Reflections on Relationships: Why I'm Choosing Myself

Lately, I've been increasingly reflecting on whether I truly need relationships at all. On the one hand, there's a part of me yearning for someone to care for me, yet on the other, I've grown so accustomed to solitude. My life feels comfortably unrestricted, and even the thought of potential limitations frightens me.

I can't build relationships with women—not even friendships. Somehow, nothing beyond mere physical attraction ever developed. As for men, frankly, I've grown rather disillusioned.

I long for a genuine man beside me; for instance (and this is merely one item from my extensive list), someone who sees when I need help and simply offers it without being asked. Someone who keeps his word. Recently, there was a situation where an acquaintance offered help without me asking, explicitly saying: "Just let me know when, I'll help." When the moment arrived, you know what he said? "Sorry, I only have one day off, and I've got my own stuff to do. I never promised you anything." How could he say he didn't promise? Must one explicitly use the word "promise" for their word to mean something? It's absurd. When I say I'll do something, it’s equal to giving my word. Honestly, I don't even want someone like that as an acquaintance. Essentially, he lied. My conversations with people like that are short-lived—I immediately cut off communication. Trust is critical for me, and once it's broken, even in small matters, it's hard to rebuild. If someone can't be relied upon for minor issues, imagine bigger ones.

Over the years, I've developed an extensive set of criteria for the ideal man I envision beside me, and truthfully, I doubt I'll ever meet him. The idea of blind love—"in sickness and health, for richer or poorer"—no longer exists for me. My experiences with toxic, destructive relationships have taught me invaluable lessons.

My first relationship was naïve—first love, rose-colored glasses. The second was long, tumultuous, and deeply unhealthy, stretching five years of constant quarrels, break-ups, and painful dependence. We literally couldn't live without each other. You cannot imagine what I went through to survive that. I reached a state where life felt unbearable—I lay on the floor crying, drank every day for a week just to numb the pain. Therapy, antidepressants, and moving abroad eventually helped me heal. Time passed, things became easier, and we even remained friends. But afterward, I became afraid to love again.

My next relationship—the most recent—ended badly, as many of you already know. It was brief because I had changed; I couldn't love unconditionally anymore. My feelings simply faded, and besides, he wasn't a real man. Only a true jerk could treat a woman the way he did.

All my relationships have been shadowed by restrictions and mistrust. With Alex, my last partner, I attempted a new approach, informed by past experiences, yet everything fell into an endless abyss of distrust and limitation.

Now, I think I'm just afraid. Whenever I sense something new might start, I immediately distance myself and cut off communication. Even small details that bother me are enough reason to end things—especially if just friendship isn't possible. Men who don't want serious relationships usually want casual friendships with sex, something that definitely doesn't suit me anymore. I'm not twenty.

And what happened to the men who give flowers and gifts? It feels like they've gone extinct, like mammoths. Sad, really—I long for exactly that kind of man, not someone who insists on splitting rent.

Sometimes I think my expectations are too high, but all I want is a man who can offer me more than what I've already achieved myself. And I've achieved a lot: I moved to the country I've dreamed of since childhood, bought my dream car, and recently relocated to a stunning new apartment on the 22nd floor in DTLA with a breathtaking view—I’ve always dreamed of living this high up. I travel often, it's my passion. I've done all this independently, without a man’s help. So why would I need someone who thinks paying for dinner gives him the right to expect something physical afterward? Sadly, that's the mindset of many men today. They're unwilling to put in effort to truly win a woman.

I've been completely alone for half a year now, without even casual intimacy, and I'm starting to question if I need anyone at all or if someone can even handle being with me. My character is complicated—I rarely show emotion even when I'm torn apart inside. Many who don't know me well might perceive me as heartless, but that’s far from the truth. I'm deeply sensitive; I just don't reveal it unless I choose to.

I despise meaningless daily chats: "How are you? What are you doing? How was your day? Plans?" I also detest feeling obligated to check-in messages disguised as concern, like: "Text me when you arrive, let me know when you're home, tell me when you're finished." I won't text sweet little messages every day—it nauseates me. Forgive me, but perhaps I possess too much masculine energy, since I live independently, solve my problems, and earn my own money. Only my work at the club balances this by allowing my feminine side to flourish.

Moreover, relationships mean having to announce plans—like vacations. What if he dislikes my traveling alone and insists on joining but can't because of work? Should I cancel? I couldn't bear that. I need freedom and trust in relationships, and though I doubt someone can provide everything I seek, I still hold hope.

Ultimately, I don't need someone who changes my life; I need someone who complements and enhances it. Of course, this article doesn't encompass all the qualities of my dream man, but I believe you get the idea.