Back to the date, I worried I’d not be able to keep up as he was so fit, but he made sure to walk slowly enough for me. I found it utterly charming that he’d stuffed children’s snacks into his pockets. Crisps, Freddos, juice boxes of Ribena. He wasn’t going to be the type to wine and dine me, but he was thoughtful.

In those early days, he’d ordered some American candy online for me. I was never a particular fan of lots of American candies (Turtles and Cookies and Cream Hershey’s all the way, though), but the gesture was touching. Same goes for the fact that I once said I liked lemon-scented stuff, and the next time I came over to shower, he’d bought me lemon-scented body wash.

He was and has always been good at the little things that matter in life, remembering those seemingly insignificant and random details. And those, I’ve found, are the things that make up life. The right kind of love. I’ve been with the people in the past who made grand gestures to impress me, but they didn’t stick around for the later moments that matter, the true deep emotional intimacy that develops over time.

During our early dates, Michael out-earned me as he had an actual job and he had tens of thousands in savings, which I didn’t know about at the time (why would I?), but I was still living on very little. He never once took me on a restaurant date, but he did take me on lots of picnics.

For these picnics, he’d load up on £3 meal deals (back when they did cost only £3 – now I think they are around a fiver and sometimes more) and little extras, and we’d go somewhere nice for the day to walk and have a picnic on our little picnic blanket. (For one of our wedding presents, my stepfather bought us a brand new roll-up picnic blanket and matching wine cooler bag.)

Michael didn’t declare our picnics to be ‘official’ picnics until the time we actually had a picnic basket at Ingleton Falls. However, I think we left the basket in the car and Micahel loaded up his rucksack with the picnic items and we climbed over onto a grassy verge in the middle of the river and it felt like we were quite alone in the world.

We even had a walking holiday in the Lake District one year, where we ate breakfast at our B&B and had a picnic lunch on our walks, rarely eating in restaurants, and I’ve learned a lot from Michael’s approach to life.

Some of those earliest, less financially secure times were some of our happiest because what we didn’t have in money, we had in time.

I was free whenever he had his day off in the week (as a Postman) and he would plan something lovely every time. Whether a walk and a picnic or a free trip to a museum or art gallery, he was always full of creative ideas for us to enjoy the day. I guess frugality has an art and science, but also a dash of love.

Recommendations this week

’s The Steelmaker’s Daughter. Subscribe to this publication now! Rush to catch up on the 33 chapters before the publication keeps going.

Told in beautiful and heartbreaking vignettes (each chapter about 5-8 minutes) of a little girl’s survival in 1980s South Korea through a tough childhood and to her later life in the US, thankfully, a happier chapter.

Each episode is gripping, beautifully written, and absolutely heartwrenching. I look forward to this memoir being published, as I couldn’t stop reading.

You won’t have read anything like this before.

The Steelmaker's Daughter

A Korean woman's memoir about surviving 1980s Korea through the early 2000s. Weekly episodes trace thirty years: domestic violence, gender inequality, poverty, the cost of being a woman. Stories of resilience, escape, and breaking generational cycles.

By Yuni Jung

Plus, my artist friend announced her new upcoming book based on her Substack and Instagram concept of Tell the Story of Your Home. If you always felt like ‘millennium’ grey and beige wasn’t for you, and minimalism from the internet didn’t quite fit your aesthetic, this is the book for you, finding a way to make your home an authentic reflection of you.

Find out how to pre-order here:

From Java with Love

Tell the Story of Your Home: the BOOK!!

Read more

7 days ago · 30 likes · 15 comments · Java Ceridwen Bere

New sections: Millennial Dating and Rom Com Reviews

The first two posts are live: dating before smartphones and my musings on Office Romance, a TV show I discovered, and a book I read.

I didn’t send them via email as I didn’t want to clog up your inbox, but if you’d like to subscribe or unsubscribe from different sections, here’s a video of how to do it for the visual learners.

From the subsack.com homepage on your desktop (not sure if you can do this from the app?), click on the hamburger menu for ‘more’ in the bottom left corner. Go to ‘settings’ and scroll down until you see ‘subscriptions.’ Search for ‘Why We Met’ (esp if you subscribe to multiple, as it’ll be at the bottom of the list) and click on it.

You’ll see the ‘manage your subscription’ page. Under ‘notifications,’ you’ll see the sections with toggles. Turn off any toggles for sections you do not want to read. If the toggle is greyed out, you are NOT subscribed, and it’ll be pink if you want to subscribe to that section.

And if you want to unsubscribe from the lot (of course, I hope you don’t, but I won’t take it personally, unlike some of these breakups I’ve written about), then hit the big red ‘unsubscribe’ button. Thanks for being here.

Why We Met

DATING BEFORE SMARTPHONES

I met no fewer than four men at Starbucks in my mid-20s. I didn’t have a smartphone…

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12 days ago · 5 likes · 21 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

Why We Met

ROM COM REVIEWS: OFFICE ROMANCE, EVERYTHING I KNOW ABOUT LOVE, AND HEART THE LOVER

Welcome to my first issue of ‘rom com reviews’ where I review current films, TV shows, and books I’m consuming, generally featuring love and romance…

Read more

14 days ago · 3 likes · 6 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

Up next, that time Michael didn’t let me be a damsel in distress: receiving my shipment and the storage wars drama.

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If you love stories of romance, you might enjoy reading the story of how I met my husband – my very own rom com in reverse. Here is a great place to start. I have also written a book, THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB, longlisted for the 2025 Mslexia Novel Competition, currently on submission with the Big Five, hoping to find its home. You can read about that journey, here.

What’s your opinion on picnics and being taken on ‘inexpensive’ dates?

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I started Why We Met in September 2023, growing from a handful of subscribers to almost 500 now (thank you so much for being here). Initially, my story was the ‘rom com in reverse’ (a theme of Baby Brain helped me recently to lean into).

Here’s my new summary of my publication:

Here’s my old publication summary:

Back then, just as if I was writing a ‘content calendar’ for a marketing client, I planned out the original ‘130 chapters’ of this publication. I used to post once or twice per week, and the runway of running out of ‘content’ would have come more quickly, but even though I still plan to write all 130 of my original chapters, I also have some new directions to take (see further down) outside of my more recent chat about my publishing journey. And I hope you’ll stick around for it.

Back then, I was going to therapy, working through my complicated feelings over my divorce as well as embracing my love with my husband, Michael, a true partner in life who gave me space to breathe and dream. Writing my Why We Met chapters was cathartic.

Revisiting the past

I contacted people in my past and got their side of the story. (My husband knew this too.) It’s funny how truth is so nuanced. How I had read and misread some of the situations, and many of the reasons relationships failed or failed to launch were people of other people’s complicated feelings and life circumstances as well.

Lots of people in my life have all been like ‘my husband would never’ as in they’d never be comfortable with them speaking in such detail (sometimes NSFW) about past relationships, hookups, and meaningful people. But the truth is, my husband is a pretty chill guy.

In fact, he used to listen to every chapter in the bath, but in recent years his own interests (his obsession with US politics, the Russia-Ukraine war, films, television, reading, plus his own version of ASMR: London Hustle) have taken over. And that’s okay.

My husband is a fan of my writing, which is lovely. He has never read anything I’ve written, even juicy details, and been threatened by the ghosts of past lovers. Thankfully! Why should he be? I’ve written a whole publication about finding him, how that’s been life-changing, and the best thing to happen to me, after all.

And in many ways, 20s Lainey is a completely different human, almost a distant character I once knew, than the me of today.

So, in short, Michael is completely fine with me ‘airing my dirty laundry.’ He is one of those rare gems of people without a jealous bone in his body, but I’d like to think that’s because I also provide emotional security for him. He knows that even a decade on I fancy him just as much as when he first took his top off, revealing his perfectly chiselled abs (that are still visible but have softened over the years), and that our love only grows and deepens.

We are truly friends and love each other’s company, but he gives me space to be me and I him.

I look forward to holding hands and going on walks in twenty or thirty years’ time (if we are lucky to live longer lives).

New ‘sections’ on Why We Met

I recently worked with the brilliant of Baby Brain on my Substack. She offers consultations, and I absolutely love working with people who are just good at what they do, but not super salesy one-size-fits-all sort of thing. You know, the people who give you ‘used car salesman’ vibes?

Charlotte is not that, thankfully.

She did a deep dive on my Substack. She has been a reader (very surprisingly), and I’m very grateful for that. No idea how we discovered each other, but I’m glad we did. And we both live in Yorkshire.

I digress.

Anyway, she said A) I should lean into my rom com in reverse vibes (how cute is that?) as I hope to attract future women’s fiction/rom com readers for THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB and whatever other books I write next (GOLDEN RETREIVER BF) and B) I should embrace some new content pillars.

Content pillars are marketing-people speak for stuff people might want to read about.

So, because my readers may want different things from my publication, if you check out the homepage/desktop version of the publication, you can see I’ve had a little redesign. How cute is that new Why We Met image Charlotte made as well as the main ‘pinned post’ image that introduces everyone to my publication?

As you can see, I now have new sections (the words next to ‘home’). You can subscribe and/or unsubscribe to each of these sections so you only hear from me about the ‘category’ you want to read about. For example, if you only want to hear about my publishing news and not everything else.

• Why We Met: This will house all of the chapters of my journey to my husband, chapters 1-130. That way, if you want to catch up, you can see them all in one place.

• Publishing Journey: Some of my present-day snippets used to talk about my publishing journey, but now I’ve recategorised them here. Some readers are only interested in that bit, and thus, you can simply subscribe to that section and unsubscribe from others.

• Present-Day Snippets: This section contains all my present-day musings, and I’ll continue to write about what I’m up to.

That’s the usual stuff I’ve covered, but now we’ll also have three new categories. And I promise to keep these posts short. I know, I know I’m terrible at that, but it’ll be good practise.

• Rom Com Reviews: COMING SOON! Reviews of current films, TV shows, and books I’m consuming, generally featuring love and romance. Shoot me a message if there’s something I have to watch or read. I err on the side of liking things, so this won’t be a takedown. Hah! I also know how difficult it is to produce art.

• Millennial Dating: COMING SOON! A roundup of the wisdom I learned in my disastrous dating life. Nostalgia musings on dating pre-smartphone or how we used to meet people ‘back in the olden days’ or how Bridget Jones impacted our dating life. I mean, Gen X and Boomer meet cutes are even more fascinating, but this will be the millennial perspective. Short and sweet musings, mind you.

And finally, a hopefully cute section where you can get involved as a reader and writer and one that I’m very excited for because I’m very nosy and love hearing how people met and fell in love.

• Little Love Stories: COMING SOON! I subscribe to The New York Times just to read the Modern Love column each week, so because I LOVE love and learning how people meet (I’m inherently nosy about people’s stories), my new section invites YOU, the reader (or five readers), to tell your tiny love story in no more than 200 words each month. Please get in touch if you’d like to be featured.

Sorry to put you on the spot, but I’d love to feature , , Dr , , and for my first ‘issue.’ It’s completely fine if you don’t have time. (But if you do, please message me.)

Readers, please reply to this email if YOU’D like to write 200 words about how you met your partner. It can be a current one, a past one, any way you want to tell your story. I can share a gift link to the NYT’s Tiny Love Stories if you’d like, but I’m open to any format and any way you want to tackle this subject. Let’s see what happens.

Also, I did it. My first shorter chapter in a while.

Thanks for reading. I’m ever so grateful for you all.

If you love stories of romance, you might enjoy reading the story of how I met my husband – my very own rom com in reverse. Here is a great place to start. I have also written a book, THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB, longlisted for the 2025 Mslexia Novel Competition, currently on submission with the Big Five, hoping to find its home. You can read about that journey, here.

Coming up next on Why We Met, the era of picnics and walks.

Love and best wishes, Lainey.

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P.S. If you want help subscribing and unsubscribing to the various sections, please let me know by replying to this email or sending me a DM.

Leave a comment

P.P.S. I turned 39 on Sunday, 14th June and felt very lovely in my new dress. Here are some photos of the night, and I may write a present-day snippet soon reflecting on June.

Hi! I’m Elaine (Lainey), and this is the story of how I met Michael, the quirky, fun gem that is my Yorkshire husband, chronicling the highlights (and lowlights) of an “elder” Millennial, attending uni and grad school, growing up in an era of body image conflicts, feminism shifts, and reconciling my experience in the deep South of Georgia and Florida versus my childhood in the north of England. It’s the story of friendships, of journeys, of growth, of how we form our impressions of each other and the world.

It’s my journey from serial dating disaster to divorcée to happily married human, navigating life and grief along the way.

My very own rom com in reverse.

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Where to start?

Take a gander at the past chapters of my real-life rom-com (in reverse).

I had the high school sweetheart; the hot, muscular university bestie (Chester) whom I never dated (but maybe should have); a couple of one-night stands; and made lots of wrong choices (often because of misplaced attraction and good action between the sheets). And that was just through university.

I hooked up with more than one of my university professors as well as my hot neighbour (and ghosted him); met a man with the largest (cough) appendage I’ve ever seen (as thick as a Coke can and as long as a ruler); met no fewer than four men at Starbucks; and dated someone I met at a conference who wound up dead (unrelated to me).

I had one failed marriage as a military wife, and all the wrong turns led me to Michael, my amazing Yorkshire husband.

You can find all the Why We Met chapters in one place here.

Check out some select chapters below:

#1 WHY AM I WRITING “WHY WE MET”?

#4 MY VERY FIRST DATE

#8 CAPTAIN CAMBRIDGE: THE MAN WITH THE MASSIVE APPENDAGE

#9 HOW I MET MY HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART

#10 A STARRY WALK TO REMEMBER WITH THE AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER

#11 WHEN I SLEPT WITH MY CRUSH’S BEST FRIEND – AND THEN HE WROTE A POEM SAYING IT MEANT NOTHING

#13 HOW I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO MY HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART

#14 THAT GUY WHO RANTED ABOUT HIS EX-WIFE ON OUR DATE (AND I SAW HIM ON ANOTHER DATE IN STARBUCKS)

#16 FIRST KISS, REVISITED

#17 I KISSED A GIRL AND I LIKED IT: A THREESOME TALE

#18 THE DATE WITH THE GUY WHO WORKS FOR A HUGE TECH COMPANY, A MAN WHOM I’LL FOREVER ADORE

#20 THE RED-HAIRED SEX GOD: HOW THINGS ENDED, AKA THAT TIME I WENT FULL BLOWN HOT-CRAZY SCALE

#21 THAT TIME I DATED (AND GHOSTED) MY FIREFIGHTER NEIGHBOUR

#22 MY BEST DATE EVER WITH THE FINANCE CFO (BEFORE HE BECAME THE HOT-SHOT CFO)

#25 THE “I HATE ELAINE CLUB”: WHEN MY HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART AND THE STELLA ADLER ACADEMY ACTOR BECAME HOUSEMATES

#27 WHEN I F*CKED THE MARRIED PROFESSOR: HOW KARMA BIT ME IN THE ANKLE

#28 THE ONE WHO REMINDED ME OF PATRICK BATEMAN, THE FSU FILM STUDENT: WHY I WANTED TO BE INTO HIM

#34 THAT TIME I SLEPT WITH MY GORGEOUS MODEL-ESQUE HOUSEMATE’S EX-BOYFRIEND (AND WAS A SHITTY FRIEND) – AND THEN I FLIRTED WITH HIS HOUSEMATE, TOO

#36 AN INDECENT PROPOSAL: THE US ARMY SERGEANT WHO WENT DOWN ON ME – OUR SECRET AGREEMENT

#37 THE GUY WITH THE FAKE EYE: THE KISS BOYS

#39 THE HOT SCANDINAVIAN LIT PROFESSOR: HOW WE MET AND WHY HE DROPPED ME LIKE A HOT POTATO

#42 THAT TIME I (KIND OF) HAD SEX ON A BOAT WITH ONE OF THE INTERNATIONAL BOYS

#43 THE REALLY, REALLY HOT ONE, AKA THE SECOND PERSON I MET AT STARBUCKS

#49 THAT TIME I HAD A ONE-NIGHT STAND WITH SOMEONE I PICKED UP AT TARGET

#51 CAPTAIN COTILLION, THE HANDSOME DEBUTANT

#52 THE AIR FORCE GUY WHO ALMOST RUINED MY MARRIAGE: THE GUY WHO CROPPED UP THREE TIMES

#58 THE HOT JEWISH DOCTOR: THE BEGINNING

#65 THE CHINESE AMERICAN DOCTOR: WHY I MESSED THIS UP

#70 THAT OTHER ONE NIGHT STAND WHOSE NAME I BARELY RECALL: THE CAPTAIN WHO KISSED MY SHOULDER

#72 HOW I MET MY (EX) HUSBAND, AKA THE FOURTH PERSON I MET AT STARBUCKS

#90 HOW I MET MY YORKSHIRE HUSBAND: PART ONE

#95 THAT TIME I THOUGHT A SUGAR DADDY WAS A GOOD (ISH) IDEA: MY DATE WITH A MAN WHO KNEW CELEBS AND HAD PRODUCED FOR THE BBC

And more…

Have a look around.

Here for my publishing journey?

I have written a book, THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB (longlisted for the 2025 Mslexia Novel Competition), that is currently out on submission with the Big Five, hoping to find its home.

You can read about that journey here:

HOW MY DELUSION CAUSED ME TO WRITE (FINISH) MY (HOPEFULLY DEBUT) MANUSCRIPT

ONE YEAR IN, THE THINGS I SUBMITTED, READING, BANK HOLIDAYS, AND TAKING THE RING TO MORDOR

I’M GOING TO REVEAL A SECRET…MY PSYCHIC, ZETA, ADVISED ME TO START MY SUBSTACK

36 HOURS AFTER SENDING MY QUERY TO AN AGENT, HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED

SEEKING AN AGENT AND MY PUBLISHING JOURNEY UPDATE

IT’S OFFICIAL: I’M NOW AN AGENTED (FUTURE) AUTHOR

THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB IS OFFICIALLY ON SUB, HOW MUCH I INVESTED TO GET THE MS READY, AND THE MSLEXIA MAG LONGLIST

Guest posts on Kristen Weber’s Inside an Editor’s Brain

is the developmental editor, former Big 5 editor (Penguin and Hachette), who helped me polish my manuscript for querying and publication. I’m still using her expertise for the second of three manuscripts I wrote before going on submission. This next one is called either Oriella Wants a Golden Retriever Boyfriend or Wanted Golden Retriever Boyfriend.

The Power of Developmental Editing

Querying Is Brutal (But This Worked)

Publishing recommendations

• at Inside an Editor’s Brain for free writing and publishing advice.

• at Baby Brain for parenting and pop culture advice plus Substack branding. She helped me with my redesign and new content pillars. Brilliant advice. Now I need to pop all the strategies in place.

• at From Java with Love, an inspiring artist and creative, who helped me overhaul my Instagram in preparation for author life.

• at Honest Editor for insights into the publishing world.

• at The Inkwell for a brilliant writing community, real publishing advice, and book coaching from an author and coach.

• and at for magical inspiration and glimpses behind-the-scenes, timelines of writing a manuscript to sending out ARCs to launch day and more.

• at Author + Agent + Human for an insider look at all things agenting, authoring, and publishing. Some juicy inside tea!

• at Publishing Confidential on all things publicity in publishing.

Personal recommendations

• at Emotional Support Lady and her husband at Wrong Man for the Job for honest, funny writing. I’ve been a long-time fan of Allison’s works since her Buzzfeed and Just Between Us Days (with Gabe Dunn).

• at Garbage Notes for brilliant modern poetry and explanations. I don’t often ‘get’ poetry but everything Franco, a New York City-based poet, writes is incredible.

• Dr at Doorknob Confessions for a doctor’s take on life and humour and her cancer (free) journey.

• at Wendy’s World for a beautiful memoir-like look at a magazine editor’s life who had twins (plus other children) and all the interesting and incredible points she shares from her own diary to that of her late Yorkshire-based mother.

• Dr at Where are you from, and why? for a look at a brave PhD-weilding Italian immigrant’s journey to find love in Australia with her quirky, fun interests shared to boot. Hilarious.

• at Sifter for her take as a freelance journalist on Ethiopian news, politics, culture, and human rights.

• at A New Wrinkle for her humours look at Gen X life. Funny anecdotes about her life as a writing professor and parent.

• at Wit and Wisdom for an ex-CEO and business coach’s look at life. Plenty of wit and wisdom. Just what it says on the tin.

• at As I Was Saying… one of my fav Substackers/authors/journalists on the platform.

• of My Top Secret Project, mystery and sci fi author, award-winning screenwriter, BAFTA nominee, and quirky, charming, funny human with brilliant stories on her publication.

• of Scrambled Eggs, future author and culture round-up writer, 60-minute book club pioneer, essays, and existential questions from a techie genius.

Subscribe now

Thanks for reading.

Love and best wishes, Lainey

When I was in my 20s, I slept with my married professor (when I also had a boyfriend), another professor who had a girlfriend, and I’m sure other men who were in ‘situationships.’ I was lost and floundering, but that’s not really an excuse. Despite the fact that I would like to think on balance, I’ve always been a fairly nice person, these actions would be considered categorically ‘not nice,’ if not full on ‘bad.’

I’m sure I thought that other people’s relationship status was their problem, not mine. After all, I didn’t go out of my way to seduce these men; I just didn’t say no to their advances, especially when I was attracted to them. But as someone who has been with her husband for a decade now, would I welcome someone like my past self into my vicinity? Probably not. Not because I don’t think my husband is loyal, but people who are lost and jaded can cause unintended emotional fallout. (Obvs now people do ‘open relationships’ and all sorts, so some of these issues are non-issues to some modern couples.)

I would never ever want to cause the level of pain, hurt, and betrayal to Michael (or anyone) that I caused in the past. And all this is to say – or maybe joke – that if Michael had met me in my early to mid-20s, he probably wouldn’t have dated me. And I wouldn’t have dated him either, and here’s why. (And it’s not really because of the above.)

I was in my ‘intellectual’ era, looking for a certain kind of man (read: successful, educated)

Michael and I did, in fact, meet when I was 29 and in the middle of a divorce that had come as a shock to me.

The truth, too, is that I wouldn’t have married Michael as the person I was back then either.

Would I have found Michael hot, sexy, and funny? Without a doubt. But would I have seen him as a future prospect? No!

Mostly because, as a former engineer, Michael had given up that career to be a postman, and he didn’t have a master’s degree like me.

I had a sort of mental checklist of all the qualities I wanted in a person, and besides being handsome, tall, and well-endowed (I ignored that one for my ex, which is rather an unkind jab, but I thought I was making concessions for other, better qualities), Michael didn’t have the success markers I was looking for back then.

It was all well and good when I was in grad school and uni to date fellow broke students, but when I was a grown-up, I wanted something different for my future. I didn’t want to struggle or have to make ends meet, especially as I’d been slogging away post-grad school at multiple jobs. I was plain tired.

And how silly to think of this list now. How I have truly found ‘my person’ and my match in this sweet, loving, intelligent, funny, and handsome man. But I’d have rejected him as one of my conquests. Sort of like Air Traffic Controller whom I never got to know as a fully human person and treated more like some hot plaything. (Was I secretly more like a man back then in my sexual conquests? Did I treat people as disposable? Probably!)

I saw this funny tweet (?) on the internet about a woman who was asked by her rich boyfriend something along the lines of ‘would you date someone who was broke?’ and she said something like ‘no, for personal reasons’ and he came back with ‘well, to me you’re the broke boyfriend.’ Burn!

I was also the ‘broke boyfriend.’ It’s laughable that I didn’t have any of the qualities that would normally attract the type of person I hoped to attract myself (and did attract with my first husband), but now I’ve grown into a better prospect – thankfully, for Michael and I to enjoy together. But I didn’t see how that was possible back then. I didn’t know I could get to the place I’m in in life now.

Newly graduated from grad school with no money and student debt, working as an adjunct professor at various unis and community colleges for poverty wages, back then, I was far from a desirable match for anyone. My only ‘capital’ was that some people found me fairly attractive and decent company. I do say some!

I wanted someone who could talk about books

I was quite snobby back then, being full of the bravado and pride of young, naive university students. You know the pretentious type that study literature? Those kinds of people who are sheleted without real-world experience. Who think the only form of valid conversation is discussing big ideas and novels (but not popular ones, as those are far too low-brow). Even though I loved popular fiction and secretly devoured it. Even though I loved gossip and ‘vacuous’ chat about fashion and makeup, just like the next girly.

I was totally the kind of student in the above video that I watched back then.

I laugh at the remembrance of this version of myself now. The version of myself who bored the Hot Jewish Doctor to death with my discussion on Pride and Prejudice when he just wanted to curl up and watch The Big Bang Theory on television after a busy day of being a urologist and after giving me at least two orgasms. That is why he didn’t choose me. I was far too exhausting, far too thinking. I couldn’t even relax to watch TV! And plus, I was the ‘broke boyfriend’ trope. He wasn’t hitching his wagon to my lack of prospects, either. Neither was Captain Thor, another man I met at Starbucks and dated a while.

Michael, when I met him, being roundabout the age of Hot Jewish Doctor back then was also in that ‘relaxing’ and ‘TV’ stage of life (at 37 and about to be 38). He spent his days as a postman and then spent two hours in the gym and then wanted to come home, have sex with me, and curl up and watch TV or films for the night. Past me would have not loved this kind of monotony. Intellectual conversation was the fuel of life, after all. As was random adventure! He did take me on lots of random picnics and walks so I suppose he was the best of both worlds.

Now, years later, Michael loves discussing books, characters, and plots with me, but that’s developed as he wants to support my (hopefully future) side hustle/career of being a novelist/writer. He’s read all sorts of books on the anatomy of fiction, so he can help me learn craft and help me improve my stories as he always serves as my first beta reader (very kindly).

My ex was an avid reader, but I’m not sure we talked about books, and I could never have told him my dreams of wanting to write for a living (or of even chasing a career as an editor, which I’m thankful to have now). Like his Lebanese family before him, the only valuable careers were ones with a direct link to earnings.

I wanted someone who had money

I had all sorts of crazy notions of the kind of appropriate partner one finds. I say ‘partner’ loosely because I was looking for a provider, someone with money, with a good job. I wouldn’t have admitted this to myself or anyone, though.

With my first marriage, feeling more like a dictatorship in the end in which I combined (unwisely) our finances, of which I never had oversight, and thus when my ex left, I didn’t even have my own bank account anymore as I had closed it because my longstanding account with Bank of America was charging fees to bank with them and I was no longer depositing my pay into that bank. How silly was I. How little agency I was giving myself in my own life.

I didn’t know it then, how little power I was giving myself, how much I was ruining my future security with lost time, no pension, no savings – and I wish I’d had a manual back then like ’s She Wanted More. (Something all women should gift to each other and read.)

In Michael, I found someone who enabled me to build myself up. I have kept complete financial independence as has he, but he’s simply been a cheerleader and a sounding board for all of my career moves, which has seen my salary increase significantly in the time we have been together.

He’s been a cheerleader and reader for my novels. He’s taken on more of the domestic load when I’m busy. With him by my side, I feel like we do life together and that we can weather anything together (and we have weathered quite a bit with all of our losses).

He has allowed me to grow into a person I wanted to be, that I’m proud of, the person I could be because of the security and safety around me.

Plus, in reality, Michael was more financially secure than I could even know. He owned his own house. He was incredibly smart with money. He had investments. On the surface, his life looked modest, but he was wiser than many. And that has helped us both build a secure life.

There are always those anecdotes of people starting multi-million dollar businesses from garages, after all. We don’t have a garage, but that’s beside the point. Sometimes people’s success is built together, precisely because of a supportive and loving partnership and not before it.

I was worried about being likeable and impressive

When I was in my early to mid-20s, I wanted to be the person that whoever I was dating wanted me to be. If I could have been the ‘perfect’ version of a woman like in Gone Girl – minus the murdering and framing my husband bit – I would have been. (Although, my body will never be a US size 4-6 – US 8 on bottom and 10 on top is the smallest I go, which is UK 12 and 14, respectively!) I wondered all the time if that person liked me. Was I enough? Was I pretty, smart, thin, whatever enough? If you think like that, you’re never enough!

But with Michael, our mutual understanding and partnership has always been our glue, outside of aesthetics or sex or anything else. Just our love for one another. And none of that was more apparent then when over the years, I gained a significant amount of weight (at least 35-40lbs).

I have managed to shed the weight thanks to the help of my nutritionist and coach, David, but I appreciated how Michael never seemed to care or even notice. He never stopped loving me or making me feel that I was attractive to him. Because he loved more than the outside of me and when you’re in that sort of marriage or partnership, you don’t have to worry that as you age and sag that the person will ‘trade you in’ or chase this forever concept of beauty. We can’t all be Leonardo DiCaprio, after all. Women can age past 25 and still be considered ‘valuable.’

My ex, even though I was thinner and fitter than now (I gained and lost about 20lbs in our marriage), made me feel absolutely disgusting for gaining weight, for not being constant or maintaining my body from age 24. I was lucky if he touched me four times per month, and I forever feel very sad for that version of myself, too. The version that got no validation and that was made to feel worthless, unloved, and unattractive.

I was loved so deeply by family and friends, but not by my own husband. And my body was not the problem. The problem was that my ex didn’t appreciate the qualities I had. He tried to create and mould the perfect wife to fit his needs, not realising that marriages and humans don’t work that way.

You have to fit each other, you have to compromise, you have to build and nurture something as two people creating this one thing. But that’s also why he did me a favour.

I wanted the wrong things

I was thinking the other day in the shower – as you do – about my ex because he controlled the money and acted as if I spent wildly (I didn’t – I rarely, if ever, treated myself back then, but that’s beside the point).

Part of the reason I was ‘less’ attractive was that I didn’t invest in myself the way I had done before I met him. I didn’t feel I could. I asked permission for everything I spent.

Before I met him, I used to pay for personal training twice per week (even if I could barely afford it) and went to the gym daily (only skipped one day per week). I regularly got manicures and pedicures (back then, nails with real nail polish were $10 and toes $30). I paid for the expensive Aveda salon hairdresser (which was $120 back then with a lovely lady called Reba). I ate low carb as did all my friends. Meeting up was at Starbucks for cups of tea or walks in parks or museums.

When my ex and I moved to Germany, I worked two jobs and had so many social engagements (often dictated by military wifedom) that I didn’t have time for the gym. I never went to the salon or got my nails done to keep costs down.

We hosted meals and dinner parties. I ate the carbs and the cake. I met friends for lunches and dinners. We travelled through Europe, and I didn’t worry about my food intake. And I’m the sort of person that absolutely needs an ‘accountability buddy,’ and having that personal trainer was vital to me. No wonder I ‘let myself go’ in his eyes. I didn’t have the same infrastructure I’d had prior. I was always destined to fail.

My first husband had his stated reasons for leaving: “I love you but we aren’t right for each other” and “You’re not the kind of wife I want” (read: not thin enough, don’t cook and clean enough and have everything perfect for him, am not good prospect to be a mother, don’t earn enough, and the list goes on). But I wonder what his unstated reasons were. The truth of it all is a mystery.

But he found the ‘perfect’ second wife, and I can’t help but hope that he found his person, his true love, if nothing else but for her sake. I hope he never treats her as he treated me. I hope he shares the domestic load as the father to their four children (three biological and one stepchild). I hope he tells his wife she’s beautiful and valued and loved. And that he’s discovered that love and marriage aren’t a tool to serve his needs only.

When my ex said we were moving to Minnesota from our amazing home in Germany, I had visions of being trapped in a Midwestern suburban nightmare, where I was unloved, unsupported, and tangled, where I’d constantly be made to feel I failed, far from the network of friends and family.

Final thoughts

In leaving me, though, my ex set me free to find the marriage I wanted but couldn’t articulate with my heart. I didn’t even know – and neither did Michael – that in meeting each other, we were finding this match. It has just grown organically.

And whilst I’d have loved the kind of money my ex made back then in my current life, in a way, I have so much more now than ever I did because I have agency and choice in what I do in my life, how I spend my time, how I chase my dreams, and that’s nothing to do with how I look, how many meals I fail to cook, or floors I don’t bother mopping.

This sort of man should be the bare minimum for all women, but I know it’s not, and for that reason, I’m so thankful I have the husband I have. Michael doesn’t measure me in the ways I fail to be of service to him because he doesn’t see us in that way.

So, I’m glad I found Michael at the right time. When I was ready to appreciate the sort of man he is, when I wouldn’t have dismissed him as not ‘successful’ or ‘powerful’ enough, and he would have dismissed me as too shallow and unfeeling.

New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, why don’t you catch up on the other one-hundred and one chapters I’ve written, including the TL;DR of this publication – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately. Thanks for subscribing.

Let me know in the comments if your current partner would have dated a past version of you and vice versa.

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Next up, a present-day snipper of what I’ve invested in my manuscript and the next chapter about how my husband feels about me airing my dirty laundry (and sometimes dirty tales) of people I dated from my past?

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P.S. In my journey to become a real published author news: I’ve feedback from one of my agent’s in house editors on my opening chapters which I’ll work on this weekend. Then, he may look at my first fifty pages so that my manuscript package can be as strong as possible; she hopes to send my manuscript out to editors at publishing houses next week – or the next. Fingers crossed. Eek! Very excited, but this means even more waiting. Endless waiting. Everything about publishing moves so so slowly. Sigh! I’ll keep you posted.

