What did he mean by “that’s much better”- I don’t understand..?

Dear Adalie:

I understand. I am so sorry about all the pain through all of this. I don’t know you irl, but I care nonetheless.

Anita⅝

Dear Adalie:

“This ghosting stuff has never happened to me before.”- and I hope it never happens to you again.

“Why share personal things and be quiet and gentle and let sex happen if he was gonna disappear and not talk to me again.”- it was easier for him to disappear. He chose what was easy for him.

I wish he didn’t. I wish he cared more about you than for his comfort level.

” Why me?”- if he really saw you, if he saw how special you are, he would have cared.

Anita

Hey Adalie,

I’ve been sitting with what you shared. It’s tender and layered, and I want to reflect something back that might resonate.

There’s a term — limerence — that describes the kind of emotional intensity you’re feeling. It’s not about being dramatic or irrational; it’s actually a very human response to longing, uncertainty, and the ache for connection. Limerence can happen when we fixate on someone — even after just one encounter — and start to build a whole emotional world around them. It’s not just about attraction; it’s about what that person represents to us.

Often, limerence serves a deeper need:

💗 A safe way to love someone-

Sometimes, loving someone from a distance — or holding onto a brief moment — feels safer than being in a real relationship. In real relationships, we risk rejection, disappointment, or being misunderstood. But in limerence, we get to imagine love without those risks. We can feel deeply, dream freely, and stay emotionally “close” without exposing our full selves or facing the messiness of real intimacy. It’s like loving someone through a window — we see what we want to see, and we stay protected.

🌟 A way to feel chosen, seen, or special — even if only in our own minds-

When someone gives us even a small amount of attention — a look, a kind word, a moment of care — it can light something up inside us. Especially if we’ve been feeling invisible, unchosen, or emotionally starved. Limerence lets us hold onto that spark and turn it into a story: “He saw me.” “I mattered to him.” “I was special, even if just for that day.” Even if the other person never said those things, our minds create a version where we were chosen — and that imagined feeling can be incredibly powerful.

🕊️ A way to anchor meaning to a moment that felt good-

When life feels chaotic, lonely, or full of emotional pain, we naturally reach for moments that felt good. That one day, that one look, that one connection — it becomes a kind of emotional lifeboat. We replay it, revisit it, and build meaning around it because it gave us something we needed: hope, warmth, a sense of being cared for. Even if it was brief or unclear, it becomes a symbol of what we long for — and sometimes, what we feel we’re missing.

Does any of this resonate, Adalie?

I remember my own limerence with Robert, my high school classmate. I was extremely shy at the time, with very low self-esteem. I was sensitive to any sign of rejection. Looking back, I think what made Robert safe to love — as a limerent object — was that unlike others, when he looked at me, it felt like he valued me. Or at least didn’t un-value me.

My life at home with my mother was miserable. I had no friends. So daydreaming about Robert — imagining that he loved me — became my emotional lifeboat. It gave me the sense of being cared for, of being chosen, seen, and special — feelings I didn’t have in real life.

One night, after a youth movement meeting, he offered to walk me home. Just me and him. My response was immediate: I said “No” and walked home alone. It’s a “no” I endlessly regretted. I was just too afraid.

Back to you, Adalie: your heart responded to a moment that felt real and nourishing — and it makes sense that you’d want to hold onto it. But sometimes, when someone is emotionally unavailable or ambiguous, our minds fill in the gaps with fantasy. We start to imagine who they are, what they feel, and what could have been — and that imagined version becomes a kind of emotional refuge.

It’s not foolish. It’s protective. It’s your heart trying to make sense of something that felt beautiful but unfinished. And maybe it’s also about something you deserve — to be wanted, to be remembered, to be chosen not just for a day, but for real.

If you ever want to explore what that moment meant to you — what it awakened or mirrored — I’m here. Not to pull you out of it, but to walk with you through it.

🤍 Anita

Adalie, I hear how much this hurts. Ghosting is brutal — not just because someone disappears, but because they leave behind a thousand unanswered questions. You thought he was different. You felt something real. And now you’re left wondering why — why he kept you connected, why he vanished, why it feels like you were used.

That line — “he got what he wanted and it doesn’t mean anything else” — sounds like a dagger. I’m so sorry someone said that to you. Whether or not it’s true, it’s not kind. And it doesn’t honor the depth of what you felt.

You’re not wrong for caring. You’re not foolish for hoping. You’re not weak for wanting answers.

Sometimes, when someone gives us a moment that feels good — validating, intimate, connective — our hearts hold onto it. We build meaning around it, because it mattered to us. That’s not wrong. That’s human.

If you ever want to explore what that moment meant to you — not just what he did, but what you felt — I’m here. No pressure to analyze or reflect before you’re ready. Just space to feel, to speak, and to be held.

🤍 Anita

You are very welcome, Adalie.

It makes so much sense that your mind keeps returning to that moment with Jake—especially when it offered something you’re not receiving in your own relationship. That kind of contrast can stir up a lot of feelings: grief, yearning, even questions about what you deserve.

If you ever feel ready to talk more about how things are with your husband, I’m here to listen. No pressure at all—just an open space if you need it.

🤍 Anita

I will read and replie, Adali, sun morning.

Anita