that’s the short term…what’s long-term?” I nervously ask.
Jeremy's drunken state turns to sleepiness as I prop his head up to stop him from passing out on the couch. This is the most honesty I’ve gotten from him in eight months, I’ll be damned if he falls asleep. “I think you’re soooooo awesome. But then like, living together. How would that work with blending families?”
How did the conversation go down a path about domestication plans?
He tells me how he doesn’t see how my kids could get along with his kids, based on what I’ve told him. It stings because I tell him the horrible-but-funny tales about my kids since no one gives a shit if my kid got an award in school compared to a funny meltdown over a hoodie. I feel like I’ve been punched in the face.
Jeremy continues his drunken talk. He explains that while he and I are on the same page with parenting styles, he doesn’t think he could get over all the ways my ex-husband Joseph is handling the kids. He knows everything I do is to offset Joseph’s parenting style: never make them clean anything, baby them, and let them stay inside to play video games all day.
He asks if I could ever see that working out. I tell him that I’m goal-oriented. If I want to make something like that work, I’m going to research the fuck out of it to find out best practices and how to minimize any negative impact. Unlike his ex-wife throwing his kids to a new environment so she could rush into her new life, I’m fine being extra cautious because it’s all about their needs, not ours.
I straddle Jeremy on the couch and continue to hold his sleepy head. “Tell me then, what’s ‘long term’?” I ask. The conversation goes on random tangents as I reel it back in.
“I need to know what long-term is to you. What’s the date? When can I anticipate things will end so that I can mentally prep and then move on from that point?” I ask.
Jeremy knows it’s absurd to think this way. “I think we get along soooo well. But I can’t use the L-word. Put your hand on my heart, do you feel it?” Jesus Christ, the most pragmatic man on earth is waxing poetic on me.
“Um, do you mean like physically or emotionally? I can’t even figure out where my hand should be,” I reply as I rub my hand on his chest.
Through roundabout ways, Jeremy tells me loves me. My brain is blown. Blown. Still, I refuse to let him pass out until he tells me what “long-term” means. “It’s not fair to let me continue this without knowing when you’ll decide we’ve hit the long-term mark and it’s over. You need to tell me,” I insist.
Jeremy asks how I feel. I proceed to tell him everything that I’ve spilled over months of ranting on Medium: I have absolutely no control and playing the chill girl sucks when I have no idea what’s going on.
“Wait, you’ve been playing the chill girl? Really? Because you’re really good at it. I thought you were chill with things,” he replies with his head slumping down, begging for sleep. I explain that I am not and that this is the most he’s told me about how he feels about anything.
After hours more of the same kind of babble, we establish that I don’t give a fuck if he’s too much of an emotional pussy to call me “girlfriend”, at this point I’m calling him “boyfriend”. I understand how he feels about me. He understands how I feel about him. The concept of panicking about long-term plans is unnecessary because the pandemic has taught us that anything can change at any moment. Jeremy asks me to stop feeling like I don’t have any control over this relationship.
“I’m kind of half-crying” Jeremy says when talking about his emotions about me. Dude…I just wanted you to text me on a regular cadence, you’re the one who went down the emotion path.
At 4 am, I put him out of his exhaustive misery and drag him to bed so he can sleep.
I’m still in shock that this all went down.
Jeremy loves me. He’s committed to me. He’s thought about a future with us.
And for the first time, I feel the same way back. He’s not a placeholder or someone I use as a distraction. I’m not planning my breakup strategy.
Therapy mentality dictates that your happiness should never derive from a relationship with someone else.
However, not having relationship stability creates unhappiness. I didn’t realize that until now. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I will never settle again for inconsistency or unknowns. I’ll never use a guy as a distraction or placeholder. I’ll never go on a date and let a man I’m not interested in even kiss me, let alone paw my body. I’ll never ignore red flags after a first date.
High-value women aren’t doing any of that shit.
I didn’t relate to the definitions of a high-value woman. Now, I know exactly what it means: not settling for any relationship that brings less than joy and advocating for my needs, regardless of the outcome.