Why We Met

#100 THAT TIME I WORKED FOR A DODGY COMPANY BEFORE LANDING MY FIRST EDITORIAL ROLE

Happy New Year, everyone…

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6 months ago · 11 likes · 4 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

I happened upon an editorial role that included editing textbooks, course materials, and online learning environments. As with most roles, that whole statistic where women only apply for roles when they match 100% of the skills and men 60% of the skills, I’m sure I shot for about 80% or less. I figure as with anything, the worst they can say is no.

Besides, I’d taught university where I had to build my own online course elements and I had experience choosing textbooks for the courses I taught. Plus, with teaching, I had experience ‘editing’ of a sort.

If you’re listening, enjoy the billions of selfies from when I was age 30/31 from 2018 and/or photos of this first year in the job, some with captions. It was a happy time.

I remember I landed an interview in February 2018. I’d started this marketing job in January. That’s how awful it was. I had some kind of automated email from a recruitment team that basically told me the time and date of my interview. Working full-time as I was, I couldn’t just interview at any point, especially as I needed to proceed as if my current workplace was incredibly suspicious of anything I did (because it was).

I needed to speak to a human to make sure I could interview, you know, after work. I was in all kind of panic mode, so I decided to email the enquiries email address of the company. It was eventually forwarded to my future manager and she replied to me. After a little back and forth, I said I had an early finish on Fridays around 3.30 pm and could meet after that time. We arranged for my interview at 4.15 pm so that I’d have time to take a taxi from my office to the location of the job.

The day after my interview, I had an email saying my future boss had been trying to get in touch. I remember quickly asking for a lunch break and nipping to the Tesco Express around the corner to take the phone call.

From my first UK-based marketing job, this horrible job had increased my salary by a few thousand and this new editorial job again would increase my salary by another few thousand plus an unheard-of pension match of my putting in 6.2% and the company matching it 18.1%. It was part of a college and educational establishment, hence why the pension as like a ‘teacher’s pension.’ That would later be cut down to 10%, but that’s a story for another day.

I don’t need to give a play-by-play of everything, but the time I started the job in March, I began work on a snowy day. The office had changed locations and was thus, a little further. Since it was located in a sixth form college with young students, I had to have a DBS check cleared before I could enter the student-shared areas and thus, use the bathroom without a chaperone. Mostly, the students seemed okay and there was a cafeteria on-site, which probably contributed to my slow weight gain as I sometimes opted for a bacon and sausage butty (the northern English word for ‘sandwich,’ generally on a big bread roll) in the mornings.

The lunch food there was good too and everything was incredibly reasonably priced, which was nice. The office also provided cake for people’s birthdays and there were a lot of birthdays and lots of cake, unfortunately for my waistline as I have no control with food.

At this job, I was part of an amazing ‘Learning and Innovation’ team and it was the first time I felt ‘at home’ in a role. I wasn’t working with very young people, ready to backstab and step over the bodies to get ahead (something I’d never experienced before); instead, I was working with people in their 50s and 60s who were confident, knowledgeable, and established in their careers, ready to teach me (very generously) what they knew.

Esther, the senior editor in the team, taught me how to edit the content, how to finalise the proofs that were printed by Maureen, the senior designer, how to work with the learning technologists, and how all of the different products and product managers worked. Later, Claire, another brilliant designer, and Les were hired and we all got on well.

It was a lovely place to work, and I enjoyed my colleagues. It was a place where we celebrated birthdays (I received lovely gifts), brought each other treats for lunches, shared books for reading (and discussed the books we’d all read together), and genuinely got interested in each other’s lives and stories.

We did have some funny eye-roll moments like Friday morning huddles in the company and those ‘away days’ where you have to do silly team bonding like building things with sticks and doing excruciating group activities, but overall everything was great.

I was quite cheeky early on and noticing my colleagues worked from home two days per week, I asked for the same and asked for my hours to be adjusted to 7.30 am to 3.30 pm so that when I did have to drive into the office, the drive was shorter. The drive was still almost an hour and a half each way, which was the main downside to the job.

By the COVID era, of course, everything was fully remote, and I think everything is still fully remote. Unfortunately, I was not furloughed by this time and very jealously watched neighbours enjoy their very sunny gardens whilst I worked, feeling very hard done to.

I’m still in touch with Esther and Maureen, who are retired now. A few months ago, I went to Maureen’s daughter’s baby shower. Her daughters are closer in age to me but a bit younger. Claire, who was one of the sweetest colleagues ever and shares a birthday with my husband, has a daughter now. And I’m so grateful for the generosity of this team and all they taught me about the world of editorial.

Since I’d had those two bad experiences in the first UK-based jobs, I was hesitant at first to be too much of myself. I was wary if my colleagues would be friends, if I could trust them. And as an essentially people-loving, trusting person, that was difficult. But they were all legitimately wonderful people, and I learned the lesson that I prefer to work A) for big corporations or educational institutions and not startups and B) that I prefer to work with mostly older colleagues who are secure in themselves. There was a much bigger, wider team, all with fun personalities and I had fun nights out with them and considered many of them friends. Now I get to watch their lives unfold (or at least the highlights) via social media, and as I said, I still keep in touch and meet up with some colleagues, too.

Nearly five years into my stay at this company, I realised I wanted to move up in my career. There was no promotion potential internally. I interviewed for a few roles here and there over the years, but didn’t get them. Even though I was essentially happy, I searched from time to time for the next thing. When a role came up at my current company, I was surprised when I got the interview, as it is one of the top 10 largest UK companies, but I didn’t know that at the time. I’ll talk more about my current role in another chapter.

As someone who now manages a European team, past me could never have articulated why those first two startup environment workplaces were so wrong for me. Even though the first marketing role had seemed fun with work-funded nights out and meals and office games and a seemingly ‘good’ company culture, for me, the culture felt more like a witch hunt, and I can never fully figure out why I was the target of that, why I was reviled during my time there. But it has made me appreciate my first editorial role and my current one, where the company cultures are legitimately supportive, where psychological safety is taken seriously.

And as anyone with a good company knows, psychological safety is also related to fair pay as well as feeling valued. I also love that corporates have pay scales, that you’re guaranteed pay rises at set times of the year. As I tell my team, no one leaves a company because they are overpaid and overappreciated. I’m glad I found my work home in this first editorial role and in my second.

We spend (perhaps depressingly) one third of our lives at work with our colleagues and another third of our lives sleeping, so being happy in the workplace and its culture is vital. Most of us would probably prefer being independently wealthy and filling our time with our own pursuits, but if you have to have a job, it’s better to have one that you enjoy (or at least don’t actively hate).

New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, why don’t you catch up on the other one-hundred chapters I’ve written, including the TL;DR of this publication – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately. Thanks for subscribing.

Have you ever found yourself working in a toxic workplace? Or, consequently, what do you love about your workplace that feels like home?

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P.S. My Florida family was in England last week (and my baby sis, Hannah, who lives in North Carolina). It was a busy and whirlwind week. They came to attend my Grammy’s 90th birthday. I’ll write about that in my next present-day snippet.

P.P.S. In bookish news, I’m waiting both for feedback from my agent and from an editor at a publishing house she sent the manuscript to so it’s all at a standstill. If you really want to be published, be prepared to have many, many, many weeks of waiting. I have no idea when anything will move forward, which sucks. Agent rejections keep happening on QueryTracker as well. Some of these agents I queried in November. So, if you haven’t heard back and you are querying, keep waiting! I hope for all positive things for you.

P.P.P.S. I need practically to re-write the next novel I’ve been working on with Kristen. And by ‘working’ I have just been sitting on it but I look forward to getting back to it and then writing the two sequels to The Broken Engagement Club. I have an idea to set one sequel in the US. The weather is fully Spring in the UK and it’s glorious. Thanks for all my new Subscribers who have come here from Sifter as well. I have an Ethiopian character in The Broken Engagement Club (married to the protagonist’s brother) and she is named Maya, after the very inspirational journalist herself (even if the character is not like her).

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I’m sure many of us around the world are feeling perpetual burnout with the rise of unpleasant things happening all over, and I only hope that my faith in the goodness of humanity will turn things around before they go too dark.

I’m grateful to of Sifter since many of my subscribers in recent months have come via her Substack so thank you, Maya, and thank you, readers in Africa. I sometimes wonder if, when there are so many awful things happening, why people want to read my frippery, but I won’t question too deeply.

Thank you for being here, wherever you are in the world.

I re-read Emily Henry’s The People You Meet on Vacation and watched the rom-com last night on Netflix with my husband. Loved it!

Obviously, they captured the ‘vibes’ of the book and not the plot points exactly and I will tru and let that be okay in my mind. Bring back the rom-com film (especially those around 90 minutes). We all need some good escapist fictional love stories to dissolve into these days.

Also, please let me write more Em Hen!

Working for a sinking ship

The opposite of a love story was that time I worked for a dodgy company in the first quarter of 2018. If you read my last chapter about that time I worked as a writer for a marketing agency, you’ll know that I desperately needed to escape that job.

Catch up on that chapter here:

Why We Met

#99 THAT TIME I WORKED FOR A COMPANY THAT PAID IN M&Ms* AND THINGS WERE GREAT UNTIL THEY WEREN'T

This is my corporate villain origin story…

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6 months ago · 11 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

And the TL;DR of my entire publication so far here:

Why We Met

#98 THE TIMELINE ROUNDUP: THE TL;DR OF WHY WE MET

Welcome to new subscribers! Here’s the original bit that I planned to say in the ‘roundup’ of the Why We Met journey – if anyone needs a recap. I will continue writing the posts I meant to write originally (have had them planned out), but I may also send out past posts, as those early chapters were published when I had up to 100 subscribers. I mean, I’m thrilled to have…

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7 months ago · 8 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

The much-needed escape and higher pay came from another HubSpot marketing agency. They were Silver tier or something, whereas the one I left was Platinum and would become Diamond.

Basically, I think Silver is barely making it, but I needed an out. Fast!

(I’ll add in some selfies and pictures of this time in no particular order, so have a flick through if you’re listening to this chapter.)

When I started working there, the team I was part of was comprised of two people younger than me. A newly minted journalist grad who had a fiancé and two bunnies for pets and a beautiful, ethereal, thin woman who was my boss and several years younger who always dressed in black with a variation of red lipstick and carried vintage bags. They were fairly new like me.

There was a sales team, too, comprised of a charismatic, attractive man and an equally charismatic, attractive woman, the usual. They were hired after I started.

We all sat at three separate islands of desks, the office decked out in fancy Mac desktop computed (which were once stolen, but I’ll talk more about that in the next chapter).

The loyal band of musketeers

It was an office divided. Another section of staff consisted of the CEO, his HR lady, the tech guy, and the website designer guy. The website designer was not one of the musketeers; he just happened to sit near them.

The CEO, HR lady, and tech guy gave slightly dodgy vibes. They’d moved with the CEO to whatever company he set up. Sounds like they’d had a couple at least before this agency.

He was a former solicitor. Why would you give up being a solicitor to run a marketing agency?

Besides having very little client work to do, never seeming to speak to clients, and once the CEO talking about how he wished he could stop paying employees from his own account (dodgy), we had to account for every hour of work we did on these spreadsheets.

I couldn’t so much as go to the toilet without scrutiny. The office had all the ambience of a prison. It even seemed as if the third-floor windows let in no light. The gargoyles of the building across the way glared at me with unseeing eyes. No vibes.

If I made a cup of tea for a break, I had to become a waitress and make a cup of tea for the entire office.

I’d never worked as a server. How the hell was I supposed to remember how 8-10+ people took their tea or coffee? Plus, my manager’s cup was this tin Moonmin one that burnt my fingers every time I tried to hand it to her. Maybe it was on purpose. I joke, but really, who has a cup like that?

Any time I wrote an article, she seemed to hate it, but otherwise, I liked my manager and the other writer on the team. But I was bored. My old job had been busy, bustling, and successful; this job seemed like a sinking ship.

The plus side was no more 45-minute commute. I could take the train from Todmorden to Manchester and walk to Spinningfields – and it was nice to get out and about.

The downside was also always feeling sorry for homeless people and buying meal deals for them (obvs not a bad thing to do, but I was on limited money).

And I had to pay over £100/month for a train pass where I barely got a seat on the way back and was always half out of breath running for so I wasn’t super late home.

With the divide, the ‘old’ and ‘longtime’ (i.e. favourite) employees got to work early and leave early. I think their hours were even shorter, but us other employees had to work much later. I think this job was 37.5 hours compared to my previous 35 hours, and I felt every one of those hours. I can’t remember what time I finished now, but I felt the injustice of the divide.

The plot thickens

Our email addresses didn’t have private passwords. They read our incoming and outgoing email. Apparently, past employees (of which there were many) ‘stole’ press contacts and various other things and now they were paranoid level 5,000.

There was high employee turnover, which I was concerned about but I needed to escape the old job so I stuck to it. I did once contact one of the old employees and let me tell you, that conversation was ‘interesting.’ It didn’t make me feel any less suspicious of the main group of ‘favourites.’

I thought absentmindedly of applying for freelance opportunities and wanted to create a writing portfolio. I’d had a few bylines at the previous company where I worked, and any time I wrote new pieces for this new company’s website, I emailed myself the articles with the aim of creating a portfolio.

One day the HR lady called me into a meeting in the break room. It seemed ominous and like the previous company. I did not want to get into any more dodgy work meetings. My boss came to the meeting with me, ostensibly to protect me. I was asked quite aggressively by the HR lady why I was emailing my own articles to myself. As if I could somehow steal public links for a nefarious purpose.

I said that I’d considered freelance writing on the side and was building a portfolio and there wasn’t really any underhanded reason for it. She seemed to accept this but the meeting left a bad taste in my mouth.

Frantically searching for something else

The train got me to work early every day, so I’d journal in the mornings, but that soon turned to frantic job searching for something else. I came across an editorial position that paid at least £5k/year more – and a generous pension match of 18.1% – and I remember sneaking out for my lunch break – because of the Big Brother vibes – to speak to the manager of this editorial team.

She kindly allowed me to arrange an interview for a time after work and I got a taxi to this office, after hours, to interview for this editorial role that I’d eventually land.

When I handed in my resignation, the CEO, who had genuinely seemed to like me for some reason, gave me an exit interview and asked me why I was leaving. I said about the pay and pension match – and he said something along the lines of have I considered investing the pension in my existing pot (remember this point)? Um, no, thank you!

I was very careful in what I said, but I did say that my manager had often given me negative feedback on my writing.

Unfortunately, that I think led to her being fired. We later became friends and she even came to my Hen Night (bachelorette party), but I never did quite admit that I may have been the reason she lost her job. Person number two. Boy, did I have to be way more careful about my conduct. Melts into the ground!

Why don’t you use Google?

For both of us, things turned out much better, better-paying jobs, moving up the career ladder to management positions, but before I left she did tell me to Google the CEO.

Turns out, he was being investigated along with his father for stealing millions in their previous company’s employee pensions. He may be in prison now for all I know. But I guess the millions is why he could still keep the dodgy company afloat. And also was he planning to do it again with my new pension?

Eventually, or however many months later, the company hadn’t folded but instead rebranded. Every article I wrote had changed bylines to another author who definitely did not write the articles.

I dodged a bullet for sure. And working there was the longest two months of my life. I eventually left with a week’s notice, which I argued with the CEO about, and he let me go.

Next time, I’ll tell you about how I became an editor, my ultimate dream job, even if it wasn’t in glamorous book publishing and how it led me to where I am now.

Thankfully, all along the way I had a very supportive Michael by my side. We’d moved in together. I’ll share how he asked me soon. Although he was amused by the fact that I’d had four jobs in England in my first couple of years of employment, whilst he had had two jobs in his entire life. His father, George, always thought I was playing roulette too much but it all worked out and I managed to increase my salary by tens of thousands in the intervening years.

I’ve always been proud of my calculated career move risks.

What’s happening on my publishing journey?

On Christmas Eve, I got the best Christmas present (after having the most horrendous workday, I might add), that I had a manuscript request from an agent. The week after, I spoke with this agent and she’s on the cusp of offering me representation.

She’s a small agent based in Chicago and only keeps around 12-15 clients. She has secured many Big 5 publishing deals and her clients are USA Today and New York Times bestsellers but I’d say most of her authors are midlist authors, which isn’t a bad place to be.

Unusually, she has beta readers do her reading for her and trusts their instincts. I haven’t received the feedback on my manuscript yet but when I spoke to her again last week, her reader did not like my protagonist, so that’s not great, but she will come up ways to help me ‘fix’ the novel.

If I sign with her, she’s already helped me develop a list of my dream publishers and editors to approach.

However, once I get an offer, I can also email other agents I’ve queried and give them two weeks to get back to me. If I do get other requests and speak with other agents, I can get a feel of what would be a good fit for me.

I am also about to work on the second manuscript I completed last year with my developmental editor, , and I may hold off on The Broken Engagement Club and query that second novel instead.

I was very lucky to have manuscript requests from Jenny Bent (Richard Osman’s agent) and Jane Dystel (Colleen Hoover’s agent) and had big dreams of signing with either of those agents, so with a new novel, I could approach them again.

I have lots of thinking to do as your agent determines your career. And as much as I’m impatient to get signed and get my novel out there with publishing houses, I want to make the right choice. All advice welcome!

The querying journey

I think the process of querying has made me a little depressed. I’m not generally prone to depression but I fully get why authors sit on their manuscripts, perfecting them for ten years. The querying trenches, as they are known, are touch. You face rejection. You submit letters to many agents who reject quickly or slowly or don’t reply at all. Or get requests that lead to nothing. It’s so disheartening.

I know, too, there are many, many talented writers out there and it’s often about luck and timing and what the market wants at the time. But also, publishing houses often don’t know what readers want because we see that so many self-published authors are having unprecedented success, publishing novels that were rejected by agents and publishers, and now having these amazing sales numbers.

All that being said, it’s my goal to publish traditionally with the Big 5 and I don’t plan to give up, even if it is slightly mad and the industry seems challenging. And even if only 1% of people get published.

If you’re writing your novel or have finished your manuscript, well done. That’s an achievement. If you write your Substack, well done, too. It’s all fantastic.

And if you’re a reader, like I was for many years, we need you too, and thank you.

Hope your 2026 is off to a good start. Sending love and best wishes.

Next up, how I became an editor for my actual day job.

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New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, why don’t you catch up on the other ninety-nine chapters I’ve written, including the TL;DR of this publication – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately.

Yay! This is officially my 100th chapter. That’s very exciting. With present-day snippets, I think there are actually over 130 chapters still, I’m happy about this journey.

Have you ever worked somewhere that was a bit too on the Big Brother spectrum? Let me know in the comments or reply to this email.

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The year was 2017. I’d moved to England in June 2016.

By March 2017, I was still mostly gainfully unemployed, living on my restaurant dishwashing job (that I only got paid for when I left…no idea if it was the right amount) and my also cash-in-hand tutoring job as well as the ‘very generous’ £500/month ‘alimony’ from my first husband. You can catch up on that story here (the employment bit, not the fact that I never took a divorce settlement and couldn’t afford a lawyer anyway).

I was the ripe age of 29 and mentally in both a good and a bad place, but I tried to push all the bad feelings down and just get on with it. I’d applied to Manchester University to do a PGCE (a teaching qualification) to teach primary school. Teaching young children appealed to me; however, it would also mean I’d have to take a year studying and not earning money.

I also applied for a bunch of jobs, as you do, hoping I’d get some interviews.

I took a lot of selfies during this time, and I’ll litter them throughout, as my goodness, there are a lot!

The demoralising nature of the job hunt and how it costs money

Job searching is demoralising, and it makes you feel worthless when you barely get interviews. I think I had about four or five interviews at places and never got anywhere, even after doing the follow-up interviews or assignments. When you’re quite poor, interviews cost money. Maybe I have to dry clean my suit, buy a train ticket, a bit of lunch (because there’s nothing weirder than crushed sandwiches in your handbag), and generally just hope that at the end of it, you’ll be employed. A hope of a paycheque.

I recall my best friend in grad school and housemate, Brittany, having this one friend in Connecticut and this friend (I think she knew her from high school) could never catch a break.

She was in the poverty-cycle loop. She’d get made redundant and not get any severance pay, having not worked there very long. She’d interview for a new job (interviews cost money) and land said job (great), but the trouble was she would have to drive to and from the job with an unreliable car and pay for the gas and lunch for that job – and to make matters worse, she had to buy the uniform for said job upfront as well. So, before she even got paid, she was making negative money.

I remember really feeling for this friend I’d never met because as soon as she’d get somewhere, she’d be taken down a few pegs in life – her car would break down, she’d have to move out of her apartment, the rent would go up, all things out of her control. She was trying so hard and yet never getting anywhere. Sometimes life is like that. And I’m certainly not saying at this point I was in quite that state – very thankfully.

We may have all been in these situations. And this was back in the mid-2000s, when the cost of living wasn’t as bad as now. I sure as hell don’t know how anyone manages now on lower salaries in expensive places.

The myth of ‘part-time’ employment

Prior to this moment in life, I’d always worked several jobs. Perhaps, you too have been a ‘several jobs’ person. Several teaching jobs plus tutoring or plus working in a gym or plus whatever. That’s sort of okay in your 20s. You can recover from sheer exhaustion. But what that meant was I’d never been gainfully employed full time.

In Germany, I worked something like 35 hours at my kindergarten teaching assistant job and then I worked 3 classroom hours teaching university students at night plus all the grading, lesson planning, and reading that I didn’t get paid for, so I always worked more than ‘full time’ hours but wasn’t official (that could be as many as 20+ hours when grading papers was involved).

American jobs love to do that to you. The whole classing you as ‘part-time.’ They don’t have to pay you benefits then.

Same when I was an adjunct ‘professor.’ I guess they think the title makes you feel a bit proud of what you do, despite how underpaid you are. It’s cool to tell people you teach at a university, but the reality is a windowless office that smells vaguely of urine and no access to a photocopier.

The interview that went somewhere

In March 2017, I’d been called to an interview I found on LinkedIn for a ‘content executive’, which is basically a content writer in a marketing agency but dressed up to sound important. I mean, you’re not really a C-suite ‘executive,’ are you? You’re just at the bottom of a company with a fancier title. Despite that, I was ecstatic. The interview went well, and the next day I was asked to complete a writing assignment and not spend more than two hours on it.

I said I’d send the writing test by the following Monday. No idea what kept me busy prior to that. Probably working at the tutoring centre and visiting family. The writing test took me about 45 minutes to read the brief, write 900 words, and source images (a task which would later become the bane of my existence – images, not the writing bit).

Landing my first full-time job

The next morning, I’d been offered the job. I was thrilled. I’d actually have full-time employment for the first time in my life. And this full-time employment was only 35 hours. Absolute win!

The downside was the job only paid £18,000 per year, which I joked that my ex made more in a month than I made in a year now. How life changes! And we arranged – as the woman I worked for as a cash-in-hand tutor was reluctant to let me go – that I’d start on 10 April.

The work hours were 9-5 Monday to Thursday and 9-3 on Fridays. Oh how I wish these were my hours now! Early finish Friday! What a novelty!

Michael and I went out to dinner to celebrate. Here’s photographic evidence. I must have gotten ready at home (i.e. my Dad’s house – remember photos of this very messy bedroom as I was clearly still living as if I was a teenager and not almost thirty!).

The upswing before the downswing.

My first few months

The company was started by one guy who began his SEO company from a bedroom when he found out that he was very good at SEO before it exploded all over the internet, and another guy who had owned a design agency in Yorkshire. So, they merged things and set up a company in Lancashire and brought their wives on as well. The SEO guy’s wife was in charge of HR, and the other guy’s wife was in charge of event planning or something and only seemed to work a couple of days.

They got into the HubSpot game fairly early and had done well, and were already a Platinum Agency and would later become a Diamond Agency (the highest level). They had won awards and seemed to be expanding rapidly. It seemed that it could go places if you got in at the bottom. They’d already promoted those who had been there from the beginning, and I thought maybe I could work my way up.

For anyone who has absolutely no clue what HubSpot is, then it’s a sort of stalker-level website hosting platform that shows customer behaviour, and everything can be set up on the back end to figure out how to sell to that customer at their predicted state in the sales funnel. I don’t really want this chapter to become a whole thing on how ‘sales funnels’ work, but this platform was quite revolutionary at the time. You could see what your potential customers were doing in real time, and for the marketing agency itself, the sales team could call a customer whilst they were browsing the site, and the conversation might go something like, “Oh! How funny! I was just looking at your website.”

And the salesperson would be like, “What a coincidence! I was just checking in to see what you’re thinking.” Knowing perfectly well they were browsing the site and pretending they didn’t have the equivalent of a tracker app, and orchestrating an in-person meetup that seemed coincidental.

This marketing agency mostly employed people in their 20s, whom they could get away with paying less, I imagine and only the bare minimum pension contributions. I’m not saying they weren’t generous (i.e. taking us out for meals and drinks and buying office snacks) or that the atmosphere didn’t have good vibes, because it did but there’s a point at which people need actual money to live on.

The first few months of the job went well. I got into the swing of writing for clients. They were happy with my work. I wrote quickly and sometimes wrote upwards of 5-7 articles per day, when my goal was about 3 per day. Having done my master’s and teaching students how to research, I was adept at researching topics, reading quickly around a subject, and collating that knowledge into an easy-to-read article.

I had to learn all about customer personas and writing titles to the client's specifications. The manager of our team came up with the titles for the quarter, and the platform was good at determining engagement and if the keywords and strategy were working.

On the whole, this model did generate a lot more revenue for clients, and this was pre-more complicated Google SERP algorithms when it was a little bit easier to figure out how to get traffic. All I can say is now I’m very glad I work nowhere near marketing, especially with AI-generated articles.

I also learned that said clients paid in the realm of £10-20k for these packages per month and for the content I wrote, the agency maybe charged the client upwards of £100 per post (plus all the social media guff I had to write around each piece) and I maybe took £20 per piece from that pie.

To be fair to the agency, it did teach me all I needed to know about SEO, tagging, H2s (different heading styles, paragraph styles, etc), analytics dashboards, and how to write this sort of article that is ubiquitous on the internet now. I’m sure half the internet (is scarily) written by some underpaid writer in an agency – or maybe now that’s being taken over by AI and the writers are redundant.

I can’t recall now exactly how many people were at this startup, but it may have been up to twenty. I was part of a ‘squad’ or ‘scrum’ or whatever silly name (maybe pod?) they called each of the two main writing teams. My manager seemed very professional, and I was impressed with the thorough training I received. Keep this in mind. The training bit.

It was the kind of company that had inside jokes on Slack channels. Why do ‘hip’ companies always have Slack channels? And they used Basecamp and not Trello for their project management cards, and you have to roll your eyes at this sort of thing.

One day, I did make a faux pas with the outreach woman. She was around my age and newly married, renovating a cottage, looked like one of those British Barbie types, and seemed to have the sort of life of everything I’d lost (despite the fact I was happy with Michael – it was all new).

I was tasked with editing an article that was written by someone other than me, which I thought had been written by the client. I said a couple of disparaging things about it not realising I was well and truly putting my foot in it and she’d written it herself (big, big lesson learned here – find out who wrote the thing first and better yet, be kinder to people about their writing, which is one thing I never did again) and I felt absolutely mortified. I’m not sure that got this relationship on the right foot.

I also made friends with the other writer in the agency and she felt like a sort of lifeline to me. We would have our half-hour lunch together in the breakroom and I very much enjoyed talking to her. But a few months in, she decided to go and do a second master’s degree in speech and language pathology and left and I felt quite lonely there after that.

I liked the people there and the company did fun things around holidays – you know the sort of office games type thing and that is some people’s jam and not others.

At one point, I asked for a raise as I said that I barely had any expenses but theoretically I couldn’t even afford to live in the cheapest flat in Todmorden because I was classed as a ‘new driver’ and my car insurance was £150 per month and the fuel to get there was at least £100 per month as well. And even though I didn’t have debts or many expenses and I tried to save, there wasn’t really a whole lot leftover per month and I didn’t see how I could ever build my life on this sort of income.

The drive was only 45 minutes long and at the time felt quite interminable. If only I knew! And it had been in quite an affluent area of Lancashire so the drive was picturesque. I walked by a castle on the way to work and drove by some of the poshest, prettiest country houses with beautiful gardens.

Unhappy with the money I was on, I asked for a raise. Since I had been given a glowing performance review and I was now up to a grand £20,000/year (i.e. £2k more per year).

I did, however, love getting to write every day. I secretly harboured the idea that one day I’d write that novel, too. But after work and the gym, tired from the commute, I just did not have it in me (and I wouldn’t start to write until 6 years later but I’ll speak more about this in future).

When things started to go wrong

This chapter will be a billion words long if I keep going on, but overall, I think I integrated well enough into the team. I was also at the rock bottom of my life and was trying to adapt and adjust so I was very un-British and was honest and open with people about my divorce and my relationship and the pay (big red flag for the small company). They were not happy that I discussed pay at all.

Where things really started to go wrong were that they hired more writers and decided that the writer team would be its own thing and I got a new manager. I was moved from the Mac desktop that I enjoyed working on to a Google book-type thing that had a small screen. And considering I only worked at this company for about 8ish months total, they kept making lots of changes, and I am always the sort who has to moan about changes before adapting.

I mean big companies even hire ‘change managers’ but the SEO guy and his HR wife started to dislike my ‘attitude.’

Also, this one new writer whom I really liked was getting a lot of flak for her articles and I did not appreciate that. I felt like I was given a really good onboarding experience and under this new manager – a guy who had lived in the same West Yorkshire areas where I lived and did very much like as a person – she was given a poor onboarding experience, and I felt set up to fail.

I felt they were being unfair to her and I spoke up. I dislike unfairness and injustice. But I also did not learn this lesson that some people don’t take too kindly to sticking your head above the parapet, making complaints, pointing out failures, and speaking out.

To them, I was a troublemaker.

Maybe I was. Not intentionally. I had liked the job and the people.

I cared about this other writer’s success but for her sake, I wish I’d shut up.

Because it resulted in her being let go and I was devastated because I felt like I was the reason. I had thought her writing was strong and I thought she was being unfairly treated. Thankfully, she ended up getting a job as a writer for a council and I believe she is way more successful and earns a lot more, so it did work out for her. But I have carried the guilt of this situation for years.

After this turning point, I didn’t realise I was then part of a sort of witch hunt.

I was in a miserable state and rubbed people the wrong way. I was in the lowest point of my life and there was no compassion or understanding. Everything I said was being misconstrued and brought back to management. One minute, I was getting glowing reviews and the next being reprimanded.

Every comment I said was being reported behind my back to this HR lady and I had been called into a sort of informal ‘disciplinary’ meeting at some point. It was an odd thing. I’m being praised for my work but disparaged for my ‘attitude.’

I’d never ever worked in a place where the people I worked with were the sort to ‘step over the bodies.’ Perhaps it was just my being American that didn’t sit well with them. Perhaps it was my personality. Who knows?

I felt very uncomfortable after this point. It’s sort of like being ostracised from a village. I didn’t quite know how to deal with it, as I said, I’d never had this happen to me and I’d never had people dislike me before.

There were some good bits as on one of the Bank Holidays Grammy and I took a trip to Copenhagen and Malmo – but it was then I learned my ex had randomly remarried. I was mourning the loss of my old life and trying to navigate this new life.

At this point, I still thought my ex had been wonderful and I was heartbroken. I mourned the old comfort I’d had, having my own home, having money to spend, navigating the feeling of failing at marriage.

But I was happy to live with my Dad, see my niece, and my cousin’s children – and belly laugh with a man who gave me amazing sex (that can’t be discounted) and gave me hope of this new life with his kindness.

Messing up my back

During my employment, I’d made the, perhaps, unwise decision to join a CrossFit gym, which is obviously cult-like in its vigour. I took some sort of rowing classes with this guy who had been an Olympic trainer for the British rowing team or something and I clearly had bad enough form that I got full-on sciatica. So, I was now walking all twisted and in pain like Quasimodo.

I went to see the doctor and was told I had a herniated disc pressing on my sciatic nerve, and I couldn’t drive on the painkillers. (I think after having an osteopath fix me, however long later I’d actually had a spasm in my calf that had pulled my body out of alignment but right then I was in agony.)

I was allowed some sick days and checked in with my manager.

I’m not sure when I went back but I got one of those ominous emails where I had a ‘disciplinary hearing’ scheduled for mid-December for my ‘Inferior quality work,’ “Proofing errors,’ “Poor client feedback,’ ‘Lack of client persona knowledge,’ “Poor and disruptive attitude’ - which included being reluctant to change seating position, new laptop, and negative reaction when ‘winning new work.’ Obviously, ‘winning new work’ meant even higher workload for the grunts like me.

I was told that this could end with my being fired. I’d never been fired in my life.

A total witch hunt. Despite the ‘poor attitude,’ my work had been nothing of the sort. Why give me a raise and glowing performance review not long before if that was the case?

Thankfully-ish, at the same time, another HubSpot agency had tried to poach me on LinkedIn. I rushed to interview with this new company and got the job. The job paid something like £24,000, so I could leave a declining situation and make more money to boot. This time, I’d have to get the train to Spinningfields in Manchester and not have the ‘long’ drive (but I’ll talk about this job in the next chapter).

I then replied to this HR-summons email with resignation, asking that I get paid in lieu of notice. They agreed. There had been a ton of client work on, and I think they had to get an agency in to finish it without my input.

And I never did get to exchange the Secret Santa gift I’d bought.

I remember being escorted out by the design manager, the other co-owner of the company, who had always been very kind to me, and he said a few words of apology and looked confused and sympathetic. I’m not sure he’d even been told what had been going on.

My 30th birthday and some of the good bits

In June, this marketing agency had gone to the trouble of doing a whip round and presenting me with lovely 30th birthday presents. I got a bracelet and some champagne and a lovely card. I’d only been there a couple of months at this point.

We’d had a meal out when we’d all been allowed to invite our partners, and Michael came.

I’d gone for drinks and met up with a couple of the women (including the outreach woman) alongside the writer who left. I think she and this other design woman were in the end the ones who were ‘backstabbing.’

I’d had good chats and enjoyed some of their company. I’d been impressed with one of the young men there who did his work placement with the company and was incredibly sharp. He went on later to form his own agency.

Parsing out the aftermath

I still feel mortified thinking of this time even 8 years on. I’d never been treated like that by a set of people before or since. It made me a lot more cautious about workplace friendships as well, but it also made me start to avoid startups and any company filled with young, ambitious people who wanted to put my head on a spike.

As someone who manages a team now, I give people lots of grace. Perhaps, that’s the lesson I was meant to take from this experience.

I even reframed complaints from ‘moany employees’ to my manager. People who moan are engaged. They give a damn about the outcome. Some may be ‘troublemakers’ but complaining comes from a place of care usually.

It’s the people who are checked out that you need to worry about. Just because people aren’t speaking up doesn’t mean they are happy. It can mean either the company culture needs work as speaking up is judged, punished, or silenced, or they are checked out and going through the motions. I always keep this in mind and I encourage open discussion in my team.

And I love a moaner! Moaning means I need to listen and I need to address the concerns. I need to find way to ease that person’s experience of change or fear or whatever is happening.

In my current role, I’m also a cultural ambassador and I love that role of helping people engage with the company.

Plus my role also means I get to welcome new editors to the company. It’s one of the parts of the role I enjoy most. I train new editors and journalists in what my department does and what it means for compliance. I also check in with them regularly, just informally, making sure they are fitting in and being a source of knowledge if they are afraid to ask their direct line manager for help.

Now, I’ve made friends globally as we have journalists who work around the world and I’ve found my place – actually being myself. It probably helps that I am in a happier place.

I give grace to rude people too. To this marketing agency, I was the rude, moany person, but often moany, complainy, rude people are unhappy in some aspect of their life. They may have illness, chronic pain, marital issues, caring issues, childcare issues, depression, whatever. There’s a reason and I try and reach people in the role I have now. I am never rude back. I bring people around. Some of the editors in the company who have a reputation for ‘spikiness’ are generally nicer to me because I treat people with compassion, having been in this dark place myself.

But before that happened, before I landed in the corporate world I’m in now, I worked for the other marketing agency that poached me, and I landed my first editorial role after that.

What happened to the marketing agency?

What happened to the Platinum HubSpot marketing agency I left in a not-so-nice way? They were bought out by a Canadian agency and seemed to merge. I think they had a UK leg and a Canadian one and seemed to do well.

Lots of the people there seemed to move up the career ladder, but I saw on LinkedIn just last week that many of the original employees have been made redundant just in time for Christmas.

I am now a compassionate human and genuinely feel that’s truly awful for them. I do wish them well.

I still follow some on Instagram and vice versa. Sometimes the HR lady looks at my LinkedIn profile, randomly. No one kept in touch.

I did keep in touch for a while with the writer friend who left and did become a speech therapist for children, which she loves. She’d been single and living on her parents’ farm – I got the impression she had enough money she could ‘float’ and see what she wanted in life – but now she is married and seems happy.

I found it so difficult to write this piece. It’s been on the go for three weeks at least. I think it just felt like such a shameful time and I found it so shocking when I’m usually liked by people (at workplaces, obviously, people who dated me reserve the right to dislike me now), how everything could go so disastrously wrong.

I remember talking to a fellow cultural ambassador at my current company. He is one of the brightest bulbs in our company. He presents at conferences. He’s universally loved and friendly. But he told me prior to our current company, he’d worked at a place that hated him. They’d been racist toward him and treated him badly. He was so miserable that he left. I couldn’t believe he’d had that experience as he’s genuinely one of the most interesting people, having grown up all over the world with two Diplomats for parents – plus he plays electric guitar! I guess it is all about blooming where you are planted and cliches like that. Those old companies weren’t a good fit for us, but this new one is.

Present-day bits

I’ll write a longer roundup in January of what I’ve been up to. I know I’ve been out of Substack action for a while. I miss writing my Substacks.

Truth is, lately I’ve not been writing, which is very sad. I think the winter gets me down. Coming up to the season where I lost people gets me down, work right now – with Christmas being one of our busiest publishing times – gets me down, and the mounting rejections for THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB also get me down.

I think I’m 90-something rejections in now. But I will keep going! I have had a couple of agents request I query my next novel with them, too.

I did get a sort of revise and resubmit your opening pages by an agent yesterday, but I don’t really want to change my book that much, so I’ll just query her with my next novel and see how things go.

It’s a bit frustrating to get full manuscript requests from Richard Osman’s and Colleen Hoover’s agents, people at the absolute top of their game, and lovely feedback from them, but ‘nos’ by so many others. But many ‘authors’ have stories where it was their second or third or fifth book that landed an agent and if I don’t give up, I keep honing my craft, and I keep getting better; one day it’ll happen.

This year, I’ve been proud of all the books I’ve read (and listened to). 112 books and counting. And I count that as honing my writing craft. Can’t write stories without reading them.

I’ve also loved being part of ’ 60 Minute Book Club. Sign up if you want to join for next year. We read one short story per month and meet to discuss it. The timings haven’t quite worked out for me this year, but Emma is amazing and clever and I love reading the recaps of the discussion. I find that I read lots of short stories and poems in uni, but fewer as we get older – unless you’re the sort of person who seeks out short story collections, which I’m generally not.

I love a good short story. I’m absolutely shockingly bad at writing short stories. Tips appreciated. I just don’t “get it” as far as how to do it. And I know that sometimes winning short story competitions can help you land an agent, but I never have mastered the art.

If you celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a lovely Christmas or whatever holiday season is coming up for you, be it Hanukkah, Kwanza, and more.

I appreciate every reader I have. Every free and paid subscriber, all the support. I just hope my words resonate with some of you. You can always hit reply and let me know.

Next up, the company I worked for next who had a CEO who pulled a ‘Sir Philip Green’ and stole his previous company’s pensions – and how working there felt like incarceration.

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New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, why don’t you catch up on the other ninety-eight chapters I’ve written, including the TL;DR of this publication – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately.

My goal in future is always to write shorter, but I seem incapable. Did you ever have a workplace that wasn’t ‘quite a good fit’ or a situation where people actively disliked you, like I did? (Awful, isn’t it?)

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Who am I in the ‘real world’ and on Substack?

I’m Elaine (my family call me Lainey). I’m a British-American writer and editor – and happily married cat lady. I manage a European copy editing team for a FTSE 100 company for my day job (in petrochemical journalism, so not the glam kind of editing – as I once saw myself as editor in chief at some sort of magazine – you know, the usual young people dreams) and I write this Substack (although more like monthly these days when it used to be weekly) and I’m an aspiring novelist on submission. I’ve worked with professional developmental editor, , to perfect my (hopefully) debut novel and will commence work with Kristen on my second novel in January 2026.

I have written three novels total so far: The Broken Engagement Club, Wanted: Golden Retriever Boyfriend, and a silly billionaire romance that may stay in the figurative desk drawer forever (I loved my characters, though). Next, I was going to focus on a rom-com set in Georgia (where I grew up), called Mistletoe and Magnolias, but I will finish two sequels to The Broken Engagement Club, I think, and then write this sixth novel.

Hope it all goes as well as it can – and that one day I can see these novels in readers’ hands. Perhaps, some of you may buy a copy someday. And for those of you who are writers, I hope to buy your books, too. I’d like to think there’s room in the universe for each of us, that all books have readers whose lives will be touched by your words!

The potted history of where I’ve lived

I grew up in Oldham, Lancashire until I was 10. I then moved to Orlando, Florida, but grew up mostly in various towns in southern Georgia, settling for all of high school in a town called Alapaha, Georgia (going to high school in Nashville, Georgia. All the people, places, and experiences that led me to where I am now (and I’m thankful for most of them)

I attended university and graduate school in Georgia, where I spent my time getting good grades, making lots of friends, going to lots of parties, meeting lots of boys, and sleeping very little – and existing in a high-stress manic state. I had a scholarship to both – and was chosen to return for a master’s programme by people in the English department, which was just as well because I couldn’t find a job back then, graduating in a recession as I did. Thus, I have a BA in English (theatre and art history minor) and an MA in British Victorian Literature.

After uni, I lived in Columbus, Georgia before meeting my first husband there and moving to Germany (where I met the most amazing people in my life).

My ex moved us to Minneapolis, Minnesota before deciding – when I was visiting my mother in Florida – that he no longer wanted our marriage, leaving me in a precarious situation. Parting words: “I love you, but we’re not right for each other” (true) and “You’re not the kind of wife I want” (a little harsh as I wasn’t entirely domesticated or thin enough, apparently).

I moved to Todmorden, West Yorkshire, where I moved in with my Dad and met my current (and forever) husband, Michael, a few weeks later – and the rest is history.

What to expect from Why We Met?

Here’s a summary of my publication and what you can find on Why We Met.

I know many people are time-poor, but I always recommend my first 15 or so chapters that begin the journey.

Why We Met is the journey of how I met my gem of a Yorkshire husband, Michael.

I’m not trying to boast, and I see all sorts of things about how women boast about their amazing male partners and men on TikTok don’t do the same. But if you read a little of my dating life, you’ll understand.

It’s not easy to find your person, someone who gets you. And if you find that someone who gets you and aligns with your vision for your future, helps you become the best version of yourself, lifts you up, supports you – and vice versa – hold on tight (or hold on a healthy amount because smothering isn’t good).

It took a long time to get here – or relatively long time – or maybe it’s just because I packed in a lot of dating disasters and a failed marriage before meeting him.

It also wasn’t easy because I was half in love with everyone I met. I was fairly asexual in high school and rather innocent, but I did have lingering crushes on so many boys (far too many) and in university, I flipped to hypersexual, but that was probably a reaction against being smothered by my first ‘real’ boyfriend.

Plus, unlike in high school, where I had about three boyfriends (two of which lasted mere weeks), I suddenly had so many options, like a smorgasbord, and it was very exciting! It’s giving The Summer I Turned Pretty vibes. I’ve only seen one episode, but I’ve heard it’s the new Dawson’s Creek.

Why We Met

#3 WHERE DO OUR EARLY DATING IMPRESSIONS COME FROM?

On reflecting upon the “start” of my journey with the opposite sex, I realise (maybe quite sadly) that so much of our lives is informed by our early years. On the one hand, I had the most amazing childhood in England with a wonderful, loving support network that consisted of my parents, my older sister (by five years), Grammy, Grandad, Grandad’s second wife, Gill, my uncles, step aunts and uncles (via Grandma Gill), and some very dear family friends (Jenny, Derek, and their daughter Sarah and her family, and Jenny’s headmaster, Barry) – and my parents’ friends, grandparents’ friends, neighbours, and the list goes on. I had a big network. I got to do nice things, go on nice walks, go on holidays, and spend lots of time in beautiful gardens, and the countryside. All of those things informed my personality to a degree, but none of those things was going to prepare me for dating, so, on the other hand, I was informed in later years by the fact that when I was younger, I wasn’t the girl wh…

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3 years ago · 9 likes · 2 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

The high school years

In high school, I had a first date, though, with a boy who used to be the boyfriend of one of my childhood friends from elementary and middle school, a girl who was like a lost Summer Sister by Judy Blume. (Tell me someone has read this book, too, and found it devastating?)

This was before I’d ever officially get a boyfriend, and it was cool to pretend I was one of those girls with a ‘boyfriend’ who lived ‘out of town.’

Why We Met

#4 MY VERY FIRST DATE

By the time I turned eleven, my mother had met a semi-truck driver named Sparky (his nickname). She worked for a company in Orlando that made custom corrugated cardboard boxes and displays, and when she’d go for her smoke breaks in the loading dock, sometimes he’d be delivering to the company, waiting for the trailer to unload – and he’d join her for a chat…

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3 years ago · 8 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Then, I had my first kiss, who crushed my heart, too, but then (spoiler) we later hooked up when I was in graduate school.

Why We Met

#5 MY FIRST KISS, MY FIRST HEARTBREAK

I’d spent my whole freshman year of high school in semi-flirtations with various crushes from the older, cooler, totally off-limits senior boys – especially the ones with girlfriends – to the boys in my class, some single some not. I vaguely remember a scene with two crushes where I was sitting on a swing set in Alapaha after some church event and both boys, jock, muscular types, one with big, bushy curly hair, were standing next to me – we were alone for some reason, everyone else in the former school gymnasium before they’d combined the high schools from Alapaha and Nashville (Georgia) into one…

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3 years ago · 8 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Here are some other high school highlights (or maybe they are counted as lowlights?):

• That time I hooked up with my first kiss

• The other guy I dated in high school, who came out after he dumped me (good for him, but not so great when you live in south Georgia)

• That one guy I used to make out with in the parking lot to make first kiss jealous (it didn’t)

Senior year of high school and into my years as an undergraduate in university, I had a long-term high school sweetheart (HSS) that kept me tethered, the boy I first loved and lost my virginity to, but after a year, it had run its course and gotten boring. I was still in love but also yearning for more. I’m sure back then I’d have been a perfect candidate for an “open relationship,” but those weren’t a thing then.

I was avoidantly attached, I’m sure. The more HSS tried to squeeze my heart, the more I longed for freedom, sexually and otherwise, although the sex was one of the best parts of our relationship – as he was rather well endowed. (Not that I’d find that out until I sampled other apples in the barrel!)

Why We Met

#9 HOW I MET MY HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART

This post is a little longer but provides the backstory to many of the stories that follow. TL;DR: we met in high school and it was great until it wasn’t…

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3 years ago · 6 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

The uni years

I dramatically exited that relationship first by sleeping with a man I used to work with at a tutoring centre on my uni campus, who spent weeks – weeks I tell you – seducing me and then dropped me like a hot potato after we’d had (bad) sex and even wrote a poem about how what we did meant less than nothing to him.

Why We Met

#11 WHEN I SLEPT WITH MY CRUSH’S BEST FRIEND – AND THEN HE WROTE A POEM SAYING IT MEANT NOTHING

In undergrad, my very first job (I didn’t get until I was age 20) was a call centre job answering customer service calls for DirecTV, which was a satellite TV company (kind of like Sky for the Brits). Boy was that job mind-numbingly boring (but I did have a sweet, hot boss who years later took me on a date but I had diarrhoea and kept disappearing to the bathroom in the cinema so he got the impression I wasn’t into him) and sometimes uncomfortable like that time that guy called to order pay per view (i.e. porn) and kept telling me to stay on the phone and that I had a lovely voice, except we couldn’t hang up and I kept having to ask if I’d answered all his questions whilst he wanked over the line. Fun! Minimum wage phone sex – not what I signed up for…

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3 years ago · 5 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

High school sweetheart took me back. I’m sure we hung in there for close to four years, on and off, continually cutting at each other’s skin, trying to wound the other. Trying to feel, perhaps. But I finally wanted off the disaster coaster and slept with one of my university professors.

Why We Met

#27 WHEN I F*CKED THE MARRIED PROFESSOR: HOW KARMA BIT ME IN THE ANKLE

This post is my first post exclusively for paid subscribers. Thank you to everyone for your support…

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3 years ago · 6 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Even that wasn’t dramatic enough for HSS to want to end things, at which point, I was wondering why he was clinging on and why he had no self-respect. We were horrible for each other. Nothing about me was that good or that nice. I’d fallen into toxic territory. He tried to plaster over his hurt feelings by fucking some of my friends, but I was so over it that I didn’t even care.

Here were some men I pined after as an undergraduate:

• The handsome boy with the green jumper I met at a club in England

• My older sister’s Oxford-educated best friend and an internet friend I’d met years ago (both married with children)

• The first boy I met on the train (now successful comedian married to famous wife)

• The second boy I met on the train (now successful businessman married to beautiful wife)

That set off a spiral of lots of casual hookups and relationships, pushing away even the kindest of men who might have been good for me and chasing after those who were most toxic, those who wanted hookups but never anything serious.

The graduate school years

Besides my education, lots of partying, and binge drinking, I managed to pack a lot of people into my two years at graduate school. (Perhaps not an accolade.)

I hooked up with the following (not in any particular order):

• My firefighter neighbour (don’t sleep with the neighbours), whom I ended up ghosting

• The hot Bosnian boy who lived across the street, who was part of the cool ‘International’ crowd

• The Air Traffic Controller I was obsessed with (friends with said hot international crowd, but this time the ‘gorgeous tennis players’)

• The (later) CFO I adored and my best date ever (a truly charming, tall, handsome man, where we never quite had that sexual spark)

• The man who later worked for a very famous tech company (another sweetheart), who threw the best parties

• The beautiful woman I kissed (and had a threesome with)

• The red-haired sex god I couldn’t quite get over (I went full hot-crazy scale)

• The Scandi lit professor who was a little unhinged (but so was I)

• The guy who reminded me of Patrick Bateman (a film student who’d been a former Capitol Hill worker in Tallahassee, Florida)

• The guy who was my model-roommate’s boyfriend (yikes! AKA the time I was a horrendous friend – and I even had an ‘encounter’ with his roommate, too)

• That time I had a one-night stand with a guy who worked at Target (just because he was hot)

• The hot Air Force Guy who’d later almost ruin my first marriage (also hot and also a weakness)

• That time I hooked up with another professor who was someone I met in a hot tub (and later had two classes with)

I had weird flings with the following:

• The German guy with the fake eye I met at Halloween (when I was trying to capture ATC’s attention)

• The handsome South American guy and our dirty encounter

• The lovely Turkish guy who wanted to hook up at a random house party (I was mortified)

• The angry painter, who looked down on me (class-wise)

• That tall Asian guy I drunkenly made out with at a bar, and he stood me up for our date

• That time I got in a stranger’s car (we were both drunk)

• The pharmacist guy, who was a confusing ghost

My second long(ish) term boyfriend seemed impressive because he was new in town and went to a fancy acting school in New York, and that seemed exotic (we call him Dorian). He was shorter but handsome, and I met him around the same time I met Scandi Lit Prof, and I decided to pursue him first, but when that crashed and burned (with its very dramatic ending), I set my sights on Dorian.

Why We Met

#23 HOW I MET THE STELLA ADLER ACADEMY ACTOR

In a previous post on RHSG, we established that naming the boyfriend I’d call the “Stella Adler Actor” Dorian would be easier than typing out SAA over and over – and probably better reading-wise…

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3 years ago · 7 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

High school sweetheart would go on to marry Stella Adler Actor’s girlfriend after me. They now have a baby and seem very happy together, which is good for them. But before any of that happened, high school sweetheart and Dorian formed a sort of “I Hate Elaine Club”, which made the mutual parties we attended very fun.

Why We Met

#25 THE “I HATE ELAINE CLUB”: WHEN MY HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART AND THE STELLA ADLER ACADEMY ACTOR BECAME HOUSEMATES

I did a thing! I recorded my first (badly done) voiceover to a post. Although, I hope I’ll improve on that. Now, you can do what I do when listening to audiobooks and speed it up so the post feels shorter. Thank you to Tacita B of The Sober Millenial…

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3 years ago · 7 likes · 3 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

He also managed to crash my car for me, so I was broke and carless for a time.

Why We Met

#24 HOW MY RELATIONSHIP WITH THE STELLA ADLER ACADEMY ACTOR CRASHED AND BURNED (LIKE MY TOYOTA CAMRY)

At twenty-three, the breakup seemed out of the blue. At approaching-forty, I see I was a total nightmare to date (for all two of my then-“serious” boyfriends and probably every one of the people who were on a more “casual” basis). Despite the endless clothing matching, not understanding what he was going through, and the myriad of whatever, I now see that we were simply a bad fit. To be fair to Dorian and despite my reminiscences…

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3 years ago · 7 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

The Columbus, Georgia year (near an Army base)

After my uni and grad school dating dramas, I moved over to Columbus, Georgia, where I met the Hot Jewish Doctor, and I was obsessed, but he ended things quickly; however, we hooked up for a while in sexy scenarios where I’d show up at his door with a coat and lingerie and he’d dress up in his scrubs.

Why We Met

#58 THE HOT JEWISH DOCTOR: THE BEGINNING

I’m sure that a doctor on a dating site, especially if he is 6’3” and 215 lbs of muscle, gets a lot of messages. Just as the opening line of Pride and Prejudice notes, ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife’ the same is ‘true’ of a ‘ridiculously good-looking doctor’ – or maybe at least in the mind of suitors as we no longer have Mrs Bennets looking out for us. This sort of man has fortune (or perceived fortune potential), status, and prestige, all ‘qualities’ many women seek in a mate…

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2 years ago · 5 likes · 3 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

That ended (mostly) when I met Captain Thor, AKA the first man I met in Starbucks, who broke my heart. He moved away to Texas and didn’t take me with him. We broke up after attending a wedding in New York. The tension was great.

Read that saga starting here. He left a trail of broken hearts behind during his time in Germany, too.

Why We Met

#55 CAPTAIN THOR MEMORIES: THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY

As I said in my previous post, I met Captain Thor at Starbucks. He came back a day or two later to check if I was there and he took me out to dinner and then we may have gone on another date and slept together. Read about it here…

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2 years ago · 2 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Here are some other people I met before I settled down with my first husband:

• Captain Cambridge, the most endowed man on the planet (I’m talking it is bigger around than a Coke can and longer than a ruler!)

• Captain Bookworm, my kind rescuer

• Captain Cotillion, the handsome debutant I met in line at a club

• The gorgeous, athletic Chinese doctor (also a Captain), theme here?

• The guy (also Captain) who ranted about his ex-wife on our date and never saw me again (don’t even think I got a free meal for this free therapy – I mean, I saw him again at Starbucks on another date)

• The skilled (with his tongue) US Army sergeant

• The second person I met at Starbucks, AKA the really, really hot fantasy man who lived in Texas (not military affiliated – something to do with something very technical)

• The Auburn art professor and cyclist (whom I blew off to date Hot Jewish Doctor)

• The tattooed Hispanic DILF, AKA the third person I met at Starbucks (also part of the military)

• The second one-night stand I barely recall (also a Captain, the first one-night stand being the guy at Target)

• The handsome lawyer that never was

• The Captain I went on a date with after I met my first husband (who slapped my hand in ketchup)

I fit in all of the above before I met my first husband, before we moved to Germany, and had what I thought was a happy life until he decided to end things, a bit unexpectedly. Start the journey with my ex-husband here:

Why We Met

#72 HOW I MET MY (EX) HUSBAND, AKA THE FOURTH PERSON I MET AT STARBUCKS

It’s no spoiler that my first marriage didn’t work out since I’m now with my second husband, Michael…

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2 years ago · 9 likes · 8 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

After that marriage ended, I relocated back to England, moving in with my Dad, and that’s how I met Michael on a dating app, and here we are.

Why We Met

#90 HOW I MET MY YORKSHIRE HUSBAND: PART ONE

In my final chapter about Benoit, I forgot to mention that the husbands of my Germany ladies were invited to Jessica and Benoit’s wedding. The wives, out of respect for our friendship, didn’t attend. No one told me he was getting remarried before he married Jessica but they let me know after that they’d been invited and refrained out of solidarity – and I have always found that to be such a kind, loving gesture. Catch up on the end of that story here, if you missed it…

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a year ago · 10 likes · 6 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

You can also catch up on the three other people I dated at the same time as my husband, Michael. But it was inevitable I’d always choose him. He’s my person. (Thankfully, he thought I was his person, too, despite all my unhinged dating eras.)

• That time I thought I’d be the sort of woman who could have a sugar daddy

• The lovely man who seemed better on paper but didn’t capture my imagination like Michael

• That time I tried to make Michael jealous by going on a date with someone else

• That time I washed dishes for a living when I moved ot England

• When my ex-husband didn’t bother to tell me we were divorced

Why I think I dated so many people

I’m, like, the opposite of a misanthrope; I have the capacity to care for lots of past people and friends (irl and internet). I am fascinated by people and their stories.

I’ve had many, many flirtations – and sexual encounters of a sort with at least one hundred men and one woman – but I’ve only had what I call “it counts” sex with somewhere between twenty to twenty-five partners.

I remember in university seeing that What’s Her Number film, and they counted 19 as a high number. Remember it with Anna Faris before she became #couplegoals and then #consciouslyuncoupled? I don’t think I’d had 19 partners at the time, but it didn’t seem high to me.

Some other articles I’ve read said people going down on you, hand jobs, and blowjobs count as sex, but I don’t count that because, um, well, the number of people I’ve let give me an orgasm (or try) would be far too high! (Thanks for the good times, if you remember?) But I guess it’s sort of like those people who think if you have anal, you still have your virginity…moving on…

I don’t regret it. It all taught me a lot about myself, for better and worse. And I don’t accept slut shaming.

Some people bruised my ego - and I should have moved on and let go. Some people showed me kindness – when I wasn’t ready for it. Some people taught me things (not just sexual LOLs). One person hurt me more than the others, but I’ve healed. (Also, therapy is great if you can afford it.)

But all led me to my present state. I want figuratively to pinch myself sometimes because I wake up happy with a cat curled beside me. (My husband is odd and we have separate bedrooms, which people either think is weird or genius.)

Michael makes my day-to-day lovely, but also he gives me space to grow and develop into my own person and know and understand what I want – true love and partnership isn’t suffocating – it is truly like having that best friend and lover wrapped into one.

I get to laugh daily. Full-on lose control belly laughs. Sometimes I break out the snorts or spit takes (unfortunately, on the latter). Having this quirky, unconventional man was the medicine I needed.

He doesn’t often compliment me. He doesn’t often say he loves me. But I know all the ways I’m loved. Over time, my inner critic and my insecurities are diminishing (still not all the way gone and probably never will be).

I love that when I whisper in his ear that I want a shag – family, ignore this bit – his body responds to mine. No matter that I’ve gained (and lost) two stone (or three stone), he doesn’t make me feel that I’m any less attractive to him because he loves the essence of who I am as a person that is outside my shell.

Do I want to look better and get healthier so I can have a life where I’m mobile and happy in my body? Of course, but I know that no matter what I do or don’t do, my husband is there to support me.

If I had no goals outside my career and didn’t want to spend time in my mornings, lunches, and evenings writing, then Michael would be okay with that. (Writing a lot less than this now, unfortunately.)

We work on goals together. We communicate. We tell each other our wants, needs, hopes, and dreams. We adjust as we change as people. Over this last almost decade, lots of things about us as individuals and a couple have shifted, and that’s okay.

And I love how well he’s integrated into my family. How well he loved my father. How he loves my Mum and stepfather. How he adored Derek, my family friend. How he loves my sisters, my cousins, their children, my aunts, and uncles, my great aunties, and my friends. How much he loves and helps care for my Grammy (who finally moved close, yay!). How much I love and adore his family, too. Harmony and love!

What does my husband think of my tell-all Substack?

People have wondered (early on) what my husband thinks of my revealing details of past sexcapades, and truly, he’s so secure in his masculinity and his place in my heart (very rightly so) that he is chill about it. He’s not the jealous type.

I know, early on, I was very naughty and tried to make him jealous, which backfired because he just isn’t. He is happy that I love writing and I’m doing my thing. He has read my novel on submission at least five times (poor man, as he’s a more thriller/mystery type reader).

One day, on a semi-related note, I asked my gorgeous sister-in-law why she’d only slept with two men. Why she’d been a virgin until she married her first husband, and why, when she’d lived abroad in Spain with so much opportunity to party and go wild, she hadn’t. She had said George had been traditional and specific, and he’d drummed into her that “not every man should have a key to the lock” and that she shouldn’t just sleep with anyone and everyone.

Whilst I don’t agree with this old-fashioned, slut-shamey sentiment, I understood my father-in-law. Above anything else, he loved his daughter. He was a wonderful father to her (and to Michael). He wanted to avoid her heartbreak at any cost, even when she was in an emotionally abusive marriage.

I fully understand that women fall on the spectrum. Some, like my sister-in-law, will have few partners and others, like me, will have more and embrace it. We are able to choose what we want, and that’s the great thing.

Growing together (not a pun)

I have always had a high sex drive and liked sex. Naturally, I enjoyed things more as I had more experience and better, more caring partners.

Overall, it’s not about how good the partner is per se; it’s all about communication and compatibility. Does that person care about making you orgasm and finding out what you like?

Something I liked five years ago might not be something I’m into now, and I’ve appreciated that Michael has let our sex lives evolve with our bodies. We are still discovering new ways that we like to orgasm together. I’m finding new tricks he likes that make him go wild (eat your heart out Cosmo headline) and vice versa.

My cousin, the other day, said that when she talks to her friends, they all enjoy sex when they are doing it, but few of them actively seek it out from their husbands. I said, first of all, I know I’m unusual in how much I enjoy it with my husband, but second of all, they’re all married with children. I don’t know how people with children manage these insane schedules. I have enough schedule for myself in a day without project managing 2-3 more people. No wonder everyone is too tired for intimacy!

I digress. Back to my journey. Not all lessons are good lessons. Some lessons have chipped away at me – my self-esteem, given me unknown triggers and traumas (and some I’ve probably talked to my therapist about).

At times, I was immoral (i.e. when people had girlfriends or wives) and frankly horrible as a person – rife with the totally selfish nature of 20 somethings – or maybe just shitty 20 somethings. But was I naturally that way, or did life give me lemons before I knew how to make lemonade? I guess we’ll never know.

But I think through the journey I’ve become a better person. I’m happier with who I am in the mirror. I am at peace with who I’ve become. I look forward to who I’ll be next.

Is being in love embarrassing? (A la the Vogue piece)

I guess for many in fixating solely on my quest to find a partner, I’ve failed all good feminism tests, but I am feminist.

I’m a product of my time – society hadn’t evolved far enough at the elder millennial stage, where the sole fixation of a woman’s life was often settling down and finding the one.

Do I think there’s one person for everyone? No, there are lots of people who you can make it work with and fit with, but avoid narcissists, mental abusers, and manipulators like the plague.

There were so many red flags in my past relationships and encounters (and my first marriage, probably for him too, as I was a walking red flag for a while).

I’m glad I’ve learned and evolved. I’m glad I’ve done the work to find the best partner for me.

If you’re searching for love, I hope you find the right person for you, or you make it work with the person you’re with (if you’re happy). I hope for all of you to have truly healthy partnerships in all areas of your life. Whether that’s happily single or joyfully coupled.

You deserve the best. You deserve love. You deserve safety. You deserve happiness.

As always, sending love and best wishes for all areas of your life.

Next up, that time I worked for a company where I was practically paid in M&Ms and things turned so dramatic and sour; I am still baffled all these years later.

New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, why don’t you catch up on the other ninety-seven I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing these chapters in the first place – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately.

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I’ll try to write more often and shorter! Stay tuned and feel free to email me your news. I love celebrating wins with my community of readers and writers. How would you summarise your dating life? I’m inherently nosy, so if you have a story to tell, I’m always open to hearing it.

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Most agents take anywhere from four to twelve weeks to reply to never (full-on ghosting), so it’s just a case of waiting.

I have a week left at work and then Michael and I are off for a fortnight. Unfortunately, no exciting holidays planned, so I may write more on the sequels or start a new novel entirely. I have too many ideas half-started, so I need to decide where to focus my energy and time. I may even catch up on several Substack posts so I can actually deliver something weekly.

TikTok has removed my ban, but why does uploading a video take so long? Why am I so awkward at videos? And why do I only get up to three hundred views if I wear something low-cut? Jumpers aren’t cutting it with the algorithm, so this news is a bit depressing because I doubt my target audience (women, of course) – since I wrote a rom-com – is interested in tits. I mean, they might be, but probably not a requirement for their writers.

I’ve always been uncomfortable wearing low-cut things thanks to growing up in the Bible belt and getting mixed messages of sexuality from the media plus ‘modesty’ and ‘virtue’ from school and church, so there’s that to unpack in therapy. Plus, I’d really love a reducation someday soon. Even researched the surgeon and everything. Bit afraid of surgery but if anyone’s ever had one, do let me know!

Don’t worry! I will not share the link to my TikTok. I’m still finding my feet as to what sort of ‘content’ (ick) works, or maybe I can admit defeat that social media is not really my thing. I don’t know how ‘influencers’ do it, despite one of my characters in my novel actually being an influencer. I’ve just been introducing my non-viewership to what my novel is about and all about the characters and themes, but since no one watches past a few seconds, it’ll remain forever a mystery to most viewers. LOLs.

Can I do it? Can I actually write a short chapter? We will see. Sorry, everyone.

Funnily enough, my novel chapters are quite short. But I feel like IRL I need to share all the details, and even then I’ve sometimes had to be sparing because my brain seems to store lots of random, insignificant details and, obviously, in a fictional world, I can pare back a bit.

Just in case people are coming in in the middle of the ‘Why We Met’ story, I met my second husband, Michael, in July 2016. I was in the midst of a divorce. By December 2016, I was divorced, and this is the message I wrote to my 1,200ish friends on Facebook. (If only half of those will buy my future novel – heh!)

Oh, and Benoit didn’t even bother to text me that he’d filed the paperwork and that we were divorced. I found out when his solicitor mailed the paperwork to me and saw the date from the court at the top.

I felt a stab of pain at that, as you do when it’s still fairly fresh and I was still fairly delusional that I’d lost some great love and had been unfairly treated.

In the least articulate manner I begin: [Benoit] and I are now officially divorced. As many of you know, this path was never one I would have chosen; I thought we had been happy, and had no idea our marriage was on the verge of ending without chance of reconciliation, or even a chance to work on what were – in my mind – entirely fixable problems. As far as I was concerned, I would have been married for life. Many who know me and knew us, knew just how much I adored, loved to distraction, and respected [Benoit], a man who could do anything, fix anything, and build anything. But to [Benoit] love was not enough. I wish [Benoit] happiness and peace in the future, and that he will one day find the kind of love he seeks.

Obviously, in hindsight, it was the best thing that happened to me, although I didn’t think it at the time. It cleared the path for so much more in life, a life I could not have imagined, and I’m grateful for.

Thank you for those who supported me during my roughest time. For my Mum who was there through it all – when I could barely get out of bed or eat. For Grammy who was there through the night when I couldn't sleep, night after night, on the phone with me, supporting me from afar. For Sarah and Anna who helped me gain perspective, and a glimmer of hope and happiness. To the ladies from my Germany life who listened to me over and over again too. For Brooke and Tim who were a big help, and support. For my English family who have taken me in, made sure I didn't go without, and continued to support me as I have learned to live a life that is new to me. Words seem trite here, but I couldn’t have faced life without the support of all these people, and many I’ve not mentioned too.

One of the hardest parts of it all is not just losing [Benoit], but losing his family too. To my sweet, wonderful mother in law, [Name], and my late father in law, [Name]: thank you for welcoming me into your family with open arms and love as the only non-Lebanese member. When [Benoit’s father] first met me he hugged me and said, “Welcome to the family” and that meant a great deal to me. I'll be sad not to be part of this wonderful, kind, genuine, and caring group of people. I will miss [Benoit]'s nieces and nephews who I had the pleasure of seeing grow over the last few years; I know you'll all grow up to be successful and kind hearted individuals. And to my brothers and sisters in law, thank you again for being welcoming, and just fun people to spend time with. [Benoit] truly is lucky to have such a lovely family, and I know they’ll be there to support him.

I still wonder about his family and hope they are well. They never did keep in touch, and that was difficult, but I suppose he remarried, had children, and I was long forgotten as a small blip in their lives, which, really, all told for four years was no time at all.

In time, I hope I will understand it all from the new vantage of success and happiness, something I hope to build for myself. But for now, even though I have many things in life for which I am thankful (being around the majority family and some of my oldest friends in England), life is still a struggle for me emotionally. For the first time, I’m struggling with bouts of depression, and despondency. Finding a job in England has not been easy despite my efforts, and I hope the New Year will bring renewed luck.

And now to M, who has been there when I still needed a good cry, and who has been wonderfully understanding through all of it all as my heart recovers from its blow. I’m not sure the heart ever fully recovers, but life never stops moving forward.

Goodbye to my old life, and hello to the new life I will build.

Of course, if you’ve read any of the drama that Michael put up with during our early courtship, you can tell he is a saint or as mad as me – or both – for putting up with me and loving me. But we are perfectly imperfect together, and I’m grateful.

I don’t shy away from mushiness because I am thankful to be happy and loved. I can just claim it’s my half-American side. And bit by bit, every year, we have improved our lives and made them better.

This week, I also have a guest post coming up at Inside and Editor’s Brain (need to double check I didn’t type ‘Brian’ here) about what it was like to work with a developmental editor, and I’m quite excited about that.

My nervous system has mostly calmed down over my immense excitement, and I’ve mostly been sleeping through the night again, which, waking up several times and being too wired to sleep, is truly awful, and I feel for anyone who has this pattern of sleep usually. Why is my personality so ‘child at Christmas’? I’ll never know. I’m not a sobber with happiness, but I am definitely giddy and wired.

Coming up next, a timeline roundup for new readers that summarises the entire Why We Met journey and can help people catch up on past chapters if you’re so inclined – and next, that time I landed what I thought was a dream job that turned less so.

Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety-six chapters. Go back to the first chapter of why I’m writing Why We Met and look out for some “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.

Have you ever had ‘shocking’ news you found out second-hand?

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P.S. I think I’ll finish Miss Austen Investigates today,1 and I’m listening to the thirty-three-hour audiobook version of the new Strike novel (love her writing, hate her politics or radicalisation or whatever is going on). Why is it so long? I mean, I love i,t but also lots of it is just ‘character drawing’ and not the meat of the mystery. It’s the whole will-they-won’t-they between Strike and Robin. Anyone else read these?

My genres for reading are usually literary fiction, mysteries/thrillers, and rom coms. I have read the occasional action-packed ‘man’ novel and others, but those are the three categories that capture my imagination the most.

P.P.S. Michael turns 47 on Friday!2

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I needed a job. It didn’t occur to me even to go on benefits or anything, which may have been an option and gotten me some kind of income. I just knew I had a year and a half of ‘alimony’ (i.e. £500 a month) and a credit card that I had to ask my ex for permission to use for fuel for the lawnmower car he bought me for £3,000. It was an old Peugeot 107, automatic because I can’t drive a manual, and I was very fond of that car in the end. I think it even lasted three years! Not like my old Aldi convertible that I had with my first marriage, but hey ho! As I was classed as a ‘new driver’ in England, despite having driven since I was fifteen, the car insurance was a whopper (£1,200/year if I recall correctly).

After the absolutely horrendous fake job interview thing pre-date with Victor and various other dead ends, I felt despondent. I even drove all the way to Manchester one time to some random, maybe hotel thing that looked like a big house for an air hostess interview, another mass-embarassment situation, and I was cut fairly early on. It made me feel like middle school cheerleader try-outs all those years ago.

It was devastating, and driving back home to my Dad’s that night, I remember ringing my ex and sobbing on the phone, and him getting upset, saying he was doing all he could to help me and being ‘so generous’ with the money he was giving me, and I had months left. I explained what if I didn’t find a job in that time? Then what would I do?

The thing about being down on your luck and semi-depressed is you don’t sparkle, and people can tell.

Replacing my usual happy-go-lucky, I-believe-in-fairies prior demeanour was someone who felt worthless and discarded, unsure of her place in life.

When you’re unmoored from the person who you thought was your life partner and any semblance of career, who are you? What defines a person? I’d probably spent so long moulding myself to whomever I was dating that I wasn’t even sure anymore.

And moving back to England just as Brexit and President Trump (first go-round) were happening was also not great for the world economy. Obvi, it’s way worse now, but life has improved for me since then.

I dread to think where I’d end up if 2016’s economy was as bad as now. Back then, what would cost you £20, according to an inflation calculator, would now cost you £28, which is depressing, and that’s keeping in mind I know for a fact items I bought on Amazon five years ago have doubled and food has doubled and tripled since then.

Just the other day, Michael said a tin of beans is now £1.40. Those same beans cost 50 pence in 2016. What do poor students live off when they can’t have beans on toast? What about families? I even remember in the 90s that value tomatoes cost about ten pence per tin. I really loved tinned tomatoes for some reason, and once considered buying a load with my pocket money like a weirdo. I guess it’s no weirder than my niece telling her friend’s mum that she wants frozen peas for pudding. (She’s a lactose-intolerant vegetarian.) I suppose we really like our produce! But I digress.

I have a whole argument about how the economy stalls when the middle classes are squeezed from their spending power, which is vital for a healthy economy, but that’s not what I’m here to write about.

I moved to England in June 2016. I didn’t get any sort of employment until September 2016 and wouldn’t land a ‘real’ full-time job until April 2017.

Lo and behold, one day on our town’s Facebook group, I saw a job advertisement for a dishwasher (‘KP’ or kitchen porter) at a restaurant in town. I’ll get to this in a minute.

Yes, I had a master’s degree and used to teach at universities, but no, despite asking my ex to pay for a NARIC certification that basically said my US degree was equivalent to a UK one, that did not seem to help with any tick box exercises.

I even had a ring from Aldi for their management scheme, but because I couldn’t tick the box that said ‘maths and English GCSE,’ I was rejected. I tried to explain to the young boy on the phone that I had a master’s degree. I could provide a transcript showing that I took university-level maths, and my BA and MA degrees were in the English subject, literature, sure, but surely, that was equivalent enough? Computer says no! Boxes must be ticked! Aldi is not for you! The price is not right and all that! Despondent, again? Would I be forever foiled by boxes I could not tick?

My cousin Pam, who is an application whiz, helped me apply for a teaching job at Oldham College. I was born in this industrial Lancashire town. I got so far as an interview and a teaching presentation. I nervously awaited a phone call. I think we played phone tag, where their calls didn’t get through, as my mobile situation was odd and precarious at the time, as I was still on a US number, and I eventually rang to follow up to hear they’d ‘gone in another direction.’ Even though I’d done a good job on my presentation and at interview, they went with someone who had direct experience teaching at this level.

Besides, my presentation got negative brownie points as it didn’t include any sort of student activity. I think I was told I had ten or fifteen minutes. I was used to teaching one and a half hour classes and three-hour classes. The discussion and ‘interaction’ comes later, but you can’t expect students to participate in a discussion when they haven’t read anything, and it’s an ‘exercise’? I always absolutely hated ‘activities’ in classes. Give me a lecture and some Socratic-method questioning any day.

My cousin, a nurse, ever resourceful, rang the tutoring place where she’d taken her eldest son, Callum, to pass his GCSEs and A-levels to ask the owner if she knew of any opportunities, and she hired me. This woman was enterprising! She looked rather glam. I think at the time she was in her late forties, but I can’t remember.

It was a cash-in-hand job for £10/hour. At the end of the week, we’d all collect our little envelopes of cash from a money tin. She made the other £10/hour on the session as she charged the parents £20/hour-long session, but sometimes, I tutored multiple children at once and then, she walked away with about £90/hour, and I still got £10/hour. I get that’s how business works – that’s how she drove a BMW. They at least got some squash and a snack. (Squash is a watered-down British juice-like drink made from water and juice concentrate that’s sort of like US Kool-Aid but better.)

Sometimes I’d tutor at the Oldham office, and other times I also had to drive to the Rochdale office to tutor children there. I was not qualified to tutor them in KS1-KS12 anything (key stages, I learned). I fast learned as much as I could from the books so I wasn’t entirely useless.

These children were precocious and adorable. I’ve always loved children. I felt sad once with a little boy, thinking he was not bright enough as he was slated for a C in his exams, and I thought how much the UK school system beats down perfectly bright children.

In the US, there’s this false sense of ‘you can do anything you put your mind to’ and that instils a false confidence. In the UK, they work on the opposite principle of telling all children they are shit unless they have the natural ability (or work ethic?) to get an A*.

I hate this sort of system. I didn’t thrive in it when I was in UK primary school. It doesn’t account for learning and personality differences. Each child I met in there was capable, bright, and lovely. I also felt sad for them that after a hard day of school, they’d have to come and be tutored for an hour. School after school.

I can’t remember the days I worked, but that meant I had some random weekdays off sometimes to spend with Michael, and we’d go on little picnics and day trips. Despite being absolutely brassic (i.e. very poor), these are some of our fondest memories together as we had no life stress to worry about in a way. We had low expenses, low expectations, and we couldn’t afford much. Michael was earning much, much more than me.

I was tired as I find that the lowest paid jobs in society are often the hardest working ones, so now I was tutoring – and I didn’t forget about the dishwashing. I was also doing that. Two evening jobs. I think that meant I’d have off something like a random Tuesday and a Sunday. It was gruelling.

I washed dishes in a sink that was always flooded with murky, brown water. Loaded them into the restaurant dishwasher, and they steamed away. I then stacked the dishes in the kitchen, where the chefs plated the food.

I think this was for something like minimum wage. They had no regular wage schedule, so I worked for free for a while. I didn’t mind it, to be honest. I was alone with my thoughts. I did, however, have to bring in my own marigolds (i.e. rubber gloves).

My sister, Jae’s, friend worked there as a server and bartender. Our shifts didn’t cross very often, unfortunately, but I met some nice girls there. One woman who owned the cafe next door hated me because she was dating the owner, an angry Scottish man, who I heard rumour had snorted and drank his profits.

Thankfully, she got out of that relationship by hooking up with and marrying one of the cooks. She had been a playground designer/architect but had been made redundant and found herself in kitchens. But they are both happy together now, so that all worked out. I think they even run a local catering company.

There was this other beautiful, flexible yoga girl, too. I still follow her on Instagram. She could stand on her head. I remember her running miles before she came to work as a server. She eventually moved to Spain and seems to be living a good life.

Once, the owner told me to download some kind of app, and I got an angry email one day at about 11 pm saying I’d not agreed to work the shifts and I was leaving him in limp. I emailed a reply at 8.30 am saying those shifts were fine and heard nothing back.

Two days later, he said there was no need to come in as he’d published shifts, I hadn’t acknowledged them, he sent a follow-up email, and I didn’t reply until the next day, and he offered the shifts to a couple of other girls. The original email was 11 pm, as I said, I replied the next morning. I guess if I’d replied at 11.05 pm, that would be acceptable, but at a reasonable morning hour was unacceptable. Gotta laugh in hindsight.

But also cry about how people ‘in power’ treat those lower down. Minimum wage employees are powerless in a capitalistic structure, and I absolutely hate it because they work harder than most people in ‘higher up’ corporate roles.

Prior work had been arranged on set days, and I always showed up or he’d emailed what shifts I had. I hadn’t known to check the app. I’d never been spoken to that way before, and I’d always been a reliable employee.

I figured it was not worth my energy even to explain. I effectively took that as my resignation. Weeks later, I eventually got paid – cash counted out at something like £7/hour – for the work I did by the owner’s girlfriend (before she ran into her happy ending with one of the chefs).

There was another dishwasher there. He was a young boy, and I don’t recall his name now. Once, we were assigned to make dumplings. I remember the owner berating him for something and speaking to him like utter shit, and I thought no one should ever have to be spoken to like that.

I was given two or three shifts a week that lasted until 9.30 pm at night. I remember once doing an early shift and having to mop the floor upstairs near the bar. The kitchen and dishwashing station were in the basement. I’d rarely used a mop in my life! I had a cleaner in Germany, and I tried to avoid all housework, so that was great.

I don’t think the owner was very popular in town, and I think one day the restaurant closed, never to be reopened, and I heard rumour he left a trail of debts in his wake. There was also this male, older chef who lived on a houseboat and doted on his daughter. I heard that the owner was also bonking that guy’s daughter’s mother or his current partner or something, so he wasn’t a very nice person, and I was definitely happy to get away from angry men.

Funny how when I’d interviewed, I assured him that despite being ‘overqualified,’ I wanted the job because I’d gotten fond of eating and actually having some money to live on, the irony being that I didn’t get paid until after I’d stopped working there anyway. I’m sure it was only a couple of months, but I’ve trauma-blocked it.

As I said, I met some nice people anyway. Got to use my joke of having enough on my plate with a boyfriend and a husband, too!

The tutoring situation lasted longer, though, all the way until the following June in 2017.

The number of jobs I applied for, the almost getting there, the loss of hope. Job searching can be absolutely demoralising, worse if you’re desperate – and I imagine even worse now. I eventually got a job as a marketing agency writer, which I loved until that turned sour. I’d never had a job go in that direction, but I was learning lots of lessons the hard way. But more on that later.

Side note: Whilst I was waiting for my developmental editor to get back to me with the final chapters of my novel, I watched that Dallas Cowboys cheerleader show on Netflix and was hooked! I really feel for those poor girls, the pressures they face, working multiple jobs to reach their dream. It reminded me of this time in my life and all those times I’ve had crappy, low-paid jobs where there are definite hierarchical power structures. I’m glad they got a pay rise and are now using their celebrity for brand deals.

Also, the splits and getting their leg that high! How? I mean, I used to be able to kick my leg reasonably high, but now, in middle age, it does not go past my hip. My hamstrings have lost all flexibility. Any tips on how to fix that?

Also, in very exciting news, my developmental editor says I’m ready to go to the querying stage. Yay! She advised not to send letters to my first five agents until after Labour Day. Apparently, the publishing industry has summer break, and that’s the best time to query now.

Last weekend, I re-read my entire novel, cutting it from a whopping 111k words to 95k as said that it needed to be under 97k words to be accepted by agents.

I then decided that I needed to rejig some early chapters so some things happened sooner, which meant that some of my timelines shifted, so now I’m having to re-read it again – boy, am I sick of it already and can no longer see straight or read it objectively and it may be a pile of shite – so that all the timelines sync up. Michael must have read it almost as many times as me, too; he is an absolute gem of a husband. Always so encouraging and supportive.

Despite being a copy editor for my day job, I asked my beautiful German friend, Katharina, to read the opening five chapters (I’m sending those off to a competition), and she caught at least half a dozen mistakes. (Eeek!)

Katharina, despite working in the legal field, has an eagle eye for edits, and I’m so impressed! Michael’s also become quite a good editor, too.

Developmental editors do the big picture stuff. The main story, character, pacing, plotting things, and not line edits, in case you’re wondering.

Now, I’m asking one of the stringers at my work to copy edit those five chapters because I need a professional. It really is impossible to self-edit, and I always thought I was quite good at that, until Substack crushed that notion with how many mistakes I litter in my chapters. Outside eyes are always key!

Coming up in the next few chapters, I’ll do a present-day snippet, a short post about the time my ex didn’t bother to tell me we were divorced, a timeline roundup for newbies, and talk about that first writing job at a marketing agency that turned sour.

I’m also considering re-sending out old chapters for those who haven’t been on this journey with me from the beginning, because they provide context, and I’m proud of the pieces. What do y’all think? Obvs, skip over if you’ve read them.

Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety-five chapters. Go back to the first chapter of why I’m writing Why We Met and look out for some “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.

Have you ever had a demoralising job search? What’s the worst job you’ve ever done?

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P.S. Please cross your fingers and toes that one (or all? greedy?) of my first five agents offers me representation and that I then get a three-book deal (because my novel has sequels planned). Heh! Thank you for reading and your support.

P.P.S. Also, Monday is a Bank Holiday, and I don’t have to work it, so I’m also very excited about that and grateful for my freelancers on my team. He’s in South Africa, so it’s not a BH for him!

P.P.P.S. My virtual writer friend, , has released her new book, which is very Hitchhiker’s Guide, but if the protagonist was a normal middle-aged woman with a boyfriend with two evil twins as children, who is abducted by aliens outside a Tesco Metro. I read an ARC copy, and it’s hilarious and available for pre-order for £1.77. Not sponsored and all that LOLs. Seriously, buy it and her murder mystery series (two books so far)!

My Top Secret Project

A Massive Inconvenience is nearly upon us!

Comedy sci-fi fans assemble…

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10 months ago · 3 likes · 2 comments · Katie Lee / KJ Lyttleton

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Back in 2016, with seeing Michael for a whole month, and things not going from casually dating to him wanting to marry me, of course, I was pulling my toxic shit and trying to decide what I wanted.

My model friend – should have been in the clue that she was a model and I was probably described as ‘attractive’ to people but had the self-esteem of a mangled rat – was all about dating very rich men. In the past, before she had very intelligently built up a nest egg from her modelling career and started her own business, she’d funded her lifestyle by being a companion to rich men who liked to lavish her with gifts and money in exchange for her sparkling company.

In discussing the sex aspect one night, I wondered how she had so much restraint. How could she even survive without sleeping with these men, because surely that’s what they wanted and wasn’t she ever just a little bit horny herself? I always liked sex too much I suppose. But she assured me that she didn’t have to sleep with these men and sometimes, if too het up, she’d take care of herself. On the night out. In the loos if she had to. She was much wiser than I was, naturally. And I always did wonder how to orgasm standing up.

In hindsight, I mean of course, rich men would pay to be seen with a gorgeous model by their side. Tall, statuesque, beautiful, flawless skin, stylish, elegant, and all that.

In contrast, I was slightly above average height, had massive boobs I have always been uncomfortable about, linebacker shoulders, and legs that I quite liked – all of which took me to a US size 10 frame (UK size 14), which is hardly in the model-like category. To be truthful, I never judge other women this harshly.

I love how other women look of all shapes and sizes. I hate how much time I have wasted in my brain worrying about my body. It is a waste of energy, and no one who loves me – and especially strangers – cares.

My measurements have always approximated more Ashley Graham and Christina Hendricks – both of whom I find beautiful – but I could not accept such measurements in myself. (Also, they have the height to carry it.) Plus, I’ve never had lovely curvy hips to balance out my frame, and they also don’t have such massive shoulders.

In these photos below, of when I moved to England, my measurements were something like 39-31-36 – and even with weight loss, I can never shrink my frame much smaller than that. I can’t even fathom women who have waists a full six inches smaller.

Anyway, based on my model-friend’s advice, in my misguided state, I thought I’d try out the whole Sugar Babies arrangement. Could I get on my feet by having my lifestyle (and I use this term loosely as I was living rent-free with my Dad) funded by rich men?

Even typing that out gives me the ick.

No judgement to women who sell their bodies

I think women who do that – are able to sell their bodies or hotness are perfectly fine – more power to you. I really am all for the women who are hot and have the confidence to use it to their advantage.

I love the self-esteem of the Instagram models and even the Bonnie Blues and Lily Philips of the world who do the OnlyFans things and get paid loads for shaking what their Mama gave ‘em.

Not that I’ve ever looked at OF, but it’s in the news, isn’t it, as are these ladies for their multiple men in a day feat? It would be very tiring I imagine. But who wouldn’t want to earn a million per month?

Do I think sleeping with a thousand men in a day is safe? Not necessarily. Would I do it? No. But I always want to be anti-judgement of women and what they choose to do. Their life not mine. Their choices. As long as it doesn’t harm others, go for it. (And in that I think non-consent, murder, bodily harm, etc.)

In university, I was always half jealous and half in awe of the stereotypical woman who was a stripper with the heart of gold, selling her body to pay for law school or the Hooters girl who made $700 per night in tips or even the bartenders making $1 tips per drink. I really never had that level of confidence, and I admire it.

I’m sad I didn’t see then (and maybe still don’t see) that I have to accept my body as it is, and I can never be a 5’10” supermodel – and probably only one per cent of people are genetically blessed enough to look like that anyway, but beauty comes in all shapes and sizes and all that.

Side note: I sound like I walk around like Eeyore and ‘woe is me,’ but if you meet me IRL, you’d probably never know I have these insecurities and worry about my size and weight and all that.

I’m confident in my conversation, my abilities academically, and at work, etc. I know my family and friends love me.

I never had Daddy issues. I’ve always had loving, supportive parents who I know were proud of me, and so on – and in that I know I’m lucky. There are lots of shit, toxic, manipulative, abandoning parents out there.

Signing up to an app

Even as I was signing up to this stupid app (no idea what it was called now), I always had the idea that only these gorgeous, thin women could do this sort of work or have the Sugar Daddy-Sugar Baby type of arrangement, but as I said, I’m all for women using their resources. Really! Girl power. No sex shaming or slut shaming from me.

I’d love to be one of you – the confidence thing not the sex work thing. I thought I could maybe kinda sorta try that. I’ve even tried to promote my Substack on TikTok, and I’m so fucking awkward on camera it’s embarrassing. No, really, really embarrassing. I can’t even do an ASMR (which I love watching) and seem remotely hot or sexy. I’m just really awkward.

Like, I’m sociable and people engage with me and like talking to me, generally (does that sound too big-headed? I even worry here), but I can’t put myself out there in the social media way.

Maybe the Bible Belt really slut shamed girls enough that everything is about modesty, and I can’t undo my brainwashed programming from that very long time I spent growing up in Georgia.

So, I try to meet this one nice man on this app. We’ll call him Jasper. Have I used that name before?

I did chat with a few others, and to be fair, they were all quite nice and none of them sent dick pics or weird inuendo messages or anything you’d maybe expect from these interactions. They were all busy businessmen. Presumably not married, but you never know.

They travelled a lot for work and thus kinda wanted easy interactions. I mean real-life dating is demanding and requires expectations in a way that these sort of arrangements don’t promise.

Of course, that’s what makes real life meaningful. These men understand these relationships are transactional, and I suppose they want that. That’s easier than cultivating feelings and meeting someone’s needs.

In these relationships, they get their needs met instead. In exchange, they take someone out for a posh dinner or some go as far as to get their rent paid or get a Chanel handbag (or whatever the latest luxury fashion bag is these days), but clearly, I’m not that enterprising.

I guess for very rich men, the price is worth it. It’s nothing to them.

I suppose even for these women, it only works for a little while whilst they have the hotness social capital these men desire. After that, I hope they invest well and build a nest egg as it cannot last forever.

Jasper legit seemed like he wanted a human he liked talking to and it was not just about hiring a prostitute under a guise, dressing it up as something else.

Jasper and I exchanged lots of WhatsApps, but he was always jetsetting. There was some flirting, but we talked about our failed marriages, our preference for vintage-y things, our collections, you know, normal sorta stuff.

Jasper was 6’ tall and had a ‘husky’ build, something I’d never really dated before. To be fair, he looked a lot like ‘Mr Big’ which had never been my aesthetic choice, but not unattractive.

I’m pretty sure my therapist said that I dated men I perceived to be ‘hotter’ than me who had abs and things because I saw that as social capital, raising my own self-worth and so on. But anyway, Jasper was handsome – not movie-level leading actor handsome, but he had a nice face and dressed well. He was powerful, busy, highly intelligent.

I’m not sure why exactly Jasper did this sort of Sugar Baby arrangement, but he seemed to be open with me and seemed almost tired of it in a way, but maybe that was his usual line to disarm women.

He also didn’t seem to care I had no money, no assets, was in the midst of a divorce, was floundering, or that I was seeing someone else that I was falling for.

He established he would have been okay with me sleeping with someone else. He said that with this arrangement, he was okay with threesomes, sleeping with others, and found it a turn-on for me to be pleasured, that sort of banter.

He was drawn to me and our conversations.

I was curious about what other women on the app looked like. I used photos that I’d used for OkCupid and I was fully clothed and there was nothing sexy.

Other women on the app – he showed me screenshots – looked like models. Scratch that, they looked like lingerie models because that’s what they were wearing in pictures. Simply underwear. I’m not sure I’ve ever owned anything as sexy as a La Perla ad (for which my model friend also modelled).

It makes me laugh now. And cringe. I’m very surprised any men messaged me with these fine specimens on offer.

Again, this goes back to my 2000s sense of “you are not worthy unless you look like Heidi Klum or Karlie Kloss when they worked for Victoria’s Secret.” Men only want gorgeous, beautiful models who are giraffe-level tall, weigh under 120lbs (8.5 stone, 54 kilos), and are naturally no bigger than a US size 4/UK size 6 – and, Lainey, you will forever fail. I don’t even think one of my thighs could ever be that small. (See bit above about my measurements being a full six inches bigger than that body size.)

I know deep down this is not what (all) men want, but you cannot undo so much conditioning. Growing up in the Bible Belt. 90s-00s skinny culture. Or people who leave the fairy liquid soap bubbles on their dishes and don’t rinse. All training. All conditioning. The soap thing is a no go, though. Thank goodness for the germ-zapping disinfecting power of the dishwasher!

But I know now and have always known on an intellectual level that only Andrew Tate-level male thinking ascribes value to women only for their looks and not what’s on the inside.

Jasper told me things like, “Well, you have your head screwed on,” and when I said about how I was frustrated at not finding employment, something like, “with your sense of urgency, common sense, and ambition and goals, you can pretty much do anything.”

Did I really just need a hype man? Michael was never one to be sycophantic.

The date with Jasper

I sent a picture of Jasper before the date to my sister in case I was put in a freezer, and she said Michael was better looking but okay. I think Jae and my cousin Pam just thought I was totally doolally but Jae has always been live and let live. She’s never been the type of older sister who gives her opinions about my life and what I should/shouldn't be doing. Except that one time she said I went through men like dishwater in uni.

Jasper and I went on our date in August 2016. I found out he had a flat in New York where he lived most of the time and a flat in London, but he was in Leeds visiting some family or something, and he took me out to dinner in Leeds city centre and got a posh hotel room for after. No pressure and all that. We had great conversation at dinner. Not sure what about now. We had a tasty meal and ate outside, sharing a bottle of wine.

He grew up in West Yorkshire. His mum had moved back to England. He was a vegetarian; although, he didn’t seem to mind that I ordered meat at dinner.

He earned over $200k per year, and that was 2016, so in today’s money, it would be closer to $300k in spending power. He had assets, of course, but one would normally assume that the types of men who want this sort of arrangement are closer to ‘millionaire’ status and want someone in their early to mid-twenties, not some broken woman who was twenty-nine and most definitely didn’t look like a model.

I wore the same thing on the date that I wore with Michael, except I added my pearls (why?) and some different heels.

He revealed how in his time as a producer for the BBC, he’d met lots of celebrities. His work had won BAFTAs. He told me stories about location scouting (and filming at places like Blenheim Palace) and all sorts, and it was quite fascinating.

He was also close friends with Gweneth Paltrow, who was apparently lovely, and Hugh Grant, who was apparently ‘a character.’ Hugh Grant, back then, always had a squeaky clean image, but in more recent years, his funny, cantankerous side has come out, but back then, I wasn’t so sure this description fit. I’m sure he told me about other celebs, but only those two stood out in memory.

Jasper was very open about the women he’d dated (or Sugar Daddied?), yet he seemed a bit delusional in that he didn’t fully understand women and what they wanted, which is maybe that’s why this Sugar Baby arrangement worked better for him.

Wealthier men have expectations – maybe not all – but many want accessories not partnership. I couldn’t help but think he wanted ‘nomal’ dating but with more expectation of sex than is ‘promised’ in ‘normal’ dating.

He expressed frustration (probably not on the date but in text conversations later) that he didn’t always get sex from these women. I’m guessing they were just clever about it like my model friends.

The hotel (mis)adventure

After dinner, I walked with him nervously through the lobby of this gorgeous hotel I’d never been in. I couldn’t help but think that the receptionist knew what we were up to in the middle of the day. I was dressed quite modestly, to be honest, but did she think I was some kind of escort, I wondered?

He led me to a suite and he said he had to go after but I could sleep in the room for the night if I wanted. It was all paid for and so forth. I should maybe have slept there that night, but I didn’t.

I felt that my heart was beating through my chest, and although I know he would have let me leave the room without doing anything, we made out and tried to hook up (with protection), but whether he was nervous or sensed my off energy or didn’t find me attractive, it didn’t work.

I was awkward and nervous because the situation was alien and weird. And even though many dates I’ve had have ended up in the bedroom, the fact that we’d met on this app seemed loaded in a way that most dating interactions don’t.

He tried to go down on me but I couldn’t relax enough to orgasm but he was nice about it. I went to the bathroom and to my utter embarrassment, I’d started my period. He’d said he tasted something metallic. Poor man!

After whatever that was, he held me and we cuddled, which was nice. During this chat, he told me about his life and celeb dinner parties and it was intriguing, being invited into the life of some glossy gossip mag or the insider at Tatler, but a world i’d never be part of or couldn’t really ever tell anyone about (except – LOLs – my Substack readers nine years later).

I thanked him for a lovely evening and he said, “I’m sorry we didn’t quite click. It wasn’t for want of attraction for you, that’s for sure. I’d be fighting to date you as much as I could if you were here. You’re gorgeous.”

So I guess that was nice! Also, he joked about being left too much body glitter as a reminder, and I said maybe it would come off with the fourth shower!

I got the impression he was a lovely, kind, sensitive, intelligent man who had maybe been hurt in the past. (Story of us all, right?) He travelled often between Europe, the US, and sometimes further afield (like South Africa and on wildlife safaris which looked amazing) and he didn’t have the time or emotional bandwidth to deal with a long-term prospect; however, I sensed he wasn’t really finding what he was looking for on these sites and had tried various methods from Sugar Baby sites to dating apps.

The ending of things

We chatted for a couple of months on WhatsApp, but it fizzled out thankfully, and, eventually, he left me on read.

His LinkedIn now is littered with ‘consultancy’ jobs as well as Chief Operating Officer roles in fields I can’t fully comprehend but to do with the business world. I truly hope he is happy in life and has found what he was looking for.

But before I’d even gone on any more dates, I always knew I’d choose Michael – and thankfully he was forgiving of my completely batshit hot mess behaviour.

I was clearly in crisis mode back then and didn’t even realise it.

Why I’ve been MIA (if you noticed)

Thank you to my subscribers for sticking arround.

It’s been a busy few weeks working on the edits of my – hopefully – future debut novel with my amazing developmental editor (former Penguin and Hachette editor) and finishing the third rewrite. The novel now sits at an overly long 111k words (from 97k), so I need to do some cutting for it to be under 100k for when I go on submission to agents.

I’m getting closer and closer to finishing, and after this round of edits, there may be one more round before I perfect my query letter and send it out to a small selection of agents and wish to the universe someone wants to represent me.

For the day job, I worked at my London offices for a week in mid-July, and that was fun and exhausting, and I may do a present-day snippet about that experience, especially my horrendous train journey back contrasted with the glorious train journey going (sigh).

This past Sunday, Michael, cousin Pam, and I did a bit of packing at Grammy’s house in anticipation of her move closer to us – if the UK solicitors ever actually exchange contracts. FFS! Why does it take so long to buy a house in England?

My Grammy is 89 so it’s understandably very stressful for her being in limbo and gambling with her lifetime that’s ticking on. I look forward to her being settled closer to us and only twenty-minutues down the road. (Oh, and she also broke her wrist dealing with boxes, and is staying with my cousin Pam for a few days. Sigh!)

Coming up next, that time I landed an actual job as a pot washer and tutor and was trying to create a new life.

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Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety-four chapters. Go back to the first chapter of why I’m writing Why We Met and look out for some “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.

I could be opening up a can of worms, but what do you all think about these types of Sugar Baby/Sugar Daddy arrangements? OnlyFans/Instagram models and the like? And do men have to be a certain threshold of ‘rich’ to make it work?

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I’m chasing down my National Insurance number and my NHS number and applying for a bank account in the UK because I left England at the age of ten and there’s just so much bureaucracy and paperwork to live back in the country I was born in after most of my formative years in the US.

I’ll tell a shortened version, but before I left Minnesota, I’d applied for a bunch of jobs, and this one for a tech company seemed really promising. They gave me a few phone interviews. At least four. Then, when I arrive in England, I must have had a couple of in-person interviews.

It’s for a tech writer job at a software company, and I don’t understand GitHub or any really technical stuff. The job is about sequel servers and something to do with the cloud, and I’m still as clueless now as then, but I think I can be trained to do anything.

The job pays £30k back in 2016, and that seemed like a lot lower than I was used to living on, but something, anything. (Spoiler, I didn’t earn this and above until many years later in England.)

I’m desperate. Despite all this effort, test bits and in-person interviews and a technical sit down with some tech guy and having to pay for the train into Manchester when I’m on a fixed £500/month from my ex for a year, which he feels is incredibly generous, as a sort of divorce when I didn’t even have a solicitor.

Read here for details if you even can bother.

Why We Met

#86 THE SECURITY CAMERA SURPRISE AND MY MASSIVE DIVORCE SETTLEMENT (KIDDING): HOW I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A SOLICITOR

Benoit’s friend, we’ll call him Hensen, who was married to one of my close friends in Germany (one of my “Germany ladies” as I called them), had been divorced a couple of times before marrying my friend (whom he seemed to adore, thankfully) and I remember him once saying to me how he felt it was unfair that women got “half” of everything…

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a year ago · 6 likes · 6 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

They do not give me a job. I keep trying to email the HR lady and just get a yes or no, and they string me along and eventually say no.

So, I feel happy when I get some salesy call from some young man who is inviting me to an interview at this place called Pareto Law or something. Is it a legal firm? What do they do? I have no clue. I think they are a recruitment agency for sales jobs. I’ve barely worked in sales, but I like the idea of base plus commission. I don’t have the bullshit levels or sparkle for a sales job.

What it turns out is another expensive waste of time, but this time a whole fucking day. I have to get a train to Manchester Victoria and then to Manchester Picadilly to some arse end of Cheshire I’ve never heard of (Wilmslow, I think) and do a day of excruciating activities with about a hundred other hopeful suckers mostly graduates.

As someone who is twenty-nine at this point, with far too much job experience, I think what the actual fuck is it legal that they make people waste a whole day of their time for what turns out to be five sales jobs, which they reveal they already selected the sparkling, young, hot successful applicants in the first hour of the day.

Then, for the rest of us as they are conducting the ‘real’ interviews the rest of us victims don’t know about, they ferry us through team building tasks, excruciating group share activities, and worst, some kind of fake interview where you have to pitch yourself with notecards to two bored teenagers in a room for five minutes.

By this point, I’m shattered.

I meet some nice hopefuls, but at the end of the day, when I realise what I’ve been scammed into, I feel infuriated and powerless.

How can such companies prey on young people desperate for jobs after finishing university? How can people be expected to waste a day of time, travel expenses, and whatever else when they have already made up their minds early on?

I absolutely hate when society preys on those with less power, less experience, and less economic security. #firstworldproblems of course.

I want so desperately to go home to my Dad’s house and crawl back into bed, but what has my genius brain done?

I’d scheduled a date with a man I thought looked like the much less attractive version of Victor Krum except tallish and lean instead. (Harry Potter reference and sorry because I know JKR is cancelled and I definitely support all rights, including trans people, but it’s a reference, hopefully most people will get.)

This guy, we’ll call Victor, also probably thinks I’m way more into him than I am because pre-date he texts me something very sweet and flattering like, “You’d look good in a bin bag” and I send him a flirty mirror selfie with me wearing a trash bag which is probably too suggestive and absolutely too stupid.

The bin bag is barely big enough to cover my labia.

After my first husband making me feel absolutely disgusting and unattractive, I am lapping up all of this male attention. From anyone. It’s pathetic in hindsight, naturally.

Meeting Victor at the station

After I tell Victor, I’m on my way back from the excruciating ‘interview day’ – I should have just said I’m too tired and need to decompress – I see him waiting by the doors of Picadilly Station.

He looks so hopeful, like a puppy, but I pretend I don’t see him so I can chat to a group of people from the horrible job fair day. One is particularly hot, but a few years younger, and I wish that I was going for drinks with him instead. I even add a few of them on LinkedIn.

Thankfully, we are all employed now, years later! Maybe only minorly scarred from this shit event.

Eventually, reluctantly, I go to meet Victor and do the usual kiss exchange. It’s also a hot as balls day in the UK.

I’m wearing a black or navy Calvin Klein suit and an H&M top, I’ve had for years – purchased on a trip to the UK one summer with one of my childhood English best friends, Joanne, when I thought that H&M was so exciting because we didn’t have one in Georgia, USA.

I’ve always been a bit self-conscious of my arms, but I just have to get my jacket off. I have only eaten lunch.

Victor takes me to the old trusty Wetherspoons for cheap drinks. He doesn’t offer dinner.

I barely have enough money I bet to pay for a bread roll.

I must have drunk at least two or three glasses of red wine, and the room is practically spinning. I’m sure I have to buy at least one round I can’t afford.

How the date is going

To be fair to him, Victor is interesting-ish. He’s just moved back from China and he worked in tech or education or something or other and had his own business there.

He’s a nice enough man. He’s really into football, which is a detractor in my eyes.

I keep thinking of Michael.

I had a first date with Michael at the beginning of July. It’s only mid-month, and here I am on another date with Victor.

Probably to make Michael jealous.

I text Michael drunk pictures of myself whilst Victor goes to the toilets.

Why was I such an arsehole?

I think somehow Michael and my cousin Pam are texting, and they are worried about my life choices. I don’t realise I’m making toxic life choices. I think everything is a great idea at the time.

I mean, I’ve been on a few dates with an absolutely lovely, sexy man (Michael), and here I am thinking that going on a date with another man will make him think I’m some kind of hot commodity he needs to snatch up before the offer runs out.

Thank fuck he was patient with me and not the jealous type. No idea how this man is such a saint, but he is.

Even when he thinks (years later) I’ve probably had sex with Victor, which I haven’t, actually.

But I am drunk enough to make out with Victor. He takes me to another wine bar. We sloppily make out there. I’ve now missed the final train back to Todmorden.

Wonderful planning, of course.

Michael tells me that when he’s on a date in Manchester, he always sets an alarm so he can make the last train.

I seem to have the effect on men where they want to ‘father’ me, take care of me. In 2016, I still have a father, so I always find it inexplicable.

Victor’s house

What’s a girl to do? I can’t sleep in the train station. I can’t afford a taxi home. I can’t ask my relatives to pick me up at practically midnight, so Victor invites me back to his place.

He says he has a spare room.

I have no idea how we get back. Taxi? Bus? Was he driving?

His house is a nice semi-detached house in a cul-de-sac. His house is decorated like a man would decorate, but it’s impeccably clean. Barely any things.

He does not suggest I sleep in the spare room as promised.

He wants me in bed with him.

I’m hot as fuck (not attractiveness level like the weather is unbearable) so I strip down to my underwear at which point he paws me like Mr Octopus (see previous post below for that story) and I realise you can only sleep somewhere your body feels safe.

Why We Met

#37 THE GUY WITH THE FAKE EYE: THE KISS BOYS

I hope everyone has the best holiday season and New Year. We just enjoyed a delicious tea cooked by my lovely husband (the best mash and roast potatoes); we invited my beautiful mother-in-law ‘round, which was delightful. I’ve had a couple of glasses of white and am now drinking something that Michael got from a customer on his postal round (M&S “Christmas Colada” which tastes like Werther’s original + pineapple + rum + coconut). I usually only drink very occasionally (as I’d rather not sleep in or be hungover when I like to write in the mornings) but I love the opportunity to be merry around the holidays…

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3 years ago · 3 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Don’t get me wrong, Victor was not in any way trying to force me to have sex. He was just handsy. I’m angry at myself for leading this man on because it’s really not his fault. I spend most of the time on the floor of his bedroom, feeling rather tearful, but not crying.

I’m sure Victor falls asleep.

I’m sure he gives me tea and toast the next morning. He’s a nice enough man.

I just don’t feel attracted to him yet I’ve come back to his house and made out with him and he offers to give me a lift home which is quite a drive and I’m at this point tired and I should just say I’ll go by train but I have him drop me off at the bottom of my Dad’s hill.

I feel shitty for having him drive me home, wasting his time in a way, putting myself in that situation, and then I angrily text Victor about some bullshit self-righteous WhatsApp about making women feel safe and not to do that with women. (Read on for the text.)

In hindsight, whatever I said was unfair to him. I was tired and frightened, and I’d never gotten myself into this close of a call before. Not that Victor had ill intent, but he could have, and I realise that.

I realise that I have been reckless with my body.

That time something bad almost happened

Back in uni, I’m very lucky with all the inebriated situations and blackout drunkenness, I never got myself into a hairy situation. It almost happened one time.

I got shitfaced drunk at Creekside (a bar in Valdosta, Georgia) with my friend Darcy and Dr Luke (a friend I’d slept with once or twice) and her new colleagues. One of them, a ‘short king’ (as the young people say) who was hot (why are so many short men super hot?), I flirted with relentlessly.

Why We Met

#38 THE TIME I ACCIDENTALLY SLEPT WITH MY PROFESSOR FRIEND BEFORE HE WAS MY PROFESSOR OR MY FRIEND

Hi, everyone, I recently got quite a few new subscribers because of my tribute to the great man that is Derek Leyland, whom I’ll miss tremendously…

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2 years ago · 5 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

I didn’t have intention of fucking him but here I was. No idea on the timeline of who I was sleeping with or pining after at the time, but I’m sure it was a distraction. Darcy and her friend drove me home in his convertible. This guy was there, too.

Darcy and the friend were helping me into my house. Darcy placed my ID, my keys, a glass of water beside my bed. I was practically crawling into my house, and I only vaguely remember that Darcy and the friend stopped this guy from staying over.

The friend said something along the lines of my being too drunk.

They understood consent on my behalf.

I don’t think this guy had ill intent either, but he was as drunk as I was, and I could have had a situation where I wasn’t sure what was happening.

I’ve always been lucky. It is pure luck. And kindness from friends who always protected me back then from this happening.

Texts to cousin Pam

I texted my cousin, Pam:

Had awful date. Met for drinks in Manchester. Had too much wine on empty stomach and slept over at his house because missed train back (no sex thanks to period and wouldn’t have wanted to) but it was hot as fuck and he wouldn’t stop touchhing me and it was really fucking annoying so I got zero sleep becuase I didn’t feel safe (not like he was rapey but you know gotta feel safe to let yourself get unconscious). He would’ve been a nice guy if not for that. Fml.

Sent virtually the same message to Michael, and he said, “You and transport! Even with my 12-hour date, I sent an alarm for the last train. That was an awful situation to put yourself in, and like you say, I would never have taken advantage of that situation. That’s just creepy what he did.”

Apparently, I told the date I had a headache, and he tried to give me a pill, and I said I wouldn't take it because it was unmarked. I said to Michael I don’t think he was date rape creepy but FFS read body language.

I don’t know what I was playing at? Trying to get Michael to choose me? Michael wasn’t even dating anyone else… He was already choosing me. Sigh. Even after pulling this shite. (More than once.)

What happened to Victor

I can’t remember Victor’s name. We are connected on LinkedIn, so years ago I saw that he’d moved back to China, started another company similar to what he did before, and married a beautiful Chinese lady. I do hope he’s happy.

Okay, so I had to go to my almost 600 LinkedIn connections, and scroll back to people I met nine years ago to find his name. Victor is now an ‘award-winning managing director’ at some recruitment company that hires English teachers to teach in China. He founded the company.

His profile picture is of him running a marathon. Why people do that, I’ll never know. Age has made him better-looking, so good for him.

After Victor drops me off, I text Michael a picture of myself in bed, hoping to see him after I’ve woken up from my nap and after a bath, washing the memory of the day off my skin.

I’m sure a couple of days later we play house at his Mum and Stepdad’s when they are away for the weekend, so all is okay in my messy world. Michael even cooks for me in his underwear. I still can’t get over his abs.

Message to Victor

Finding Victor’s IRL name allowed me to find his messages.

At 11.35 pm, Victor asks me where I am. Maybe thinking I’ve ditched him out the window of the toilets, and I text that I’m ‘a little sick.’ Am I puking up? No recollection.

Close to midnight, he tells me we can get a taxi.

A full two days later, I’ve ghosted him and he messages a nice message saying he enjoyed meeting me, looks forward to catching up, hopes I enjoyed the gym, good luck on the job front, and I reply an hour later.

My day is okay, and I felt okay once I’d caught up on sleep but not sleeping one night threw my day off the next day. I should’ve taken the train home and been more responsible.

I don’t think I’d like to see you again – not because you didn’t seem nice overall, but because you were too handsey on the first date.

Pot calling the kettle black? I mean I’d flirted and made out with the guy and said I’d go home with him and got shitfaced. Sigh.

The other two people I have been dating were really respectful on our first date and one only kissed me and the other hasn’t even done that yet after five dates.

Guessing that was poor Archie.

Why We Met

#93 THE OTHER GUY I WAS SEEING (AFTER MEETING MY FUTURE HUSBAND): THE LOVELY UNIVERSITY ENGLISH TEACHER

When I moved to England, I was making choices of what sort of people I wanted to date. Did I – on the advice of my wealthy former supermodel friend – want to wait around to find a wealthy second husband? Did that align with who I was? Or did I simply want to find a good match? Was I looking for people who met my university-era checklist (i.e., tall, educated, well-read, handsome, intelligent, good job, etc…

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a year ago · 6 likes · 5 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

I had said I was exhausted. I had had a very long day and you didn’t let me sleep and you kept touching me innappropriately for the situation – after you said you’d make the spare bed – which made me feel distrespected, uncomfortable, and unsafe.

Sigh!

I do appreciate that you took me home, so thank you for that.

He replied to me:

I respect your wishes. I do not realise how drunk I was. I wish you all the best for the future. Thi type of behaviour was out of character; however, no excuse for this type of action. Take care.

He ended with a typed smiley face, and that was that.

I was a bit of an arsehole to all involved really. I had had men treat me much worse.

Now he’s going to see me looking at his LinkedIn profile, and if he even vaguely remembers who I am, I’m sure he will be very puzzled.

Michael tells me I’m ‘too intense’

After this date with Victor, Michael does not run away and continues seeing me.

Now I know about Michael’s anxiety and how when he cares about people, he truly cares, he was probably worried for me because he is a nice man – also he’d only known me not even a month – rolls eyes – how much commitment should a totally normal human make?

The answer is none but I was a toxic, crazy fucker. (Not to insult genuine mental illness and all that.)

I mean I’d like to think circumstances made me that way, but FFS.

Michael and I exchange messages where he says ‘I’m intense” (which I was), and I claim that I’m trying to heal from my broken marriage, I’m not trying to rush in, etc. I clearly am trying to rush in, but my brain is scrambled, and I think I’m being justified and logical, obviously.

Michael was trying to set boundaries. He doesn’t have lots of long-term dating experience. He needs training wheels.

He tells me he felt like we’d had some perfect dates. He was relaxed and happy around me but probably also needed time to himself in the week – the one good thing, though, despite me being a bit batshit, was we did communicate from the get go – Michael said how he felt and I reciprocated.

Did we just get in a relationship?

Michael and I did have this weird exchange where Michael says he thought we were in an ‘unofficial relationship.'

I was trying to say (to protect myself) we were FWB and in the past I had a FWB that was about six months long (the red haired sex god) and it didn’t become more and blah blah and more unhealed shit. I want him, and I am also pushing him away.

Why We Met

#19 THE RED-HAIRED SEX GOD: HOW WE MET

I met the guy who we will call Bramwell at Theo’s pyjama party post-Stella Adler Actor breakup – which was also the night I chose to sleep with Theo. We’d broken up in September so goodness knows why I was grieving in December…

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3 years ago · 4 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Poor Michael was trying to catch up with my weirdness and parse it out, this being the only experience he had with wanting a girlfriend.

I was saying shit like – not direct quotes – I’m so healed and self aware and open at communication.

Fucking laugh out loud at my delusion.

Okay, I don’t think I said I was healed, but ‘open’ and ‘honest.’ And I guess I was speaking my very delusional truth, but give the poor man a break.

I was chasing him to commit to me too early, but then pushing him away and saying no, we can be all cool and casual, it’s all good. And he’s like, “Oh are we not moving towards a relationship then?”

And I’m like, yeah, we can maybe. I like you a lot. But also, like, I totally don’t need a relationship if you just want FWB, etc, blah, blah. I’m sorry, what?

I clearly was into him and wanted a relationship but couldn’t ever date anyone like a normal fucker.

I had to have lots of options on the go because I couldn’t possibly be vulnerable and get hurt and not have someone to tell me I was pretty. I couldn’t just wait and see where things were going.

I was still in the era of reeling from what the fuck just happened ot my first marriage, questioning why he’d ended it all, and why the rug had been pulled out from my life. I thought I’d had a happy, comfortable marriage, and he’d ended it out of the blue.

Obvs it turns out it was sort of mentally abusive and it was fortunate that he’d decided to end things, but mid-2016 me didn’t know that.

Why We Met

#76 THAT TIME I GOT SECRETLY MARRIED: OUR COURTHOUSE ELOPEMENT IN GEORGIA

Despite texting that one guy I went on a date with once that I was dating someone from my past (AKA a “white lie”), I’m a terrible liar. I’m honest to a fault and that has gotten me in a lot of trouble. My ex (like the Married Professor I slept with those few times) as I’d learn was an old hand at mistruths/dishonesty by omission* or maybe more accurately “manipulation,” having been trained at interrogation and with special forces and whatever else. I didn’t think this was a good quality but I was smitten…

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2 years ago · 6 likes · 8 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

Healing and moving forward

But thanks to therapy, I forgive that crazy 29-year-old me. Girl, you were a bit fucked up, but it all worked out. It’s okay, love, you can relax now. Your nervous system is in a better place.

You can be calm and stay, and you’re happy and healthy, and all is going well. Thanks to Michael, you actually are healed, and you’ll forever be grateful to the man who stuck it out, despite his probably early misgivings.

Gainful employment

It took me over a year to land my first UK job, thanks to arriving in the country right before President Donald Trump was elected (the first time) and the Brexit vote happened.

I had three childhood best friends: Joanne, Ruby, and Kate – and Joanne’s friend Jade had very kindly lined up an informal meeting at the recruitment company she worked for (Harvey Nash, maybe) in Leeds. I’d been staying with Grammy at the time and had no work appropriate attire, so rushed to Matalan to buy trousers and top (asking ex-husband to pay for them, which he kindly did) and I made my way into the city centre offices, met with a nice besuited man, only to be told there was a hiring freeze.

I can’t say what is it with English jobs and false hope in interviews, but this had been a favour and a kind one at that.

I never did get into recruitment but since Jade had been very successful and earned quite a lot of money, I thought I’d love to do that (i.e. the money not the job). I’m glad I found my editorial calling because although I’d have loved the money of sales, I’ve never been a salesy type.

Why I behaved this way

Anyway, in hindsight, I was unfair to Victor and Michael. I was clearly into Michael and shouldn’t have gone on a date.

Tbf, Victor was probably a nice man, but I gave him the wrong signals by making convenient choices.

I should have had one drink, said I was tired and drained from a shit day, and gone back home. But, thankfully, I have been lucky. I’m sad for the women who have not been lucky because I know violence and sexual assault against women is more common than we think.

To try and explain my nutso behaviour, I think I fancied Michael so so much yet past experience told me that people only fancy me for short periods and then fucked off when they got bored of me as had happened to everyone ever except HSS and even including my first husband who I’d thought had loved me so that did a number on my head but all I can say is thank the universe above (insert your deity) that Michael was patient as fuck.

Why We Met

#9 HOW I MET MY HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART

This post is a little longer but provides the backstory to many of the stories that follow. TL;DR: we met in high school and it was great until it wasn’t…

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3 years ago · 6 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

It has taken years of constancy and Michael’s quiet and unspoken reassurance that I am loved. I am safe. I am with someone who is delicate with and worthy of my heart.

Coming up next, the most embarrassing admission yet – and seriously, don’t spit out your tea – that time I thought I could moonlight as one of those Sugar Babies (aka have a Sugar Daddy) and met a lovely, rich man who actually knew celebrities (or at least said he did).

Subscribe now

Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety-three chapters. Go back to the first chapter of why I’m writing Why We Met and look out for some “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.

Have you ever made a regrettable dating choice? Or, on the other hand, had someone be very patient with your heart?

Leave a comment

P.S. My Substack recommendation this week is . She makes having three children sound simultaneously cute, exhausting, and hilarious.

In the end, proximity won out. I mean, most people date the people closest to them, right? Except in those cases when people move across the world for love (AKA Dr and briefly my baby sister). I guess then you’re meeting for compatibility and lots of pre-meeting conversation.

I never liked dating further afield than a half an hour commute because who has time for that? There were approximately two people on OkCupid who listed Todmorden, West Yorkshire as their location.

Most people, I learned from Michael, generally claim ‘Manchester’ as where they live, but come on! Manchester is a sprawling city; however, Todmorden couldn’t be further from the experience of living in Manchester – which is 24 miles away – if we tried. Todmorden, on the one hand, is a small market town with proximity to countryside hills and views all around the valley. Yes, we can commute to the city centre within 28 minutes by train, but we hardly live in a metropolis. In fact, that’s what I liked about moving to Todmorden in the first place.

I’d come to this town often during my university years to visit my older sister and Dad. It felt safe, lovely, and easy to navigate these big, new life changes. I’d come back to England to be closer to family.

Dating someone outside that radius would mean – if things got serious – that I’d be likely moved away from them again, living in the same country but an hour or two away, and I didn’t want that.

So, thus, I went on dates with the two people who lived in the same town: Archie and Michael. I said how Archie’s real name came from Brideshead Revisited (a fact I told him about, but he Googled the character and said he hoped he wasn’t like him – besides, the character was charming), and I loved this name, but for my retelling, he will be called Archie. Besides, the real Archie was then and is now a social media ghost. He said he was a ‘face-to-face’ person, whatever that means.

He saw most of his family regularly, which was a good sign. I can’t remember where they lived now, as this was so many years ago, but he often seemed to be visiting them.

Archie was an English professor in his early 40s. Well, it’s what Americans would call a ‘professor’ and English people would just call a ‘lecturer’ because the title ‘professor’ has much more ‘prestige’ in the UK and not everyone reaches those heights in the academic world (as if there were more striations needed?). Obvs I’ve always had a thing for professors (hence these four chapters below).

Why We Met

#27 WHEN I F*CKED THE MARRIED PROFESSOR: HOW KARMA BIT ME IN THE ANKLE

This post is my first post exclusively for paid subscribers. Thank you to everyone for your support…

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3 years ago · 6 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Why We Met

#39 THE HOT SCANDINAVIAN LIT PROFESSOR: HOW WE MET AND WHY HE DROPPED ME LIKE A HOT POTATO

This post is long so you may have to open it to read it outside your inbox; you can alternatively listen to the episode in the app, which I like to do at 1.5-2x speed…

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2 years ago · 4 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Why We Met

#66 THE AUBURN ART PROFESSOR: THAT TIME I GHOSTED SOMEONE ELSE (AND FELT AWFUL ABOUT IT)

I don’t know how ‘normal’ people online date, but back in 2011, after moving to Columbus, Georgia from my university town of Valdosta, Georgia, I saw online dating as a smorgasbord. There were all these handsome, professional men to choose from. How exciting…

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2 years ago · 6 likes · 12 comments · Elaine R. Frieman

Why We Met

#38 THE TIME I ACCIDENTALLY SLEPT WITH MY PROFESSOR FRIEND BEFORE HE WAS MY PROFESSOR OR MY FRIEND

Hi, everyone, I recently got quite a few new subscribers because of my tribute to the great man that is Derek Leyland, whom I’ll miss tremendously…

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2 years ago · 5 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

Having also been a teacher of university students myself (not a great one), I could relate. We had similar careers.

I, of course, on this timeline in 2016, had no job. I was prospectless, heartbroken, and in the midst of a divorce in which I had zero power and zero agency.

Archie had been married before to a Japanese woman, if memory serves but they were divorced. I can’t recall the reasons now. He didn’t speak badly about her. I imagine he never spoke badly about anyone. He was quite a zen person in his demeanour, which I liked. They hadn’t had children. He was close with his siblings and niblings (the weird official words for nieces and nephews). We also had that in common. Based on the photos of his family’s gardens (his parents, his siblings), I had the sense he came from quite a posh family. His accent was quite posh, anyway.

Archie and I had our first date before I went on a date with Michael. Timelines just aligned that way.

We exchanged WhatsApps. He expressed how it was frustrating trying to communicate on OkCupid. Not sure why that was, really.

Our first date, oddly, was set for a Thursday at 4 pm. Although our text messages said we met at a cafe that was called The Bear (which is in the gorgeous old Co-Op building in town and across from the library), I have no recollection of this meeting. According to text messages, Archie picked me up by the Post Office in Cornholme (where my Dad lived as I had no transport) for our 4 pm date. I remember going to the Staff of Life for a drink, tucked away in a corner table in the old stone pub, and I messaged to say I was home by around 7.30 pm, so it was quite a long date that did not end in a kiss or any physical contact besides a goodbye hug.

He was such a lovely man. I enjoyed chatting to him. He was easygoing and super intelligent.

On an intellectual level, he appealed to me. There as something about him, but Archie was just under six feet tall and slight. He was fit and lean but he was probably a smaller frame than me and this sort of thing has always bothered me.

In my uni years, I once heard that one of this trio of best friends I’d make out with (and slept with one) that one of them thought I was attractive but “too big” for him. He was the one who now has his PhD. I’m sure since then, I’ve always dated men much larger than me. Obviously, complexes begin from many sources!

Why We Met

#11 WHEN I SLEPT WITH MY CRUSH’S BEST FRIEND – AND THEN HE WROTE A POEM SAYING IT MEANT NOTHING

In undergrad, my very first job (I didn’t get until I was age 20) was a call centre job answering customer service calls for DirecTV, which was a satellite TV company (kind of like Sky for the Brits). Boy was that job mind-numbingly boring (but I did have a sweet, hot boss who years later took me on a date but I had diarrhoea and kept disappearing to the bathroom in the cinema so he got the impression I wasn’t into him) and sometimes uncomfortable like that time that guy called to order pay per view (i.e. porn) and kept telling me to stay on the phone and that I had a lovely voice, except we couldn’t hang up and I kept having to ask if I’d answered all his questions whilst he wanked over the line. Fun! Minimum wage phone sex – not what I signed up for…

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3 years ago · 5 likes · Elaine R. Frieman

I told him my cousin (Pam) had invited me to tea and to meet her new baby (Harry), and I was excited. I’m sure she made her lovely corned beef hash that night (i.e. comforting northern food), and it’s special when Pam cooks because, like in my marriage now, our husbands cook the meals. And she’d had a new baby, so I should have been bringing food to her, but I can blame that on my self-absorption in heartbreak.

I’d only just moved back, and un-emotionally healed me was doing that ‘get under someone’ to ‘get over someone’ thing, which I think is a Dua Lipa song, but I didn’t actually sleep with Archie.

He did give lots of wise advice. I had been in England a week and was still in the mindset left behind from my ex of being inadequate, and Archie reminded me that things will fall into place and there was time.

He texted things like: “Number 1 is that you’re happy and free and not trapped in something unhealthy” and “All the other stuff – job, car, etc – it’s just secondary and will fit into place in time” and “Enjoy the journey, otherwise you miss out on the life right NOW – not 6 months from now.” Isn’t all that such lovely advice? I mean, he was thirteen years older and thus had lived more life, was a little wiser. We chatted on the phone for three hours one night, according to a text message, at least.

We met in Leeds when I’d been visiting my Grammy and taking the train back, and I said I’d also been dating someone else. He’d bought my meal, and I had this embarrassing moment where I thought he was heading back to town and would give me a lift back, but it was a misunderstanding, and he walked me back to the station.

We went on a walk to Stoodly Pike – a little after the sushi place meeting – and I posted one of those cryptic Facebook photos of our feet in the grass. But I don’t think we saw each other after that. He, understandably, wasn’t on board with the non-exclusivity.

He met my sister briefly, but she just said that Michael seemed a lot more fun. The choice was made for me. I didn’t have to choose between Michael and Archie – not that it ever really was a choice for me.

In my head, I thought someone like Archie was better for me. He met more of my old checklist, but physically and on an attractiveness level, Michael always appealed more – not to say Archie wasn’t attractive, he was. But with Michael, I couldn’t keep my hands off him.

After our dates, Archie would text sweet things like, “Thank you for being someone who I love spending time with” and “You are a strong woman, yet sensitive and insightful at the same time” and “I feel fortunate to have met you.” I think we must have met half a dozen or more times, talked quite a bit on the phone, and exchanged dozens of messages.

Looking back, it was unfair of me to keep seeing Archie, to let him think that things could go somewhere when my heart was so drawn to Michael. I strung Archie along – not intentionally – because I enjoyed his company.

Michael was a slow burn in revealing his intelligence. He’d spent a lot of time with people who didn’t value intellectual conversation – although his father was very intellectual – but he was simply so much fun to be around, and he made me laugh. And as cliche as it sounds, laughter is the best medicine.

I think Archie and I kissed once, but there wasn’t much chemistry,y and I was already smitten with Michael and thus didn’t really give him a chance. We exchanged a few pleasantries over the intervening months, and that December I wished him a happy Christmas, and he replied, and that was that.

Long term, I made the right choice for me, but that’s why, as perfect as I think Michael and I have become for each other, I think you can make it work with almost anyone. Of course, some people fit more peacefully and well than others, but I think it’s all about choices, compromise, respect, love.

But those things have to start at the beginning and continue throughout. As soon as you start snipping at someone, making those invisible cuts to the fabric of your relationship, you’re doomed. (I’m now a relationship expert, obviously, because I’ve had one successful relationship. Rolls eyes. But I have theories.)

Coming up next, that time I tried to make my future husband jealous – hey, I said healing took time – and mistakenly went home with a date but ended up sleeping on his floor!

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Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety-two chapters. Go back to the first chapter of why I’m writing Why We Met and look out for some “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.

Have you ever gone on dates with a perfectly nice person but been thinking of someone else or thought there was just no spark in the end? I wonder how many times that’s happened in reverse.

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Do I believe in soulmates? I’m not sure. I think Michael is my person. He’s now the cliched bestie (not that I don’t also have friends and family that also form a very vital part of my life).

I love spending time with him. He makes me laugh. We genuinely like each other even as we approach nine years and next year, a decade. This is the longest, happiest, healthiest romantic relationship I’ve ever had in my life – and I’m so grateful for that.

My toxicity and working towards a better life

But that’s not to say I didn’t pull my usual shit in our early relationship. Probably in a fit of panic when I realised I really, really liked him, instead of letting our relationship unfold ‘normally’ and ‘naturally,’ I tried to force it. I said things along the lines of how it was hard for me to go from married to casually dating. And I needed to find the next person I was going to settle with if I wanted marriage and children again. I hadn’t even made sense of my impending divorce. I certainly had no clue what I wanted for the future. I just knew that the rock bottom my life had become wasn’t it.

That’s not to say I didn’t work on doing healthy things, too. As my mental health was in the figurative toilet, I tried to work on one thing per day, per week, whatever I could muster to get me closer to the life I wanted.

(Annoyingly, you can’t caption videos, so this ugly text will have to suffice. Video above of when I landed my first writing job in England, which took over a year and had left me feeling hopeless. I used to send messages on this app called Telegram to Chester, Grammy, my Mum, and Charles – the CFO, my best date, and longtime friend. I did have some other videos where I was a bit less optimistic, but I can’t find them this minute. Spoiler: I did not pursue teaching despite getting a place at Manchester Uni, and writing all day did not give me the energy to write a novel. Only in 2024 did I do that and this was around 2017. My accent has changed now.)

To be fair to Michael, he could have run, but he worked with me. He – knowing also that he wanted things to change in his life in the romance department and seeing a spark in me too – navigated life with me. He pushed his boundaries probably beyond what he was comfortable with, and kept going with the relationship as it developed.

Our early messages were full of flirting and ‘banter.’ I’d never done banter with anyone. I was usually overly serious and felt that the literature major in me had to be ‘serious’ and have ‘meaningful’ conversations with people. But with Michael, we could talk about a broad range of subjects, and I learned to be less serious, laugh more, and roll with the sometimes very random thoughts and ideas that flowed from his brain.

Michael was always kind to me. He’d take me to the train station to see my Grammy, but he was boundaried. Even back then, I knew if he didn’t want to do something, he didn’t do it. I found it frustrating in that I’d sometimes had men bend over backwards for me – before they slept with me and got to know me, that is.

I think sometimes that tapering off made me feel unlovable. Like people only wanted me at the beginning until they realised I was ‘too much,’ but Michael’s steadiness helped me grow and flourish. Over time, we have learned to be good partners to each other.

(Video above to Michael when I decided to dye my hair for the first time blonde-ish at the end. It was called ‘ombre.’ My Dad said it looked like I’d dyed my hair blonde and let it grow out for a while. When I first moved to England, I did the typical ‘trauma haircut’ of chopping my hair off short. I’d had hair that went below my boobs and now I had hair that went below my collarbone. Yes, I was an annoying person who called my partner ‘baby,’ but now it’s just softened to ‘darling.’)

Bedroom banter: how things just get better

Sexually, too, with that safety has come exploration. I have always loved sex (friends have described me maybe unfavourably as a bit of a nympo) but I’d often been so amped up and highly strung at a new partner’s company that I coudn’t relax enough to orgasm which had been a point of contention for some (such as Hot Jewish Doctor). Some people (like Captain Thor) were well endowed enough to hit all the right bits, and I orgasmed by chance if I ground myself against him the right way – certainly not on his intentional effort.

For both men and women, sex can be enjoyable when you don’t orgasm. Besides, I can make myself come – at least I eventually learned how to do that. But with Michael, I had more orgasms than I’ve had with anyone – even at the beginning.

Side note: I don’t write these chapters anonymously, but I don’t exactly share these details with people in my life so obvs I’m getting vulnerable with internet strangers, which can be nerve-wracking but why not be open about this stuff sometimes? Everyone would be happier if they had a better sex life and that’s with a partner or solo!

Michael’s drive isn’t as high as mine, so even though we do have sex several times per week, I’m sure he wishes we did it less, and I wish we did it more. But he’s still a generous lover. There’s always the offer of an orgasm for me, even if he doesn’t want to engage himself. I think all that comes down to trust, relaxation, and kindness. I love that Michael had brought out all sorts in me, but this especially. I have always trusted him with my body, and that’s a lovely place to be.

Plus, Captain Cambridge said that I don’t mention Michael’s size (as I do for others). Let’s just say we joke he’s like Goldilocks and ‘just right’ for me – but also Captain Cambridge is, like, unusually large (over a footlong) but let’s just say that Michael – if it would be his thing – according to the article Captain Cambridge sent me recently, could comfortably be a male porn star without venturing into what people call the ‘monster cock’ category. So, I’d say that’s perfect for a husband.

Most of the people I’ve slept with – by pure luck – have been on the more ‘endowed end,’ but fret not men who are reading, most women I know haven’t cared about this sort of thing, and it really is all about listening to what your partner wants and likes in bed – and vice versa. Most men cannot be the wielder of a large cock without actually knowing what to do with it – or it’s less exciting and more eye-watering (the bad kind).

The hiccups, the frustrations

After having ‘run’ my own house with my first husband, there were also times I was frustrated that we lived like teenagers. We had separate bedrooms (we still do). I lived in the attic (like the madwoman in Jane Eyre), and he had his childhood bedroom (which is now the guestroom and my office), and his Dad was in the master bedroom (even though Michael owned the house, but that’s a long story I won’t share on here).

As much as I adored Michael’s Dad and knew how important Michael’s bond was with George – I mean George was great company and equally made me laugh as much as Michael – it was an odd situation to be in and I sometimes wondered how I would adapt where I couldn’t fully feel comfortable to have friends and family over or people to stay or have dinner parties or do any of the ‘adulting’ things I’d been used to.

But we eventually all managed to navigate the situation for almost four lovely years until Michael’s father’s sad passing in January 2020 (not from COVID), which changed everything for us.

There were other early frustrations like I said when Michael would make me take the bus or the times he’d pick me up to hang out but then would tell me he needed to take me home before the road closure – one time when the road between my Dad’s house where I lived and Michael’s house was closed from a certain time at night until the morning due to road works.

Knowing Michael now, I just knew that he needed decompression time away from me. But back then, I didn’t understand that and couldn’t comprehend that when we slept in separate rooms, why he was eager to get rid of me.

(Video above of my niece and Michael’s nephew – now combined, and we have another nephew – when we took them to Bolton Abbey. We bonded over trying to be the best Aunty and Uncle to these gorgeous children in our lives. I mean, how cute are Caroline and Oliver?)

My television and film education

During graduate school, I didn’t own a television that had any channels. Brittany and I would sometimes venture into my extensive DVD or boxset collection – Gilmore Girls being a particular favourite – but with schoolwork and partying, I didn’t have the time. We’d also sometimes go to the ‘big cinema’ or the ‘dollar theatre’ (where you could see matinees for 99 cents or regular times for $1.99).

With my first husband, when we lived in Germany and even in the US, we didn’t really watch television. I watched the odd streaming thing (as did he, but rarely together) but nothing consistently, and we went to the odd film on the military base, or we’d go to the English language cinema in Nuremberg, Germany, but I was – according to Michael – woefully behind. He embarked on my television education, catching me up on TV shows and films to the tune of hundreds.

This was Michael’s way of sharing his favourite things with me. We had a set routine of him feeding me dinner, us showering, having sex, and cuddling together, always touching, and watching something on the television in the attic. Our life still goes mostly like that, except when I’m in writing or editing mode, and I sometimes skip some of the bits, but not the shower and sex bits.

I have a feeling Michael may be on the Asperger’s spectrum for many reasons, but he doesn’t want to get diagnosed as he doesn’t see how that would impact his life a this point.

I still love my husband. I still fancy him. I love how he’s simultaneously a young and old man in one person. He can do spontaneous, fun things, like going somewhere and playing on a seesaw, or he can behave like a curtain-twitching old man, observing things out the window and shaking his figurative walking stick.

Plus, he has a dash of ‘health and safety police’ about him, which always makes me laugh and roll my eyes about the 5,000 probable and improbable scenarios he imagines for everything I do.

(Video above of when Jae, Caroline, Michael, and I went to Eureka, an interactive children’s museum in Halifax, West Yorkshire. You can tell Michael has dance rhythm, and I do not…)

Playing happy families with a twist

In early dating, we played house at his Mum’s. She and her husband were away, and Michael was given the opportunity to housesit. It was a glorious little bubble. He made tea (northern English word for ‘dinner’ or ‘supper’).

He planned an elaborate bedroom encounter which involved being blindfolded, tied up, and having headphones on for an ‘immersive sensory experience’ and toys. Even all these years on, he still makes the bedroom fun.

I think this, and just how fun his personality is – how he keeps me laughing – is why we work all these years later.

That and the fact he keeps choosing me and I choose him.

Choosing me every day, every year

My first husband – and many others – essentially didn’t choose me. Discarded me as wrong and not enough – or too much. I wasn’t the right choice for them.

I mean in hindsight, my ex leaving me was the best thing that happened to me. I think sometimes how miserable and stuck I would have been, staying because I had a financially comfortable life, never having the opportunity to achieve my career goals, financial goals, writing goals, never having the freedom to discover who I was as a person.

Early dating with Michael also involved lots of picnics, sometimes even the ‘proper’ variety that included picnic blankets and baskets. We had lots of walks and days out. I had much more time and much less money back then, but we had each other and this joyful life we were building. I was learning to trust and that I could spend days and weeks feeling joy and happiness, that relationships didn’t have to make me feel lesser or miserable or end in tears.

In all our time together, Michael has never once made me cry.

Stuff that’s made me think recently

For those who have been long-time readers (thank you), you may know that I love to ‘be in conversation’ with other Substacks and writers.

I now subscribe to an untenable number of Substacks because I once or twice read something that resonated with me, or they were recommended. Some people I dip in and out of, and others I read every time they post (, Dr , , , , , , , , etc – I’m definitely leaving people out but you all popped in my head for now). Everyone’s words have value and are amazing, and find readers. That’s what’s so great about this platform.

recently wrote a piece – her stories are so engaging – that simultaneously gives a Great Gatsby analysis and discusses how we often project our fantasies onto people we date, and I think if I’d been that wise in my 20s, I’d have saved myself some heartbreak.

The Life of a Femcel

Violent Desire: party4u, The Great Gatsby, and (the) Green Light

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a year ago · 42 likes · 13 comments · Femcel

She also wrote a very erotic, hot and heavy piece about a recent hookup and the ‘lost art of dry humping’ and it made me want to ask my husband to shove his leg between my thighs. (I did and it was great.)

The Life of a Femcel

The Lost Art of Dry Humping

We are in an anti-Renaissance. Rather than gaining artistic and creative momentum, art forms are dying off…

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a year ago · 83 likes · 18 comments · Femcel

A recently discovered read is and she has a sort of agony aunt column. Her response to a reader’s question was so compassionate and nuanced that I loved it.

The question concerned how a woman who is happy in her current marriage felt discontent when she learned her university boyfriend had cheated on her for years and it shifted her sense of self, realising that if she’d been able to step out of her codependent relationship sooner, all that could have opened up to her.

Philippa says, “It is not events that disturb us, but our opinions about them” and “...the self you are now did not exist then. What you did was what you could do at the time. Have compassion for that young woman who was you, doing her best with what she had back then.”

Philippa Perry

The Sting of Hindsight

Send your problems to me here Subject to Terms and Conditions…

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a year ago · 174 likes · 18 comments · Philippa Perry

That resonated with me. Hard! As many may expect. I often think how idiotic I was not to see so much of the past, what was right in front of me, but my therapist is always as compassionate as Philipa and echoes this sentiment.

We do what we can at the time and sometimes that means staying in stuff that’s objectively shit for us, but if we learn and grow after these experiences, all the beter.

I can appreciate Michael so much more now that I had the past I did. I can appreciate his steadiness. His safety. His love. I can appreciate that he doesn’t validate me; he lets me validate myself.

Younger me was clingy and affectionate with friends, family, and partners. Older me isn’t like that as I’ve settled in myself. That’s not to say I’m not affectionate with loved ones, but not as I was. I was so starved for validation then.

People often say I’ve changed but they may not see that, for me, those changes are good. Michael has allowed me so much freedom to discover what I do like, what I don't, to discover that I like time alone to decompress and write and I don’t need to fill every minute of every day with people like I did in my past, finding a way to run away from myself and my thoughts and perceived inadequacies.

I now enjoy spending quiet hours reading, writing, thinking, listening, enjoying. (To be fair, I’ve always been a reader, though.) Past me thought I constantly had to be on, productive, highly strung, doing. Now I can please myself, be myself.

The final shoutout is for a newsletter I adore by . She talks about her divorce and her healing journey – but she’s happier now and feels less inclined to write.

Learning to be Me

I only want to write when I'm sad

My life is good at the moment. I mean, it’s nowhere near perfect - I still don’t know where I’ll eventually be living after the (imminent) divorce, whether I can afford my new life, how I’ll cope with life admin (not my strong suit) or, you know… little things like…

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a year ago · 21 likes · 17 comments · Katie Delaney

I reflected on how I used to get so excited to write certain (less painful) chapters of my Substack and how I so badly wanted readers to read the next chapter that I’d sometimes very overeagerly sent out two chapters in a week, but now that I’ve gotten over most of the ‘cathartic’ bits is it even going to be interesting? Do I have the same drive to write?

I discovered that that piece reignited me a bit, and I wrote the above after putting it off all weekend, but don’t worry (as I’m sure you’re not), the next three chapters are all about the people I also dated when I was first dating Michael. He did know about them, so he won’t be getting any nasty surprises.

Coming up in the next three chapters, the lovely English teacher I dated alongside Michael; followed by that time I went home with a date and ended up sleeping on his floor; and that time I went on a date with someone from New York who had worked for the BBC and knew celebrities.

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Want to start from the beginning? Catch up on the other ninety-one chapters. Go back to the first chapter of why I’m writing Why We Met and look out for some “present day snippets” of my current events. Thanks for reading.

Weigh in: Are these chapters about Michael and happiness inherently less interesting to read? Do people only want to read about dating disasters and not healing and happiness? (I promise I have some – hopefully – funny stuff coming up.)

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A sidebar about status

Another thing I have always loved about Michael is something that relates to the latest season of The White Lotus. No spoilers. I promise.

Early April, wrote a piece on the popular television show. I know many people have covered the topic well, so I’m not weighing in (don’t worry). It was written before the final episode so no spoilers or anything, but it is an analysis of the characters. The piece talks about class, status, happiness, misery, and is a poignant look at how the show’s creator writes character, but what stuck out to me was this line:

“Conversely, the white people who try the hardest to prove and perform their status—through the clothes they wear, the house they live in, the words they speak, the people they choose to marry, the schools they send their kids to, etc—are the most miserable.” – Celeste Davis

Matriarchal Blessing

The White Lotus means whatever you want it to mean.

Mike White’s HBO show The White Lotus is like the Bible- everyone makes it mean whatever they want it to mean. A person’s interpretation tells you a lot more about their own worldview than about the thing itself…

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a year ago · 151 likes · 22 comments · Celeste Davis

I’m sure the corner of West Yorkshire in which I live has a society of sorts. There are people who live in the giant, stately-home-like mini mansions or further up the hills. There are people who live in the big countryside farmhouses, and there are several more ‘select’ neighbourhoods around here as well as family names that signify wealth, but mostly, I like how the people I interact with don’t care about any of those things, especially my husband.

I was chatting with – who has his own beautiful Substack called Garbage Notes – about how, growing up in the deep south (in Georgia), I encountered families like The Ratliffs. Franco said how, living in New York, he thought surely they were caricatures and had never encountered people like that.

I’ve written about status before, especially in my piece when I discuss dating Captain Thor. Without us even knowing it, who we end up with is often status-related. Either we choose people of our same status or we choose people who we perceive to be above our status, a way of elevating it. All unknowingly in our very own Henry James or Edith Wharton novel plot!

Ultimately, after existing in a world of status, one of the things I’ve found I love about my husband, Michael, is that he doesn’t chase status.

With the military men I dated (and married), status was a big thing. Keeping up appearances was ‘a thing,’ and I found that sort of performative lifestyle to be exhausting. It did not fit with my ideals, because I live mostly in my imagination and that sort of life requires you to say the right things, have the right clothes, tidy your house all the time, go to the right restaurants, have the right hobbies, have the right opinions, get a manicure and a blowout, and have a fifty-five step skincare routine, and do pilates and yoga and have an endless to do list – and the list goes on. Oh and, of course, have more money than people around you in an endless one-upmanship.

Now, as I’ve advanced in my career – of course, more on this later – the extra money is nice (although, no thanks to the ever-squeezed margins thanks to a very expensive economy), but I’ve striven for more so that we have freedom later. Like, I earn more than ever so that eventually I can work less (maybe work four days instead of five), pay off the mortgage early (countdown for three more years), and maybe have Michael also work fewer hours or early retire – and we’re not talking crazy amounts of money, but there’s always been a beauty in knowing what is “enough.”

What it’s like to have ‘enough’

To be fair, ‘enough’ was a lesson my parents always taught. They were always generous with people and focused more on experiences and happiness than getting more and more money – and sometimes times were more abundant than others – but there’s something to be said in that. My Mum, despite now having been the director of two charities and earning decently, has never, for example, bought herself a new living room suite or paid a professional decorator to do up her rooms. I can’t even remember if she gets her nails done, and I’m pretty sure she cuts her own hair. She just enjoys what she has, some of which are cast-offs from her mother-in-law (who, thankfully, has lovely taste).

In a time when so many of us are being compacted further by the mega rich (i.e. every now and then I look up what I paid for an item on Amazon pre-pandemic and it’s almost always 50-75% more expensive now than it was then, which is mental as well as food and energy prices being astronomical but not as astronomical as in the US – besides fuel, that’s always more expensive in the UK), it’s nice to get back to our roots. To consider, what really is enough?

I grew up in the Bible Belt of Georgia, USA, and I lived amongst the rich, Southern white people mentality (and also the contrast of poverty) and I can’t imagine having millions (like the Ratliff family) and chasing more and more and more so that your stress levels are beyond healthy. I think that sort of rat wheel of life would be incredibly exhausting.

I love that Michael and I agree on that. We want nice things and holidays and a nice home, but we wouldn’t chase any of those things at the expense of our mental health, at the level of immense pressure for either of us.

Why I haven’t written in a while (if you even noticed)

As a side note, if you’ve noticed my long absence – which if you’re anything like me and subscribe to a bajillion lovely Substacks you may have not even noticed – it’s because I simply ran out of energy in the tank and I’ve been doing a lot of reading (well, mostly audiobook listening), the odd jigsaw, editing my manuscript, and Michael I had some time off, and some day trips (will update with a present-day snippet at some point).

After spending the first three months of the year completing not one, but two novels (circa 150k+ words), I was tired and thought I’d honour my body and rest. My BROKEN ENGAGEMENT CLUB manuscript has now been sent to and I eagerly await her developmental edits to get to the next step in my – hopefully someday – publication journey. Can I manifest my dream agent and a big five publisher? I’ll let you know!

Okay, that was a long, rambling intro to get to my second date with Michael…

My second date with Michael

Our first date was a Friday (1 July 2016). Michael wanted our second date to be the following Saturday – his eagerness delighted me – but I had plans with my sister and family, so our third date was a day date on Sunday.

Michael took us for a walk to Orchan Rocks, the rock formation I can now see from my attic bedroom window, looking over the Pennines. It’s a beautiful view. I remember feeling more out of shape than I would have liked, so I didn’t want him to hear me panting up the steep bits. At this point, Michael – as a postman – walked over ten miles per day and after work, spent two hours at the gym perfecting his muscles, which I appreciated. I mean he may have spent an hour of that gossiping with fellow gym goers, but that’s another matter. It was all part of his routine.

When we got to the rocks, we lay in the grass, side by side, hands touching, looking up to the clouds on a beautiful July day, a day with rare British summer warmth.

Michael made me feel giddy, that feeling of first falling in love in high school. He’d stuffed Freddos, Ribena juice cartons, and some crisps in his pockets for us to have as snacks when we reached the top.

At this point, I’d been used to being wined and dined, bought expensive gifts, and it was a little refreshing to have someone take me on a date and put things in his pockets. I don’t know why I found it so amusing, but I did. It felt genuine at a time when I needed it.

Michael’s dating history: life on hold

Besides lying to me about his age initially (on the app, he said he was 31 when he was actually 37), I found everything about his (usual) honesty so charming, especially given my past. I asked why he lied about his age and he explained how he wanted to date people who weren’t in the ‘settle down’ and ‘have children’ phase of life and he found many people his age and older – even though he’d dated/hooked up with older women with children in the past as well – had children and different expectations. Usually, women in their mid-to-late twenties weren’t in that stage.

On reflection, many years into the future, I realise Michael made so many choices to protect his father and their relationship. Had Michael dated someone seriously, she may have wanted to move out, start their own family, and leave his father behind. After dedicating his whole life to his father, he couldn’t make that choice.

Michael had lost many love interests in the past because of his unwillingness to progress relationships. He’d never officially let anyone be ‘a girlfriend.’ His sister, thirteen years younger, had moved to Spain, had a child, married, lived a full life, and Michael was left to look after their unwell father. I’m not sure I’d ever have made that choice, but I admired his selflessness. To Michael, it wasn’t even a sacrifice. He loved his father, and that’s what he had to do.

He had one friends with benefits, a beautiful half-Indian girl from Bradford, who had an abusive father; she looked like a tiny Indian Audrey Hepburn, and I tried not to be jealous and wonder if that was the type of woman he was into. With my hang-ups on being a big woman, I wondered if Michael’s type was petite and small. I’d once had Captain Thor say to me something about him thinking we were the same size and realising at one point I was smaller than him. Boy, did that do a number on my head as he was also quite a big, muscular man, just shy of six feet tall.

Michael at some point told me the story of how his festival friends came over for some kind of sleepover one summer and even though he was a fully grown adult – he must have been in his late twenties then – one of the attractive festival girls had come to his room to try and seduce him and he was so awkward and didn’t have sex with her. He knew all his mates would give him shit, a sort of jeering pride, and he was far too embarrassed to endure it. He didn’t sleep with her, and she became upset that he didn’t. I’m not even sure if they kissed.

The story reminded me of the time when I went to prom with a Junior when I was a Freshman (aged 14). I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 15. All the other couples were making out in the limo, and I would have kissed this boy, but he didn’t make the first move, and we sat there, awkward, talking in low whispers.

As I’d said before, I often feel that Michael and I miraculously fit together, some kind of luck, choice, glorious twist of fate, but our lives were similar at that stage.

We both had dads who were important to us. We both lived with our dads. And when I came along, perhaps, he could see that I’d fit into his life. That I wouldn’t make demands of him he couldn’t make, ask him for sacrifices, or to choose between his dad and me. I knew that Michael would choose his father every time – and his father was a good man, so why not?

Just because I’d had the conventional home life before didn’t mean I had to repeat it. Besides, who was there to judge? I certainly wouldn’t.

Our second date, first sex

After the walk, Michael had arranged for his dad to be out of the house. He’d bought prosecco and strawberries and prepared the attic room (not his bedroom), which had been his sister’s bedroom before she had moved out at eighteen to go and work as a holiday rep in Spain. For someone who had not had as many sexual partners – Michael claims he can count his on two hands, so I guess that’s anywhere between six and ten, but he still hasn’t let me know – he was skilled in bed. He was generous, attentive. He started with a massage, which he was also incredibly good at.

Unlike with some men in my past, I immediately felt safe with him. Michael made me feel cared for and secure, especially in bed, despite being practical strangers. Michael had a box of new condoms in anticipation and a bottle of strawberry lube.

Later in our journey, we’d not have sex before showering, but I learned the flavoured lube was so that he could perform oral without fully tasting anything unpleasant. The girl he’d lost his virginity to – although she hadn’t known – had been sweating all day, and he’d not wanted to repeat the memory of that. Probably for the first time, I was obsessed with someone in bed, but that obsession would form a healthy attachment instead of cat-and-mouse chasing like Bramwell or Hot Jewish Doctor. I was hooked.

After our sexual encounter, I said: “New rule: you can never ever wear a shirt around me.” After years together, he now seems to have revoked this rule but back then he stuck to it with a wink.

Lancashire food: the tea of champions

After our walk, strawberries and prosecco, sex, and cuddling in bed watching television, Michael made tea for us as well (the northern English word that means ‘dinner’ or ‘supper’), which consisted of Lancashire hotpot, peas, and bread and butter on the side.

I would learn that Michael was a feeder of sorts. He showed love through taking care of people, like his dad, his sister, his mum, and now I was in that circle. Let me tell you, a side of bread and butter was not great for my waistline, but it was novel that first few times (or fifty).

Safe sex and the STD clinic

Michael has always been a sucker for absolutely safe sex. Great quality. Even when watching television shows, he hates hookup scenes that don’t have an obvious show of using condoms. University me was like that too. I would make my sexual partners show me a clean bill of health and get regular STD testing at the free clinic. (Who knows if America still has free sexual health clinics now, but that’s another matter?)

This safety obsession perhaps began with another encounter. Once, Michael got a blowjob from a girl who had chlamidia. She told him she had it. Despite not having unprotected pentration (or even penetration with a condom), she’d touched herself and then touched his cock and he’d gotten it, which was quickly cleared up with a horse pill. Michael said medical professionals trusted women to take a course of pills and only trusted men to take one! After that experience, he took zero chances, which I admired.

Michael, before me, had only had unprotected sex with two people. Before we could have unprotected sex, Michael planned a whole day of our STD clinic date (which was in August).

We got tested, which consisted of a blood draw (always a point of almost-fainting for me) and shoving a long cotton bud into unmentionable places. We went to the swimming baths in Burnley (that’s a big, indoor public swimming pool for international readers), followed by a sauna and steam room together. We even went to the park, fed the ducks, and Michael had packed a (not ‘proper’) picnic, which consisted of supermarket sandwich meal deals that we ate on a park bench overlooking the little pond. I thought the day was lovely.

The results were quick and texted to a phone number. The only problem is I didn’t yet have a British phone number so I had to give my sister’s phone number (thanks, Jae) and then show Michael the result via screenshot.

I booked an appointment to get back on the pill. That was back when NHS appointments were easier to come by.

Other early dating bits

Other sweet things he did in those early dating days included ordering some “American sweets” for me, which was a big box of things like taffy, nerds, Baby Ruth bar, Reece’s cups (before they were widely available in the UK), and for one time when I came over I’d said I liked lemon scented things and he’d bought me lemon scented body wash for the shower and lemon scented body cream.

He paid for a massage for me from the Polish woman at his gym, and it was amazing. This was at a time I barely had money for anything, let alone massages. He secured me a three-month free gym membership, and again, I had no money, so that was helpful. We’d spend the odd time working out together. His gestures were always small – compared to the lavish ones I’d had in the past – but infinitely more thoughtful than anyone I’d ever been with. He listened. He remembered. And best of all, besides being amazing in bed, he made me laugh.

It was a sad time in my life. I was happy to be back in the bosom of my English family, but I was still reeling with the heartbreak and trauma from my ex-husband (or would be eventually ex-husband). I could make jokes that I had a husband and a boyfriend (and I did)! It would take years to unpack that trauma, and lots more healing with the help of Michael, time, my therapist, and even writing this Substack.

Michael – bless him – having never tried to have a long-term girlfriend or any consistent type of relationship, always keeping women at arm’s length and maybe seeing them quite infrequently, suddenly got a full-on seeing someone regularly relationship, and he didn’t know what to expect or how to compare it. He took everything in his stride. The times I cried over texts my ex sent or ways he’d been shitty or my money woes, how hard I was finding it to secure a job.

Overall, we spent many nights curled up watching TV. I’d never been a big television watcher, and Hot Jewish Doctor had criticised my inability to relax and watch television, always wanting to talk and discuss big ideas back then, but I’d mellowed and was willing to settle into something new.

Sometimes Michael would pick me up, and sometimes he’d make me take the bus. This was before I’d convinced my ex to buy me a cheap £3,000 lawnmower of a car (a Peugeot 107) that my friend Joanne helped me look for and buy. I’d gone from an Audi A6 convertible to a Peugeot. How life had changed! Once I got a car, Michael made it his mission to buy me regular car air fresheners. Why? I have no idea. He’s always been very random like that.

I’d be pissed off when he’d make me pay for a taxi or a bus between our houses, despite the fact I lived only four miles away. Taxis back then were about £5 each way, and my funds were limited.

Not magically healed: my toxic traits

Despite our early times being a fun time of exploration and happiness, I wasn’t magically healed. I was still jealous and had an unhealthy attachment style.

Once, Michael liked a bikini photo of a girl he went on dates with, a girl he’d told me he thought was pretty. I was wracked with jealousy. My body didn’t look as good as hers. He said she was pretty. He didn’t tell me I looked pretty. Did he want her instead of me? My thoughts spiralled. Michael, never having to have dealt with such a thing before, seemed rather distraught.

George, Michael’s Dad, talked to me about the whole thing. Michael never did that sort of thing again. It also taught Michael to limit what he shared with me about women in his past, which wasn’t such a great side effect.

None of the women he slept with were stalkable because, unlike me, he is not as open about past relationships. Of course, he’s told me bits and pieces, but not full accounts. Michael is truly not interested in who I slept with in my past – even if he had heard the stories already of most of the people I’ve written about on my Substack, or at least the main players. He’s the most un-jealous person I’ve met, and when I talk about a couple of other people I dated at the same time as Michael in those early days, you’ll see just how unbothered he was – and it was infuriating.

It took me time to quieten the bits of my brain that said I’m unlovable, I’m not attractive enough for Michael, I’m not enough, enough, enough…

But over time, and because Michael is just chill, loving, and consistent, my mind has quietened.

I talked to my therapist about how I think Michael’s lack of constant reassurance, which I am sure is exhausting for partners, is exactly what has helped me. The only person I ever dated who was like me in this regard – insecure and in constant need of reassurance – was high school sweetheart and I fully get the instinct to run from these people (people like me).

I made a photo book for Michael’s 38th birthday, and in there I’d written some comments about how he’d taken other women on some of our dates. I can’t even recall what exactly I said now, but his Dad just said something along the lines of how Michael cares for me and not to make barbs at him about his past, which was entirely right.

Quietening the voices in my head

Michael barely tells me I’m beautiful or that he loves me, but instead, he shows me all the ways he loves me. He brings me back little treats from the grocery shopping, things he knows I like or thinks I would like. He messages me throughout the day, pictures of nature, things he thinks of, books trips for us, theatre tickets, snuggles with me, is affectionate back. I sometimes even get the odd time when I’m in the kitchen, making a cup of tea, and he will wrap his arms around me from behind.

He’s not verbal about emotions. He’s a chatterbox about everything else. He’s a level-10 curain twitcher and loves a bit of community gossip, which makes me laugh, so we have endless chats and funny jibes back and forth. But he is pretty hilarious, and you know that thing where they say children laugh about three hundred times per day? Well, I probably don’t laugh that often, but I reckon in an evening, Michael makes me laugh upwards of thirty times.

Our early days are a swirl of happy memories and summer magic. There are distinctive dates in my head, but mostly it merges together because, unlike in absolutely every other relationship I’ve been in, the years have gotten better.

Every past relationship, I look to the beginning as some golden time, a time never to be topped, but with Michael, with advancing years, has only come richness.

Coming up next, tune in for the final part where I talk about playing house at his Mum’s, day trips, more picnics, and my television education.

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Thanks to my influx of new Subscribers. Welcome! I’m Elaine (or Lainey) and I write about the dating disasters (and some successes) that led me to meet my lovely husband, Michael. It’s called Why We Met as in the (very long) journey to him.

Now onto Michael.

Considering I have chronicled about five million relationships that didn’t work out – maybe because I was a hot mess and maybe because I dated some fuckwits (both, neither, whatever) – you may NOT be inclined to believe me when I say I FOUND MY PERSON. My lobster if that’s a reference you get (Thanks, childhood friend Kate) – although I haven’t seen that film.

My amazing Yorkshire husband, who is quirky, weird, handsome, intelligent, and lovely is the whole reason I started chronicling everything over the last year and a bit.

My first post was in September 2023, so thanks for following along no matter when you subscribed along the timeline.

I suppose this whole thing is very unfeminist and un-Bechdel-Wallace Test of me. Are women socially conditioned to search for partners and talk about them as if they are the most important bit of their lives? Maybe! But of course, I have lots of things outside my husband – but probably precisely because I now have a good partner, I can focus on so many other things.

This isn’t true for all women and some women are perfectly happy along various spectrums from single to happily married to staying in it for the children and everything in between.

My various lists and emails

I’d always kept a list of people I slept with and people I kissed and emailed my feelings to myself so did past me know I’d want to use this information in some way? I have no clue, really, but here we are.

Maybe after the 130 or so planned chapters, I’ll chronicle my life via friendships or something or family, which have equally been important to me in my quest for true love.

This year, Michael and I will have been together nine years. Nine whole years since I moved back to England. Many days – and I never take this for granted – I can’t believe my luck at finally being happy. Truly truly. Not the delusional kind where I have to convince myself between fits of crying in the bathroom. But the actual kind. The kind where I smile sometimes and want to pinch myself for being so lucky.

The kind where I tell my therapist I think happening on Michael is like some kind of fairytale and fate combo accident to which she tells me that’s called growth.

In fact, my therapist says luck is something that happens to people and choosing the right partner isn’t luck at all. Either way, I’m glad I learned the lessons of the past.

I’ve learned to sit with the ‘boring bits of life’ and enjoy that stable, emotionally healthy relationships can feel a little ‘staid’ to those who seek the adrenaline rush of toxicity.

Not at all to imply that Michael is any way boring to me. He loves routine, yes, but he surprises me daily and truly makes me belly laugh. In fact, he seems to love nothing more than to make me laugh.

He will even call me out on it when I haven’t laughed enough at a joke he found particularly funny: “Did you hear my joke?” he might ask. And I deadpan that he isn’t that funny and then crawl in his lap, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him. He will smile and kiss me back and tell me he ‘needs to get’ on because the man cannot keep still!

Michael’s dating journey

Michael used to have his own version of “Why We Met” chronicled orally/aurally to his Post Office comrades Dez, Rob, Antonio, Jason, Ellie, Tess, and the like (they all have nicknames but some are quite unkind which they all call ‘banter’ such as one colleague they called ‘stinky Pete’ – not his real name to protect him – and another called ‘the love machine’ and so on).

Michael’s Royal Mail colleagues enjoyed his tales of his latest dates (i.e. That time he crawled through a window to escape because his date’s aggressive boyfriend came home – he didn’t know she had a boyfriend; That time he had a fourteen-hour date; That time he got a blow job on a walk or at the zoo or whatever; That time one of his fwb kept getting back with her boyfriend to make him jealous and commit, which he never did). These snippets will give you an impression of the kind of person Michael was but you would be wrong (as you’ll see).

When I was searching for someone in the before times, when I was in uni and grad school – someone who fit my perfect checklist – I hadn’t realised that I needed someone a little out of the ordinary. Someone quirky. Someone a bit weird. Someone who didn’t go in for ‘Keeping up with the Joneses’ or who fit too closely in ‘with society.’ I don’t mean someone who gave off weirdo serial killer vibes or was an anarchist who ate food out of a skip or anything but someone a bit out there. And that was Michael.

Michael has always been his own person and I love that about him. He’s friendly and polite to people but he’s always had boundaries and never done anything because it’s expected. But that said, he didn’t move out of his childhood home because that was expected either. He stayed living with his Father after his parents split to take care of him (his father had serious health issues from his forties onward). And his Dad was his favourite person in the whole entire world. They were peas in a pod, as the cliche goes. And they both made me laugh, a comedy duo of sorts.

Searching OkCupid for Prince Charming

If you’re looking for some charming man, the first place you may look is OkCupid. That’s a joke, obvi. But that was the first place I looked.

The only place really. I couldn’t get Tinder to work for me – no idea why – but I think this was tech God fate. I don’t think I’d have gotten on with Tinder. My heart would have been further fragmented. And my foray into Plenty of Fish back in the day was a bit of a shitshow. I wasn’t going there again. I don’t think I actually met anyone from that platform but the messages were bad enough.

OkCupid back in 2016 and prior to that wasn’t what I have heard it is now. That sentence is confusing, but basically I’ve heard now to get any of the good stuff you have to pay, but back then it was free and it had these compatibility quizzes and useful information.

I met many of my past conquests on OkCupid: the Hot Jewish Doctor, Air Force Guy, The Kind Captain, and others. There was obviously no Starbucks in Todmorden, West Yorkshire, so I couldn’t hope to find a handsome man by chance (ala Starbucks Guy #1, SBG #2, SBG #3, and I guess we shouldn’t mention my ex-husband, Starbucks Guy #4 – these are all linked but Substack doesn’t show links these days). Besides, Michael has never been the type of person to go out for something you could make perfectly well at home (rolls eyes).

Back when I was first on OkCupid in my pre-iPhone flip phone days (that was just because I was poor and couldn’t afford an iPhone), I used my actual laptop to look up profiles, but now I had graduated to technological heights. I had an iPhone 6 (or something) and could use an app to search for Mr Right or Mr Right Now.

I remember setting my search parameters to Todmorden and surrounding areas. Approximately two people came up. Michael and this other man called something I’ll now make up: Archibald. His actual name was a lovely name from an Evelyn Waugh novel, Brideshead Revisited, and a name that I thought I’d name my imaginary future son. It was that sort of posh-ish name. I’ll tell you more about him later because I did actually go on dates with Archie as well.

But there was Michael and there was Archie. Michael said he was 31 (he was actually 37 but more on that later) and Archie was 42, significantly more than my 29 years.

Michael’s profile picture was his abs in a towel. His photos were gorgeous. His abs were gorgeous. He had a series of photos in what I later called his “douchebag t-shirt collection.” Basically, he wore t-shirts that featured naked or attractive women in various suggestive poses. He was giving “I’m a bit of a tool” vibes. But looks wise, he was right up my pre-marriage street. He was 6’2” (IRL I think he’s 6’3” but Michael doesn’t claim it). Check. He was handsome with dark hair and unusual green eyes. Check.

His profile looked as if it was written by someone with a broken keyboard but also said he was a bit of a nerd. All missing punctuation and things. Minus. He didn’t have a degree. Another minus. I didn’t say I’d evolved in the right way just yet. Hold your horses! He didn’t have children. Plus point for me as I was only twenty-nine and still hoped eventually I’d find someone to have a child with (spoiler-ish: we don’t have children).

But he was hot! Past me just slept with men for the ego boost. Maybe he’d be some hot hookup mistake that I’d laugh about later. It didn’t matter that despite losing the breakup weight, I felt utterly vile in my body. Maybe despite being super hot, he’d be okay with my body. I’d just have to see.

Side note: I think later I learned that the engineering thingy he did before becoming a postman was a bachelor’s equivalent but I also didn’t know that then and, besides, when I’d gotten to know him none of that mattered and I’ve since become way less of a dickhead about things that don’t matter. Michael has only had two jobs: engineer and postman and two homes, both childhood ones, and we currently live in his second childhood home; I often romanticise what my life would have been like if I’d had my husband’s lived experience – if only I could have had two homes instead of fifteen-ish but I lost count after that and I’d certainly lose count on jobs I’ve done – from call centres to tutoring to dishwashing to writing to editorial to teaching and so many inbetween! I’m sure this steadiness in Michael is something I admire.

Michael versus Archie

Michael’s user name was ‘50 Shades of Blue X’ – he said his Plenty of Fish username used to be ‘Best of Both Worlds’ I guess to denote that he was simultaneously a festival-goer partier and an old man trapped in a younger man’s body. My compatibility score with Michael was 38% but I’d like to think that was mostly because he didn’t answer very many questions.

Archie, on the other hand, had a 70% match score with me. He was an English teacher at a university in Leeds. He was self-proclaimed outdoorsy, not quite 6’ tall, handsome, lean, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He’d been divorced but didn’t have children, but adored his niblings.

Living in semi-small cities and towns in the US when dating, I’d never dated people who lived all that far away. The times I had (i.e. Scandi Lit Prof), it hadn’t gone all that well – I mean nothing went all that well but you get what I mean.

Maybe Manchester, Leeds, London, Liverpool, and further afield offered prime choice men, but I was a little on the intense side in dating, and I couldn’t imagine travelling an hour for a booty call. If I was into someone, I wanted to see them several times per week (every day if poss), not every once in a while when I could be arsed driving somewhere.

Plus, I was now in the unenviable position of divorcing, heartbroken, and living with a parent. (Obvs I’m so glad I did move home with my Daddy, but you don’t think that at the time when you’re 29 and have lived in your ‘own home’ for years and you’ve suddenly had the rug pulled from under your life.) And, besides, I didn’t even have a car yet. I was using a rental that my ex had gotten me to use for a fortnight.

The fortnight countdown

During those two weeks, I drove all over the show to see all my friends and family. Caroline, my niece, being adorable and cute and only four years old, took up much of my time as well. I’m sure my sister was sick of seeing me, but I went to see Caroline as much as I could, and since I had no job, that was most days. Poor Daddy!

My cousins Pam and Michelle had just given birth to their baby sons, and I also saw them as much as possible as well as Grammy, Grandad and Grandma Gill, Jenny and Derek, and childhood friends Joanne, Ruby, and Kate.

Cousin Pam had given Cousin Michelle and I free Rhianna concert tickets that June, too, (she got so many free NHS staff tickets and she wasn’t able to go for some reason) and thanks to my old Russian roommate playing Rhianna songs over and over again in her room (namely “Umbrella”) when I went to the concert, I found I’d heard more of the songs than I’d imagined I would. Drake even made an appearance. Is he cancelled now? It was a fun night anyway.

Maybe my family hoped I’d do the emotionally healthy thing and just be single for a while. But my utterly shattered emotional self thought that the fastest way to move on was to do exactly what I’d done in the past: serial date the hurt away. Um, maybe that was part of the reason I was divorcing in the first place.

I chatted with multiple men, so many I could barely keep them all straight. At which point many of them probably thought I was a scammer because I still had an American number for my WhatsApp because my ex was still paying the phone bill – for now at least. I remember scrolling at first thinking no one was as impressive and had all the tick-list qualities of my ex. My ex was intelligent and talented and no one could live up to him and I was just so so sad because I’d been discarded like trash. If you’ve read the chapters about my ex, you’ll realise the wool was eventually pulled from my rose-tinted eyes.

Eventually, I came around and saw a few people I liked. I got loads of messages and I’ve always liked to engage with everyone because I have always thought it was rude to ghost but then again, maybe that gave people false hope if I was going to rule them out? Thoughts, anyone?

I had a sort of boilerplate paste job that gave a spiel of how I had just moved to England and was divorcing, blah blah, and one man very rudely called me out on it and straight up rejected me and he’d been quite handsome and successful seeming but also in London and I remember that stinging a little. Then, another rude man sort of sent me a nasty message about how I’d linked my profile with my Instagram feed and still had pictures of my ex on there as if this was somehow both hilarious and pathetic of me.

I mean now we know that hurt people hurt people and these people are just trolls. Like if someone is a bit heartbroken, why go out of your way to cut them down further? What is to be gained by being that little bit cruel and nasty? Even at my most morally ambiguous and worst points (a la the Married Professor), I have never been knowingly actively cruel to anyone.

All of these men were a bit too far away or there was something that didn’t appeal – as lovely and handsome as some of them were – because I only actually met up with about four people for dates. And every time, my brain would wander back to Michael.

Early messages

I’m not sure when we messaged first on OkCupid. I have the screenshots somewhere but I need to figure out how to dig them out and I’ll share the text when I find them, but we moved over to WhatsApp around 26 June 2016. I say ‘around’ and then give the specific date. LOLs.

Michael regaled me with very unusual, funny, and not very flirty messages and a meme that included the In Betweeners that said something like “What the US think growing up in the UK is like” [image of Harry Potter] versus what it’s actually like [scene from In Betweeners where Will is carrying the yellow car door].

Michael asked me who my English crush was and I said James Norton and he asked if I’d seen him in War and Peace and then said he was as camp as “Louis Spencer” – not sure if Michael meant the Viscount Althorp or someone else. Besides, neither of them are actually camp. Told you my Grantchester and ASMR thing would come around again. I asked him his crush. He said he was eating his tea.

Then he asked me, “What one thing would you take to a desert island?”

I said, “Moisturiser? A survival expert? A multitool? A fuelled boat? I’d hope not to be on a desert island mostly…”

Michael: How does that count as one? Will let you have Bear [Grylls] because he’s a proper tool but don’t blame me when he’s making you drink wee and sleep in dead camels.

He said he’d bring Catniss from The Hunger Games but called her ‘Agnes’ instead which went over my head as to what the fuck he was even on about. I’d also never watched Bear Grylls anything at this point.

Most of our conversations were like that. Funny. Random. A bit on the batshit scale. He sent me a bunch of photos of him dressed up in various costumes, some next to hot women I’d presumed he had slept with (he hadn’t).

He confided in me after sending a photo of him at his sister’s wedding the year before: “I still find it hard to do a natural smile after years of having bad teeth and zero confidence.” I said I couldn’t believe he had no confidence because he was so handsome. I said I bet he got hit on all the time. He said he was bullied in high school but he made the decision to make drastic changes: Invisalign, veneers, working out – superficial things that he said made him feel better and more confident. He said he had a ‘non-history’ with women, which tended to worry them.

I wasn’t picking up on it, but that was his way of saying he’d not dated a ton and he’d never had an official long-term girlfriend. He said that that signalled to women that he was broken.

We sent so so many messages to each other, had phone calls, and I found myself excited to talk to him. This random handsome, quirky, yet honest man. It was so refreshing. He made me feel giddy. Like those early feelings of crushes and first loves.

He told me, “It’s really strange, you know, because I feel I have known or seen you before, but that’s not possible. I was pretty much a recluse, and you emigrated?”

I said I’d been coming to visit Todmorden for over a decade. He said maybe we’d crossed paths and it would “be kinda cool to go back over a timeline and see if and where our paths crossed.” I said we could do that when we met. He said he might have been an “ugly duckling” back then.

He said how the mind and body needed stimulation and that he couldn’t “fancy just a shell of a person, even one with a beautiful shell.” I told him he was insightful.

He also told me he’d never been to Starbucks or Nando’s.

We chatted back and forth during the time I was seeing family and meeting new babies (belonging to my cousins).

He asked if I was getting a lot of messages on the dating sites. I said I was getting about twelve per hour. He said he wasn’t surprised. I said I was only interested in two people.

Then when Michael said he was going for a haircut, things got confusing.

The man in the chair: was I being catfished?

Michael sent me a picture of his hairdresser but with another man in the chair. I thought Michael had actually just gained two-hundred pounds and was trying to tell me that. Mum, cousin Pam, and I all had a back and forth. Mum and I thought it was Michael. Pam said it definitely wasn’t. I said I was confused and asked for some selfies. He sent them to me, probably having no idea what I was even on about.

After days of talking, I said we needed to arrange to meet. He said that we should meet for a “quick brew or fruit cider somewhere” and he wouldn't take up much of my time because he wasn’t planning to break his first date record of twelve hours. I felt slightly jealous.

I said I didn’t have time before Friday because I was making full use of the rental car, but I could meet then.

He said – and this is the cheesiest and cutest line he’s ever used on me and he would never say anything of the sort to me now – “You could be the one to unlock my heart.”

He refreshingly also never ever sent a dick pic. (Until after we’d firmly been dating.)

I sent him a selfie of me looking what I thought was chubby so he’d be ‘prepared’ – and so he didn't think I was catfishing him. I was dripping in insecurity.

I said that my ex had thought I got too fat, and Michael said: “He obviously just didn’t love you for who you are,” and he also said he can be happy in a messy room or a clean one (the background of my picture was very messy). Things like that didn’t bother him. These were the kind of things I needed to hear. Balm to my heart. The exact opposite of my ex in every way possible.

Revisiting these messages, Michael was good at being honest and true to himself – and that was what I found so intriguing about him. There was no ‘front,’ no trying to impress me. He was just how he was, and I loved that about him. I still love that about him.

Our first date

I met my childhood friend Kate that day for lunch and told her about the man I was going to go on a date with. She was newly dating the man she’d have two daughters with (and they are also still together). She drove to Todmorden and we ate at a cafe that would become my favourite, The Little Bird Cafe, unfortunately a COVID-19 casualty.

I remember putting on a Banana Republic dress that I had bought when I was with Captain Thor, but it was a tiny bit snug and I thought that when I sat down the waistband would dig in and make me look like sausage casing – and after having the incident with the Hot Jewish Doctor where he told me I looked fat when we’d pre-met before our date and he had almost cancelled only to tell me later that I wasn’t fat, just bad at dressing (sigh) – I had gone to meet my Dad at his local pub for a quick soft drink and Michael would pick me up outside, but then I decided the outfit was wrong and went back to change again. Dad, who always said Jae and I were beautiful even when we were in sweatpants, said I’d looked fine either way.

I told Micahel I changed my dress from a tight one to a looser one. He said he was going smart casual.

Our date was set for 8 pm. He told me he set off early because he couldn’t wait any longer, which I thought was sweet. Knowing him now, I’m sure he was pacing the living room with his dad, George, giving encouragement.

He sent me a text to, “Look right” as he pulled up to the curb. He told me to please excuse his ‘chav car.’ I didn’t know what a chav was then. It was just a red car with some white stripes painted on it. I mean he hadn’t known my shitty red Mustang days. I get that we can’t always choose our car. Sometimes we get a car in budget. He didn’t get out of the car. He used his ‘giraffe arm’ (which is what I call his very long arms) to fling the door open and I got in and we hugged awkwardly.

We went to a pub in nearby Cliviger called The Kettledrum and parked next to a skip (very romantic) and Michael opened the glove box of his car and offered me shots of Nutella flavoured vodka with gold flecks in it. Should I have been worried? Should I have run a mile? It all felt very much like being back in uni, which made me smile. He didn’t have shots because he was driving. We went inside where he introduced me to Mixed Fruit Kopparberg. We sipped our drinks and had easy conversation, about what I have no clue. Everyone in the pub was watching some important football game except us.

We got onto the topic of our disabled Dads, a bonding point, and when he spoke of his Father’s ill health, some tears came to his eyes, and I placed my hand instinctively on his arm; we shared a moment.

He told me that when he was in the toilets, a man asked where he’d met me and he told him online. He also proceeded to confess that he’d broken his belt and he was wearing a broken watch – an ICE watch that he liked for the look but hadn’t gotten fixed.

I asked for a selfie in the guise of sending it to my sister so I didn’t get kidnapped.

I found his honesty endearing and comical. Most people on dates try and cover up these types of mistakes, but not Michael.

At one point on the date – and I found this very hot – he just went in for a kiss.

After the date

Michael drove me back home. We only had the one cider. I’m sure he would have bought us another round – he did offer – but we spent so long talking that we lost track of everything. He also confessed one time he’d had an awkward date where, in his nervousness, he’d meant to buy the round but she ‘threw him off’ by offering to buy and he mumbled, ‘okay,’ and then there wasn’t chance to buy a second round and she hadn’t seen him again.

He parked up outside my Dad’s stone terraced cottage and we made out like teenagers.

I immediately wanted to sleep with him. I asked if we could go back to his place. He told me no.

Michael later told me after he’d rejected me, he panicked that I’d not want to see him again for rejecting me. I semi-panicked that he’d think I slept with everyone super immediately. I probably did, but also internalised misogyny at play.

He texted when he arrived home.

Michael: Hair looks okay despite your best efforts. I had a really good time. Hope you are okay that we didn’t take it further tonight. Just no fair on my old man. (I assume we would have made lots of noise haha). He is cool about stuff but I think a different time is better. I hope that makes sense. You are an attractive woman. Those neck kisses. I was in heaven.

Again, his Dad was his favourite person in the world and he didn’t want to disturb his sleep. I also didn’t know that with every woman Michael had slept with in the past, he asked his Dad to leave the house and entertain himself, so that George – nor anyone in his family – had ever met anyone Michael had dated.

Elaine: I think it’s for the best we didn’t. But I had an amazing time.

Michael: Me too. No rush.

Elaine: Not at all.

I mean I would have loved to have had sex but I got it. I understood his boundaries. I’d never navigated dating whilst living with a parent. I’d had my high school sweetheart but I’d soon moved away from home so I didn’t have that awkward thing where I was fucking someone I was dating at a home where my parents were. Plus, my Dad had never been privy to any of that. He’d met high school sweetheart and then my first husband and no one in between – due to the fact I grew up in Georgia and not England.

I’m sure to deflect my growing giddiness and feelings for Michael but I just found him super-hot. I told him, at this point, I wanted us to be friends with benefits. I was clearly trying to protect myself. Then, I messaged the next day to say my suggesting fwb might be a barrier to something greater.

In our messages, we talked about this woman Michael had been seeing in Milnrow and he said he didn’t see a spark and he needed to end things. I somehow felt badly for this woman I’d not met who’d gone on four dates with my future husband. He said she reminded him of his old life where she just wanted to go to work and come home; she didn’t want adventures.

He invited me to films and cuddles the next night but I had plans with my sister. He said we could hang out on Sunday instead. More on this later.

General wisdom

Writer and Substacker, , wrote a piece recently (like, sometime last week?) that resonated with me on attraction type. She gravitated towards the gruffer bad boys who needed to be saved by a good woman, realising eventually that that type is bad news. And whilst Michael met my type as far as being incredibly handsome to me, he didn’t meet my ‘type’ in any other ways, but meeting someone like him has changed my life.

SILT

Can we change our ‘type’ when it comes to attraction?

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a year ago · 41 likes · 18 comments · Alanna Duffield

In further discussion of the importance of timing in partner selection in ’s new book I Do (I Think), she notes, “...beyond the ways our picky preferences can hold us back, another part of partner selection that can be especially elusive is timing, particularly the timing of where each partner is on their individual journeys. The Allison of today is very different from the Allison of yesteryear and impacted what type of relationships I’ve been able to have. If we had met in our twenties, I don’t think John and I would have ended up marrying each other or even dating that seriously” (Chapter 2, “I Take You (Whoever You Are)”).

She goes on to say that at the time, her husband, who is a perfect partner for her now, was looking for someone who liked wine tasting whilst Allison doesn’t drink. She continues, “Meeting at an older age also meant we were both better at regulating our emotions and communicating directly. It’s easy to say, given the ease of our relationship, that we are ‘just right for each other’ when in reality, we are both just better at being partners. Sometimes it’s not that we haven’t found the right partner, it’s that we aren’t fully ready for the kind of relationship we think we want.”

That hit the nail on the head for me. By the time I’d dated so, so, so many people and had a failed marriage under my belt, I just knew what it was to be a better partner. Michael, having no experience in this arena, was willing to learn how to have a partner, and things progressed from there.

Coming up next, tune in for part two where I talk about our second date, the first time we hooked up, that time we went on a date to an STD clinic, and more.

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I moved to England in June 2016 and Benoit remarried in August 2017. I heard rumour he’d only known her five months when she fell pregnant, so it may or may not have been coincidental that he’d mentioned some other ‘Jessica’ in passing when we’d moved to Minnesota.

I saw the photos of their wedding, surrounded by his nephews and nieces, when I was on holiday in Sweden and Denmark with Grammy. I felt a stab to the heart thinking I was replaced by someone ‘better.’

Jessica represented everything I was not and could never be.

Jessica is a blonde, thin, beautiful nurse practitioner who he once told me earned more than him (and by this point, he was earning a lot). They have three houses and a nanny. I presume she succeeds in all the ways I fail. She certainly ‘bounced back’ or looks thin in the limited exposure of photos I’ve seen of her.

They’ve since had three children and she had a daughter from what I presume is a previous relationship or marriage. She changed her name to his. They even named their first daughter after his mother – as he always wanted – and I think after two tries they finally had a son.

After his marriage, I unfriended him and his family on social media for my own mental health. I figured they’d all be too polite to unfriend me and they weren’t really interested anyway.

After the tearful airport call, his mother never did get in touch with me again.

Benoit by all accounts did well in his career. At first, the company he’d moved to Minnesota to work for was sold to Tesla and they took on all of the existing employees, but as we all now know what an absolute maniac Musk is, after acquisition, he laid off all the senior engineers, of which Benoit was one affected. At first, Benoit seemed to be living the high life, with his perfect wife, and adorable family, borrowing Tesla cars to drive as employees were allowed to do.

He also got his pilot’s license and graduated with an MBA. Levelled up in every way.

I feel that our marriage was just a blip to Benoit, a mild inconvenience, like taking out the trash, a long-forgotten memory of the time he was married to that woman who was not the right sort of wife at all.

In contrast – and as much as I hate this sort of narrative or Benoit having any level of power over me in the past – I’ve been damaged and undone by this relationship and have had to have therapy, distance, and years to heal, years with a partner who is nothing like this, who truly does love me for things that make me me, the essence of me, and not the physicality or any perceived monetary or status gain – a journey that only Michael knows I’ve taken as in the face of it to many friends who knew us at that time it looked as if “I took everything so well and moved on with grace.”

I very much wanted to be that person, never to air my dirty laundry or trauma, but in doing so it has been healing, for me at least.

And although at times I have felt resentful that he rode off into the sunset with absolutely everything and he got the exact life he wanted, I am reminded that I got to build my life on my own terms this time, too.

It has taken longer, but I am on my way to getting everything I ever wanted to and then some. I have so many things for which I am eternally grateful and the top of the list is my secure, safe, happy, loyal, intelligent, sexy, kind, beautiful husband, Michael.

Our official divorce date

As was Benoit’s style it would have been too kind for him to let me know when the paperwork was filed for our divorce. I had to find out when the official court papers were mailed to me. I remember going over to visit my Dad and him telling me that Benoit had sent me something in a brown envelope. Benoit’s precise capital lettering, written in fine-tipped Sharpie. When I opened up the tab, I found that in December 2016, our marriage had officially ended and this is what I wrote on Facebook about it (you know that place where Benoit said I was unhealthily obsessed? Joke’s on you, Benoit. FB is totally uncool now, apparently):

In the least articulate manner I begin: [Benoit] and I are now officially divorced. As many of you know, this path was never one I would have chosen; I thought we had been happy, and had no idea our marriage was on the verge of ending without chance of reconciliation, or even a chance to work on what were--in my mind--entirely fixable problems. As far as I was concerned, I would have been married for life. Many who know me and knew us, knew just how much I adored, loved to distraction, and respected [Benoit], a man who could do anything, fix anything, and build anything. But to [Benoit] love was not enough. I wish [Benoit] happiness and peace in the future, and that he will one day find the kind of love he seeks.

So pathetic!

Thank you for those who supported me during my roughest time. For my Mum who was there through it all--when I could barely get out of bed or eat. For Grammy who was there through the night when I couldn't sleep, night after night, on the phone with me, supporting me from afar. For Sarah and Anna who helped me gain perspective, and a glimmer of hope and happiness. To the ladies from my Germany life who listened to me over and over again too. For Brooke and Tim who were a big help, and support. For my English family who have taken me in, made sure I didn't go without, and continued to support me as I have learned to live a life that is new to me. Words seem trite here, but I couldn’t have faced life without the support of all these people, and many I’ve not mentioned too.

One of the hardest parts of it all is not just losing [Benoit], but losing his family too. To my sweet, wonderful mother-in-law, [name], and my late father-in-law, [name]: thank you for welcoming me into your family with open arms and love as the only non-Lebanese member. When [father-in-law] first met me he hugged me and said, “Welcome to the family” and that meant a great deal to me. I'll be sad not to be part of this wonderful, kind, genuine, and caring group of people. I will miss [Benoit]'s nieces and nephews who I had the pleasure of seeing grow over the last few years; I know you'll all grow up to be successful and kind-hearted individuals. And to my brothers and sisters-in-law, thank you again for being welcoming, and just fun people to spend time with. [Benoit] truly is lucky to have such a lovely family, and I know they’ll be there to support him.

I can’t remember if I’d unfriended his family at this point but they conveniently ignored my post.

In time I hope I will understand it all from the new vantage of success and happiness, something I hope to build for myself. But for now, even though I have many things in life for which I am thankful (being around the majority family and some of my oldest friends in England), life is still a struggle for me emotionally. For the first time, I’m struggling with bouts of depression and despondency. Finding a job in England has not been easy despite my efforts, and I hope the New Year will bring renewed luck.

And now to M, who has been there when I still needed a good cry, and who has been wonderfully understanding through all of it all as my heart recovers from its blow. I’m not sure the heart ever fully recovers, but life never stops moving forward.

Goodbye to my old life, and hello to the new life I will build.

Why didn’t I want to see the red flags?

In hindsight, it’s very easy to enumerate the red flags I missed, the ways I was unhappy when I thought I wasn’t, the things my ex-husband did wrong, identify all the ways our marriage could and should have been improved with good communication and so forth, but I did plenty wrong myself. Mostly, I didn’t foster a partnership either. I took slights and hurts and withdrew into myself, expecting my ex to read my mind. No one can read your mind.

And again, I see the marriage through a different lens – thanks to therapy – one of emotional abuse and manipulation and no amount of anything I did was going ever to make Benoit happy with me.

Although I’d argue that I was supportive to Benoit where he maintained I was not, I didn’t understand as his father was dying, the complexities of this sort of parent relationship where his father loved him but he was always searching for validation, for his father to say he’d done well and he was proud of him. Him being an officer in the US Army was not what he wanted for his son.

Lebanese sons were meant to be doctors, engineers, businessmen. His sons-in-law were doctors, his younger son was a successful businessman, and despite the career making him happy, Benoit, his middle son, had been an engineer (to please his father) but he had followed his own dreams and since then he’d been searching for validation from his father (all my interpretation, of course). I didn’t understand how when he and his father weren’t close – not like I was close with my family – how he could be so devastated. (Which is a dick move on my part.)

I see now that maybe his father’s diagnosis triggered a midlife crisis and that’s why he went into engineering again. He thought he could make his father proud, but the thing about people like that, parents like that, is that they will never tell you even if they are proud. And doing it after the fact wasn’t going to make him happy.

Another WTAF moment

At some point with some internet sleuthing (i.e. trying to make sense of what the fuck had happened to me for four years), I found that Benoit had set up some kind of CouchSurfing profile the year we met. In 2012. When exactly had he had time for this CouchSurfing hobby? Insert imaginary, “I’m sorry, what?” meme.

Profile pic was also one I had taken myself when were in Amsterdam. Sigh! With all things Benoit, it is probably best not to know.

Profile reading, “I am very friendly and a light traveller just looking for a place to crash since I will be roaming around all day.” Um, you conveniently forgot you have a wife, mate.

When did you go for your roaming-around-all-day time? Where was I exactly? Was this when he was working at the embassy in Prague for that month or when he was off on various missions? He was listing our then-current location in Weiden in der Oberpfalz, Germany, so it wasn’t like he could have argued it was a long-forgotten profile. He also listed some (but not all) of the countries to which we’d travelled – together.

Interests: “skiing, biking, reading and my only vice smoking cigars.” Missing commas aside, I mean he had a bike, but I never really saw him ride it more than twice maybe?

Skiing, of course, he conveniently went a couple of times without me despite my asking to go.

Reading. He definitely read. Quite a number of books actually, which was good. Military thrillers mostly. And cigars. Also an expensive hobby.

He was also partial to pricey scotch as well as costly suits, ties, and shoes (think Ferragamo, Hermes, and Façonnable, a brand I’d never heard of but filled his wardrobe).

Was he just really good at manipulation or was I a total idiot? Wait, don’t answer that.

Reflections

As I’ve said before, my therapist, Lorraine, told me in a session the other week that instead of the narrative that my ex figuratively rode off into the sunset with everything and left me with nothing, where I had to rebuild my life from scratch, to reframe it as a gift.

Take back that narrative! Reframe, forgive, let go, snip all the badness away.

What Benoit really gave me was FREEDOM.

Freedom from a life I didn’t want.

Freedom from a life where I had no agency, no choice, no autonomy.

Freedom from a life where I was seen as never good enough, blamed for all the ways I failed to live up to his expectations.

I’ve come a long way in eight years. I don’t just mean financially and in my career, but emotionally too. I’ve grown in ways I could not have imagined or perhaps, in ways I couldn’t have hoped possible.

Benoit has some traits that I admired such as being good with children and animals, loving his family, and his many talents in the engineering, tinkering, building, and fixing realm. I think I held onto those notions in my head, thinking he was this wonderful, amazing man and I’d fucked it all up and lost him; however, I was not happy and we were simply incompatible. It was a failed marriage but I wasn’t a failure. I just needed the right partner.

Mostly, as with all people I’ve dated in the past – or in this case, married and divorced – I do wish them well. Of course, that extends to Benoit.

I hope that Benoit, Jessica, and their children are happy and content. I hope Benny treats Jessica as she deserves to be treated. I loved his family and I hope his siblings and niblings are all thriving, too. I’ll, perhaps, never fully understand this chapter in my life – and I’ve done enough excavating – but it doesn’t really matter as the English expression goes “I’m well shot of it,” which essentially means “I’m better off.”

I got the life I wanted and didn’t know I needed with the husband (Michael) who makes my heart happy; Benoit got the life he wanted, too, as far as I know.

And I no longer know because I last heard from him in 2020 when I was asking if he managed to find that last $1k he owed me (obvs, he couldn’t, lots of excuses, the economy, he’d paid more than he ‘agreed,’ he had children, he wasn’t in a position now, etc) and a mention about how Karen was up to her usual toxic shit.

At various points – but very sparingly – we exchanged pleasantries. (Naturally, I communicated with Michael when these messages happened.) Benoit congratulated me on my upcoming nuptials to Michael and I complimented him on his beautiful family – and we left it at that.

Coming up next, the chapter you’ve all been waiting for (maybe) – one I’m very excited to write about now that we are FINALLY finished talking about Benoit – how I met my Yorkshire husband, Michael.

The Why We (meaning Michael and I) Met is coming full circle. But don’t worry (although you probably aren’t), Michael provides lots of fodder to write about (hopefully much shorter than previous chapters because it’s just a continuum and not an end).

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My delicate heart was not ready for that kind of interaction (i.e. being treated a bit like a porn object but it had been many years since I’d seen him and maybe he’d changed – I certainly had). On the other hand, my ego was boosted by someone handsome taking an interest in me again, someone from my past awakening those parts of myself I’d long buried.

I was also thankful that he’d made a six-hour round trip for me. Plus, it seemed like poetic justice to re-sleep with the last man I’d had sex with before marrying Benoit and the first person to have sex with after Benoit tossed me aside.

It may have been at the Orlando airport or when I was on a flight to Colorado (why is Substack no longer highlighting links? Can you see the links?) that my mother-in-law rang me in tears, asking if I could find a way to make our marriage work.

I assured her it wasn’t me who was choosing to end things. I felt crushed at her sadness, which may have been because Catholics didn’t believe in divorce and Benoit would then be the only child of hers who had one under his belt. She, perhaps, wasn’t quite so torn up later when he remarried (story to come in the next and final chapter about Benoit).

It felt cruel but maybe it was perfectly fitting that Benoit chose to fly me to England on our third anniversary (21 June 2016), after four mostly failed years together where, at the end, I was left questioning myself, my loveability, attractiveness, self-worth, drive, ambition, everything.

Was I simply as awful as my ex claimed I was?

The sad thing is I’d thought I’d been happy, that our relationship had been mostly good, blind was I to the mental abuse that was really happening. The marriage had robbed me of 40% of my adulthood years thus far lived (from age 25-29) and shattered everything about me as a person.

If you’ve read any of my dating history, I suppose that wasn’t very difficult to do. I’d always used external validation from men as a tool to measure self-worth, which is a stupid way to do it.

In fact, my therapist said I actively chased toxic patterns, chased the men who wouldn’t love me the way I deserved, which is why I’m convinced if I’d met Michael any earlier we would not have worked as well as we do.

I had met plenty of lovely men along the way in my journey: Noah, Charles, and Theo, to name but three (but there were more) – and of course, Chester, my loving, amazing, handsome, intelligent bestie who had women chasing him around the block.

But I didn’t see long-term with anyone lovely, anyone who would have actually made me happy because they were genuine, kind men, and I was unknowingly looking for something distinctively not that.

(Thankfully, they are all happily married to much better, successful, lovely women who were kind to their hearts.)

I have a beautiful colleague, Nicole, who lives in Glasgow, about a decade younger than me and I marvel at her. She is confident and intelligent, witty and funny, smart and kind. She says how she looks good in all her photos (and she does) and she approaches life with such ballsiness that I love that for her so much. And she has such a loving, kind partner by her side as well so she’s not out there chasing toxic love (also a fluffball cat named Jasper).

I think what if I had claimed my power in that way when I was her age? People in their twenties – no matter if we look like supermodels or not – are inherently so beautiful and it’s a downright tragedy for anyone to take that from us. For anyone to crush that optimism, happiness, or wild abandon is a crime – or for anyone to tell us our bodies aren’t beautiful as they are. (And that goes for young men too.)

Benoit at least had the ‘kindness’ (guilt?) to fly me premium economy, but on Thomas Cook (which folded the next year maybe?) that wasn’t quite the flex it seems.

I did have a glass of champagne on the flight and my row was mostly empty (or maybe I just imagined it being empty). During one moment, I cried and the flight attendant asked if I was okay. I said I was going through a divorce and she was very empathetic, having been through one herself – and told me I’d be okay. She may have given me extra snacks and I’ve always loved to be rewarded with food treats.

Benoit rented me a car for my first two weeks in England and I drove myself, bleary-eyed, emotionally wrung out from the flight from Orlando and drove to my Dad’s house in Todmorden, West Yorkshire, where I was going to live (and still live).

My Dad was just so happy to have me home, finally having the chance to have both his daughters in one country. My Dad felt joy and my Mum (back in Florida) felt sad yet again having a daughter so far away as I’d spent the last few years in Germany before moving to Minnesota only to be dumped by my husband.

I don’t remember anything specific about being back that day or if we had a special meal or anything but I knew all my family was happy I was there and couldn’t wait to schedule me in for time together (which is a rather flattering feeling).

My cousin Pam had me over for her corned beef hash (who doesn’t love good, Northern comfort food?); my sister invited me over for vegan spaghetti bolognese and her famous salads that she makes taste delicious because she adds capers, radish, and spring onion (plus magic); Grammy took me out to the carvery; my four-year-old niece, Caroline, wouldn’t leave my side (figuratively and a little literally as in she watched me shower. LOLs); I invariably saw my childhood best friends, Kate, Joanne, and Ruby; plus, my sister’s girlfriends adopted me into their supportive girls’ group (Lacey, Marie, and Christalla). I felt wrapped up in love and a glimmer of what looked like hope. It also happened to be a sunny English June and England is so beautiful in the sun!

My ex had left me with these parting words in the one email he bothered to reply to that mostly gaslit me and said how my engaging in dialogue about my version of events pushed him further away:

“You did add something to my life. Something that changed it from boring to interesting and purposeful. I had a purpose and it was making you happy and I was willing to spend the rest of my life doing it if you were willing to put some effort in doing the same the way I interpreted love not the way you saw fit.”

My therapist years later (years later being last year or the year before) would say my first marriage sounded abusive. Like any person slightly on the disbelieving edge, I Googled it. Was he actually really abusive? That seemed such a loaded term.

Apparently, abusive people gather intel on you, listen to all the things you love, what makes the essence of your personhood. They’ll then use this in two ways: first, to lure you in like a fish on a hook. They’ll become the absolute dreamboat of a person to you, “love bombing” you as the term is called. They’ll seem perfect, too good to be true. Then, they won’t be able to keep up the charade. That does sound familiar…

Second, they’ll use all the ways they know you to destroy you, chip away at you, make you lose your sanity and question yourself, all whilst making you feel like a shell of a person. It’s always your fault. Never theirs.

I’d like to think I always had a strong character, knew myself as a person, was self-reflective, but who knows? It still happened to me and some things seem pretty textbook. Did he know he was doing it? Maybe not. I’ll never know.

Read about the beginning of our relationship here, the ‘too good to be true’ bit.

Sometimes these people will repeat these patterns but it didn’t seem like he’d done this with his ex before me and I can only hope that he hasn’t done this to his wife now; she deserves better than that.

Perhaps, in me, he saw character traits he loathed in himself and thus, I represented everything he hated. He wanted to tear me down for not being good enough for his standards.

But I was good enough. I would be good enough for the right person.

Before my baby sister, Hannah, who lives in Florida, found the lovely relationship she has now, she had a mentally abusive boyfriend and I saw the patterns. I was not quiet. Neither was Michael. I observed the ways he was tearing her down, re-writing her narrative and framework for who she thought she was and wanted to be.

She, at the mere age of twenty, was strong enough to recognise that she wanted that relationship to end (I’m so proud of her).

She kept telling me how good it was in the beginning and I knew with the knowing way you know if you’ve lived it, it always is. It’s always great at the beginning or you’d never put up with the rest. You keep going back to the shiny, wonderful beginning, but that was never real. You keep wondering what you did to destroy that bit, how you could get it all so wrong.

As I say, thankfully, she ended that relationship and the heartbreak was tough for her but the appreciation for what she has now is all the sweeter. I messaged her current boyfriend, Hunter, on Instagram and told him to be kind to my baby sister’s heart and he assured me he would, that he loved her. And I believe him.

Maybe Hannah’s ex thought he loved my sister, maybe my ex thought he loved me, but some people don’t truly understand love. Love is something way deeper than someone always pleasing your needs at the expense of their own.

Present-day snippet

I don’t want to make a whole post but I have four things to announce.

First, my lovely, amazing colleague has just launched The Corfu Chronicles. was actually the one who inspired me to write again. We met as he was onboarding as a fertilizers reporter and I had to train him on what my department (copy editing) did – and how the two editorial departments work together. I know, my job sounds fascinating. Chemicals and fertilizers…riveting.

Somehow we ended up chatting about creative projects and I was so inspired he was doing the thing. He’d written so many plays and had gotten thousands of words into his novels and that was motivating.

I thought I can write too. Why not me, too?

Check out his Substack. It’s newly launched and he plans to post a couple of times per month.

Corfu Chronicles

Introducing Corfu Chronicles – A Journey in Words & Images

Hello, I hope you’re doing well. I’m reaching out because I’m starting something new, and I’d love to share it with you…

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a year ago · 5 likes · 5 comments · Chris V

Second, I finished the first zero draft of what I hope will be my debut novel, The Broken Engagement Club (circla 93k words). I’ll tell you guys more about it later. It’s (maybe obviously) about people who form a club after their engagements end because broken engagements are a relationship grey area – it’s not just boyfriend-girlfriend and it’s not divorce.

I’m putting it to bed for now so that I have distance to edit it next month with fresh eyes. Back to Nicole, my amazing colleague, I am thankful because she has been reading my manuscript as I’ve been writing and providing such insightful feedback and I am so grateful.

Last summer, I wrote 50k words of a not-so-great romance novel (think billionaire recluse and Duke trope but the main guy pretends to be an organic farmer to meet the protag on his own terms) but I think and hope I’ve become a better writer since then. It’s still very work in progress but I feel excited.

I’m moving on to my next manuscript draft, In Search of Golden Retriever Boyfriend (currently circa 12k words where MC had her life collapse – themes, anyone? – and has to move in with her half-sister to rebuild and then she meets the dog walker – except he’s not really a dog walker…he’s a secret eligible bachelor with a tragic past…no, it’s not thriller vibes), and then I have a couple more concepts to explore (one about a marriage on the brink of collapse and an inherited cat comes in to save it, and another about partying uni students circa 2010s maybe a la The Rules of Attraction but rom-com vibes not creepy AF vibes – but also great novel). Although Nicole has given me an idea for another novel based on her friends’ dating lives that could be good to explore.

Third, this month a real-life literary agent, Catherine Cho, is critiquing my novel pitch (the finished one) and the winning entry will appear in Mslexia magazine’s 1 March issue. It’s the first thing I’ve ever won in my writing journey thus far. (Yay!) My therapist let me borrow copies of the magazine, so I have her to thank for finding this opportunity.

I mean dream scenario is that Cho will request pages and offer representation (is that a possibility? I hope so), but obviously, a still good scenario is my pitch gets some useful feedback, which will help when I query agents and hope they ask for pages and offer representation. If I got an agent from this, it would be like skipping a very long, long queue. I’ll keep y’all posted. Please send good vibes to the universe or religious figure. Ha!

Fourth, I’ve been spending all my spare time outside of work writing and reading. I loved ’ amazing new novel, We All Live Here, and I’ve read 17 other books since 1 January and so many of your amazing Substacks – not even sure myself how I’m finding so much time? Less social media scrolling? Definitely waking earlier and going to bed later and thus am knackered. Since Michael is barely seeing me now, he has had more time to himself and has taken to watching murder documentaries. This is a new genre for him. You know the kind where the husband murders the wife and children.

I joked and said I hoped he wasn’t getting tips, planning to murder me for our death and critical illness cover on the mortgage and my work payout life insurance (four times my salary which is pretty good).

After one particular documentary (I think he’s on number four at least), he sat me down, looking serious and upset. He said some of the way these men behaved reminded him of Benny and how in an alternate universe that could have been me.

Benny, despite being emotionally abusive (maybe unwittingly, I’ll never know), was certainly not physically violent.

But it was sweet of Michael to care so deeply and I said, “Oh, darling, but I’m with you and I am so thankful. I’ve been with you twice as long as I was ever with Benny.” This year, Michael and I will have been together NINE whole years. I can barely believe it myself.

I crawled into his lap and kissed his neck in the way I do until he tells me I’m on his bladder and to move (as he usually does).

The truth is I could never have done any of the things I’m doing without the healing that Michael brought to my life (plus writing, plus therapy). After all, most of us write towards knowing, towards understanding, towards a deeper knowledge of ourselves, people, the universe, whatever.

I am finally in a safe space emotionally, financially, and in myself to write these novels I’ve always dreamed of writing.

To all of my readers, no matter if you read every word, skim, or dip in every now and then I am so THANKFUL. To my paid subscribers and founding members, just someone supporting me has given me courage too, and I am so GRATEFUL. Lots of love and best wishes. Truly! I’m feeling pretty elated right now.

Coming up next, the absolute final chapter about Benoit (yay!) and what happened next for him (as far as I know).

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New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, why don’t you catch up on the other eighty-seven chapters I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing these chapters in the first place – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately.

Have you ever had a relationship end only to realise much later – as my friend, Marie says here (I also designed her simple website on Wix for her as well) – that it happened FOR you not TO you? I’d love to hear your thoughts on these chapters.

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Need to catch up on the Benoit saga? Check out the past chapters:

The story of the fourth person I met at Starbucks begins at chapter 72 and goes to chapter 87. The new chapters about my current husband will begin at chapter 90.

I don’t even drink coffee so it’s funny how much Starbucks seems to have featured in my life, but unlike in the UK, Starbucks was always quite a cosy place to hang out in towns, a place you could go for hours when you needed to use your computer and have a cup of tea.

I found Sharon somehow on some friend meetup thing. She was in her early 30s, gorgeous, part-Japanese and part-Puerto Rican, an accountant, happily married, but wondering if she’d have children or if she wanted them.

I was twenty-eight and my life had just blown up.

Initially, I was trying to make new friends because I thought I’d be living in Minnesota longer than half a year (a turbulent one at that), but somehow her friendship, however brief, was a comfort to me and a sense of hope.

She had a kind aura about her. I think we only met up twice but on our second meeting, she bought a book for me she’d recommended. I saw a message exchange where I’d hoped to meet up with her again but my ex had conveniently booked a flight for me to Florida (right before my birthday) and it never happened.

Like all long-distance friendships or those people you meet at airports or on vague nights out in your twenties, I see her photos on Facebook. She and her husband did go on to have a beautiful daughter. And I hope more than anything she’s as happy as she looks.

Solo cinema and lunch dates

I remember during the in-between times – the times Benoit wasn’t meeting me for lunch – going to a lot of films by myself in the day, feeling as if everyone knew I was so alone in the world (which was ridiculous – no one cares) and taking myself for meals (again, feeling self-conscious).

Now I do lots of things alone and I think this early time primed me to realise that it’s actually beneficial to know that you can do things alone and who decided going to the cinema was a sociable activity anyway? Sit next to each other in the dark and eat snacks without talking? Not so sociable.

Quick recap: I’m Elaine (or Lainey), a British-American editor by day and writer in my spare time.

For now, I’m writing about my ex/first husband, AKA the fourth person I met at Starbucks, Benoit, a Lebanese-American former engineer turned US Army officer turned back again into an engineering project manager for a company in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where we’d moved from Germany after meeting in Columbus, Georgia. Long story short, whilst I visited my family in Florida, he ended our marriage via text. See Chapter 82 for a bit longer recap and that story here and if you want to read the whole thing, start here at Chapter 72

How Grantchester saved me

Michael jokes about my man crush on James Norton of the original Hot Priest fame in Grantchester. It’s a bit Agatha Christie but instead of Miss Marple or Poirot, you have a hot, struggling, kindly priest (okay, vicar) as your detective in the 1960s alongside an actual detective as well. The whole cast is funny and charming. And who doesn’t love a murder mystery? It gives me Phryne Fisher vibes (another great show).

Hot vicar sometimes even takes off his shirt.

Plus, there’s a subplot with an unrequited, complicated love story. Sidney Chambers (hot vicar character) loves his friend Amanda so deeply and watches her live her life from the sidelines.

I imagined a world in which I could feel that sort of love, a world where someone so kind and wholesome loved me that much.

Spoiler: I could and I would be.

I remember watching this show, binge-watching it, when I was in Minnesota in 2016, dreaming that I’d find a similarly hot Englishman someday.

Spoiler: I did – but in Yorkshire not in Cambridgeshire.

But escaping to this world in Cambridgeshire was just what I needed then. It gave me a mindless diversion. Like all great fiction, I was sucked into this world and my problems melted away.

I was too listless to read. Too tired even. But this television show gave me something like hope for a future I didn’t know yet.

Of course, James Norton is exceptionally talented and he went on to gain fame from Happy Valley, funnily enough filmed in our neighbouring town of Hebden Bridge. Shame I never spotted him – although unlike the charming vicar, he was reviled in the show.

ASMR

Another thing I discovered at that time was ASMR.

ASMR for those who haven’t heard of it is autonomous sensory meridian response where you get “tingles” from listening to “triggers” which can include whispers, mouth sounds, tapping, button pressing, listening to rainfall, and so on.

Michael doesn't get it at all and so many people absolutely cannot stand mouth sounds, whispering, microphone noises, or anything of the sort, but I found it oddly comforting.

I must have watched hundreds of ASMR videos before I could fall asleep, usually the shorter ones.

It’s even so popular that they get celebs to do it.

There’s something vaguely sexual about it, caring even, but I experienced the head ‘tingles’ and that was a little zap of pleasure in a world that felt devoid of it.

Let’s face it when you’re depressed and feeling sad, discarded, and with your self-esteem on the floor, sometimes you can seek comfort in a screen or a tiny light of friendship.

Coming up next, moving to England on my third anniversary. Yes, my ex booked the plane ticket specifically for that day. How kind of him!

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New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, catch up on the other eighty-six chapters, including why I’m writing these chapters – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately and the bonus material for paid subs.

Have there ever been any sort of “odd” things that gave you hope or reassurance through difficult times?

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Need to catch up on the Benoit saga? Check out the past chapters:

The story of the fourth person I met at Starbucks begins at chapter 72 and goes to chapter 87. The new chapters about my current husband will begin at chapter 90.

Maybe I internalised that misogynistic notion but I had this idea that Benoit worked for what he had and I hadn’t “contributed” and just because he wanted to leave me, his life shouldn’t be impacted because he chose to marry the wrong person.

Quick recap: I’m Elaine (or Lainey), a British-American editor by day and writer in my spare time.

For now, I’m writing about my ex/first husband, AKA the fourth person I met at Starbucks, Benoit, a Lebanese-American former engineer turned US Army officer turned back again into an engineering project manager for a company in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where we’d moved from Germany after meeting in Columbus, Georgia. Long story short, whilst I visited my family in Florida, he ended our marriage via text. See Chapter 82 for a bit longer recap and that story here and if you want to read the whole thing, start here at Chapter 72.

Saying the final goodbye to Benoit

Benoit had clearly decided he had enough of me or wanted to get to stage three of his plan to move on and had booked for me to go to Florida on the 3rd of June, a couple of days after returning from Colorado. I flew via Dallas.

Then, he’d ever so kindly booked my flight to move to England on our third anniversary on the 21st of June from Orlando (Florida) to Manchester (UK).

Side note: I’m forever so annoyed that I chose my anniversary to Benoit on the summer solstice as that would have been a perfect date for Michael and I as we have our annual summer solstice walk every year, but no matter. Our anniversary is a week after Michael’s birthday in September (but more on that later).

In my overactive imaginative brain, despite seeing evidence of his cruelty, I somehow still thought that deep down he truly loved me and we’d reconcile, even though I was effectively being sent away.

I hugged him tightly and we shared a last kiss. We both had tears streaming down our faces, which is why I was convinced he’d realise he was making a mistake. Was any of the emotion genuine or a manipulation? I’ll never truly know.

I said, probably dramatically, trying not to break down:

Elaine: No one will ever understand how much we loved each other.

Benoit: That's true. We were good together.

Me: You said we weren't right for each other.

Benoit: We aren't right for each other but we were good together.

Puzzled.

I wrote that in my phone notes after it happened. I guess he was playing the part for me.

The security camera footage

A mere week later, he had a woman at his house.

He clearly was so, so devastated about losing his wife.

He’d installed these Blink cameras all inside the house probably because of his military intelligence past and paranoia. When he was in Lebanon, I felt creeped out at the idea of him watching me and, thus, downloaded the app on my phone, guessed at his email and password, and thus, was logged into the system.

I’d occasionally see notifications pop up, where the camera recorded short video clips of about ten seconds. I wasn’t too (too) creepy (okay, a little creepy) and really did ignore most of the notifications but one morning I clicked on one, with that sinking feeling of knowing you’d probably regret it and what did I see, merely a week after I’d gone to Florida to spend the remaining fortnight with my Mum and family and mere days before my birthday?

Another woman.

10 June 2016

A slim woman – all I could really see was just past shoulder length hair, straight, a sort of mid-brown, protruding shoulder blades, and a thin spaghetti strap dress – as she exited Benoit’s master bedroom and walked straight to the Keurig, reaching up for a cup, as if she was all too comfortable there and had been there before.

I suddenly remembered a time we’d been on the phone and he made up some lie about why he had to go and the garage camera had clicked on as if he was going out.

Instead of being level-headed and cunning about this, I texted him immediately. I felt utterly hurt and betrayed.

I said, “How could you? Who is this? How long has it been going on? I never ever expected this of you.”

Should I not have expected this of him? I’m sure everyone reading can see that that’s probably within his character.

He said, “That’s [friend I never heard of from Pennsylvania's] girlfriend. They are here for some concert and staying with me through the weekend.”

Sigh. Oh, here we go.

Elaine: In your room. Bullshit. She’s coming out of your room.

Benoit: And why do you have my security system on your fucking phone?

Now the anger. Now the gaslighting.

Elaine: That's the issue you have?

Benoit: She came over to get toothbrushes for them.

I guess he thought I was very stupid.

Elaine: There are toothbrushes in the other room. I installed it when you were in Lebanon because I wanted to see if you were watching, which is why I unplugged it. And if she were getting toothbrushes she’d have set off the door camera too because she’d walk past that first and I’ve never heard you mention someone called [name].

I should have shut up. He was never going to tell the truth. I was silly for even trying.

Benoit: You don't know anyone from PA. He asked me if he could stay when I was there.

Elaine: So they suddenly came from Pennsylvania to stay with you? Why didn't she trip the other security camera? So you deleted the clips? Why?

Obviously, he’d decided to remove any ‘evidence.’

Benoit: They have a concert to go to. I am removing the whole system because talk about invasion of my privacy and going behind my back.

Elaine: I never looked at you on there. I knew it was a bad idea. I was going to delete it, but I got an alert. That’s why it seemed you were doing just fine. It’s not like I’m watching you during the day.

I felt so hurt that I felt like the whole marriage had been a lie. It was pathetic but it went beyond jealousy. He was rejecting me – or so it felt on a fundamental level and even though our marriage had ended, he didn’t even have the decency to be even a little bit sad about it.

Plus, we’d rarely had sex in our marriage, which made me feel ashamed, unloved, unworthy, and disgusting, and here he was sleeping with someone else already.

Benoit: I will go to court now and I will fucking let a judge decide on the paper way to proceed. I am doing everything I can to make your transition easier and yet you are fucking spying on me and going on my Facebook. What the fuck ever. Even if it is what you think, it is none of your business.

Elaine: It’s none of my business you are cheating on me? Is it a one night stand? Why lie? Or has it been ongoing? I looked at your Facebook once and that was a mistake and I told you about it.

I thought you loved me. That’s what hurts. I never thought you’d talk to me like this. How long has it been going on? Did you just meet her? Were you actively looking?

Does she know your wife left a week ago? Because you forced her out? And you gave this whole ‘I just want to be alone’ thing? I’m devastated. I just didn’t know you at all. Was I really that awful you had to start seeing someone else? Bloody hell.

I wanted the truth and answers and even to the end he could never give me that. Everything still remains a mystery.

Benoit: There is no she. Nothing is going on.

Elaine: Why can’t you tell the truth? Then show me a picture of this supposed [name] and his girlfriend. And here I was still respecting the fact I was married. Despite the fact you don’t deserve it, I plan to respect my marriage because I did mean it when I married you, and I am not having sex until we are divorced.

Dramatic and not true. This whole situation probably did drive me into the arms of the Air Force Guy (AFG) as a fuck you. I figured it was poetic justice for the last man to touch me before marriage was AFG and the first person to touch me again after it had imploded, though.

Elaine (continued): I guess you better get the papers ready. When are you shipping my stuff? And here I was thinking maybe you'd surprise me and order a teacup for my birthday…which is on Tuesday. And there you are already fucking someone.

Ever the optimist.

Benoit: Elaine, I am not fucking anyone.

I asked one of his PA friends – probably sounding pathetic and ridiculous but this person humoured me – and [name] didn’t even have a girlfriend…and as far as this person knew they were also not in Minnesota for the weekend for some concert. But obviously, even I wasn’t gullible enough to buy this far-fetched story.

Elaine: Then tell me why she didn’t set off the door camera when she walked by?

Benoit: If you want this to stay civilised you need to calm down and I don’t know why.

Elaine: Re-read my stuff. You lost your cool and I did not.

Sigh! Why was I even trying to catch him out in his lies? He was never going to come clean. In fact, the whole conversation with Karen and his ex made me feel as if he believed his narrative.

Benoit: The same reason this system is flawed and doesn’t tell its owner that someone else is tapped into it.

Elaine: It has never been faulty before…and if she is getting a toothbrush, why didn't she go to the bathroom and brush her teeth? Where’s the toothbrush in her hand and why does she know where the coffee cups are? You think I’m stupid.

Benoit: She asked me.

Elaine: Why is she up at 7 am when she’s there for a concert? With her boyfriend. Why isn’t she in pyjamas? Why is she up on a Friday morning in a dress? Just don’t lie to me.

Benoit: Not my problem. Send [friend’s name] a message or I can give you his number to call.

Omg his lies! He was utterly delusional with it and trying to call my bluff when I knew it was a lie and I knew he couldn’t produce this friend or messages unless he was willing to go to some elaborate scheme where he convinced the friend to lie to me, which perhaps he was.

Elaine: Okay!

Benoit: Number or message.

Elaine: Message. Just show me a picture of them.

Benoit: I will when they come back tonight.

Elaine: Take a picture of them in the house.

Benoit: Okay. This isn’t over.

Elaine: And you’ve blocked your friends on Facebook because you added her?

I was too stupid and showing my cards. But I can’t tell you how this felt like a stab through my pathetic, miserable heart.

I look at this all now as if it happened to another person and it’s pathetic and amusing but obviously I didn't think that at the time.

I don’t feel anything now (thankfully) towards this ridiculous display and all the lies except just a big eye roll. But I was gullible then, sadly. I believed the best in people. I never wanted him to smash that out of me and I still try to believe the best of people but with a little more wisdom (I hope).

Even Benoit’s sister was shocked and said the girl’s dress was ‘hideous,’ which made me chuckle. She said I should have waited to collect more information but it was too late now and assured me that she and their mother would talk to him to help me get on my feet. That promise didn’t turn out because I’m sure he spun his version of events and well, because he lied so easily, who knows what he told his sisters and mother?

Again, I was sad because he’d chosen someone thinner, driving home the idea that I wasn’t good enough.

But he flip-flopped between angry cruelty and being slightly more reasonable.

Benoit: I think you should talk to a lawyer because that’s how the divorce is going to happen and I will bring up the fact that you were spying on me and that Facebook thing. It’s all good.

You want to be uncivilised about it. I tried to be nice but this is above and beyond creepy.

I blocked how from what? Good job. You crossed a line. You need to step back and think about everything you have done and come back to me with how you want to proceed.

I need the address of where to send your stuff.

Devastated I shut up and stopped messaging him.

So are you still talking or not?

The next day I said I wouldn’t get a lawyer, but I wanted $1k/month for 18 months and proof that he’d shipped my boxes to England.

I said I hoped he’d know that a lawyer would award me more than I was about to ask. He told me he couldn’t afford $1k/month.

He was on a good six-figure salary; he could afford it but he wasn’t willing to part with what I asked for.

Elaine: Cancel my ticket.

Benoit: You are not coming back here. I am done with this. That’s a waste of money. Even if you can prove that I did anything which I did not, Minenosta is a no fault state so tell whomever is advising you that.

No one was advising me. He was being utterly ridiculous. It was as if he thought I was incapable of thinking for myself.

In hindsight, would I have been better off getting advice probably but I was just too crushed by everything. And how convenient for him it was a “no-fault” state.

Elaine: You only get a divorce if I agree to the terms. If I do not agree, I guess we will be married…neither of us wants to drag this out.

Benoit: Let’s drag it out. I am not looking to get married again anytime soon. I can go on forever for all I care.

Completely laughing. He definitely would not have been pleased with waiting it out…

He was trying to manipulate and gaslight me yet again.

Elaine: Okay.

Benoit: I have enough to deal with, especially with the accident yesterday. You want to change what we agreed on then go ahead.

As awful as this is, I felt smug he crashed his beloved Chevy Camero. Nothing serious, but obviously he wasn’t very pleased. I love how he said that I want to change what ‘we agreed’ as if I’d ever agreed to anything at all.

He dictated everything and if I tried to protest, he threatened me.

Benoit (continued): So that’s how it is, guns blazing now.

There were some more messages with Benoit accusing me of flirting with people (as he read my Facebook messages) and saying he let it go and he’d drag “every motherfucker” to court before he’s being blackmailed.

Elaine: I am not asking for a lot if you really think about it. It is a light deal. You have done this to me. You were everything to me, and your actions have meant I have no husband, no job, no car, no furniture, no things (yet), and no money.

I have had no sense of "home" for over six months, and you moved me to a place only to dump me weeks later.

That has been the cruelest thing anyone has ever done to me.

I loved you with all my heart and you know that, and this is what you think I deserve?

I followed you for your career. That was a sacrifice of earning potential, of a future that could have been more stable.

These sorts of people don’t feel empathy so appealing to his better nature was never going to work. And it didn’t. He didn’t care. He was free of me.

I'm not saying I didn't gain benefits either, but with only $500 or $600 (whatever you said) a month I will struggle to get back on my feet, and you claimed you didn't want me to struggle.

Heartbreakingly, you have turned into (or maybe always were) a person I do not recognize.

Everyone kept saying to me, don't leave before your stuff is shipped.

But you booked my ticket to Florida without asking and so quickly that that didn't happen.

And, stupidly, I told my family you were trustworthy and would ship my things. You have yet to keep your word. The first step is please just ship my boxes to England, and mail those things I asked to Florida and send proof. Please.

He did send my things eventually. They were shipped to Liverpool. More on that when I talk about Michael.

You can make $1,000 a month happen. It's not an unreasonable sum, especially after all you have taken from me. I may even struggle rebuilding my life with that amount.

We have already established I won't easily get a car or a place, but it can help at the beginning when I am job searching.

$500 will be nothing when converted to pounds.

Even if I get a teaching job, the starting pay is very low, and it won't start until September, which is months away.

You also said you'd give me half of the Pennsylvania return since you also filed taxes the way you decided without consulting me, and having my return pay for yours, and you haven't done that either.

Please keep your word.

Of course, he didn’t give me any of the tax returns at all even though he strategically made our divorce work for him in not one but two tax years but more on that later.

I tried to argue that he could help me and he said he couldn't afford it.

A few days later, I’m sure trying to placate me, he sent me $300 for my birthday. I said thank you and didn’t think he’d get me anything.

My pathetic self felt a glimmer of hope.

We had some semi-civil messages about sorting out sending some things I’d remembered I’d left, like a hard drive and a hairdryer.

Benoit: Elaine, I am not an asshole and will never become one. So I will ship your stuff when I say I will.

Hah! He was doing a pretty good job of seeming like an arsehole.

I was nervous that he wouldn’t ship my stuff, worried about the volatility in his personality, the anger, the cruelty.

I sent the odd panicked message about how our marriage wasn’t so bad and we needed counselling.

After sending the video clips to my family, my Aunt Brooke who is like detective level 15 saw that there were two wine glasses on the coffee table.

The very wine glasses and the red wine that we’d bought by the caseload to boot (that conveniently wasn’t divided).

Reading back through these messages I also saw me asking about the name of a woman, Jessica, that he’d mentioned over and over.

I’m not sure how they met or if she was the same woman he actually married next as they shared a name (more on this later) but the woman he married wasn’t the same woman in the camera footage.

I wonder if he met Jessica – or someone else – and then all of a sudden wanted to end it all.

I’ll never know.

The sob story

At some point later after I said I was struggling to sleep, he said.

Benoit: You can’t sleep and I can’t get out of bed. It takes everything I have to go through my day. I feel like I will never see the light again.

Bad things keep happening to me in a fucking row like I pissed off some higher power.

I try to keep my head high and truck through it.

Take the high road and move on but you sure as hell are not making it easy.

His manipulation, the sob story, whatever, served to temper any anger I’d feel bubbling up from time to time about the unfairness of it all. Then, I’d feel like an arsehole and unfair to expect so much.

He specifically said to his ex that he would wait to buy a house so we didn’t have to split anything in the divorce and conveniently, he’d bought the Columbus, Georgia house pre-marriage so that was that.

He had my Audi and I was conveniently bowing out of his life. The threats he made about divorce and lawyers made me feel frightened that he’d just lose the plot, move back to Lebanon, and disappear and I’d be left with nothing all over again. In hindsight, he probably wouldn't have done this but I didn’t know that at the time.

Benoit said I pushed him to breaking point but the changes themselves maybe pushed him to breaking point: a new career, a move, a dying father.

Would we ever have divorced had this not happened? Who knows. I thought we did love each other deeply against the odds and despite the unlikely pairing and the mismatch of communication.

But ultimately, he understood more than I did. He knew, as he said, “you’re not the kind of wife I want” and “I love you but we are not right for each other.”

In that, he released me to have the life I actually wanted. But I didn’t realise that then and, perhaps, that’s giving Benoit far too much credit.

The official divorce

The divorce happened rather simply in the end.

It was November 2016. I went to get a power of attorney and a solicitor to witness me signing the papers. The very sweet retired solicitor said he couldn't advise on the agreement without being hired and I had no money to hire him.

I think he felt sorry for me and felt I was silly for doing it all like that without representation.

Benoit didn’t even tell me when the divorce had been official. I saw the date on the paperwork after it was mailed to me and it said sometime in December 2016.

I felt with Benoit’s threats, I had very little choice but to accept what he offered, which wasn’t all that much, but according to Benoit, his lawyer (who, let’s remember he was paying) said how he was more than fair and more than generous to me.

He liked to remind me how generous his lawyer said he was to me.

The nitty gritty

He’d timed the divorce to suit his timings for tax purposes and included line items of credit card and debit card charges that I’d supposedly spent. He did give me access to a credit card and I could ask if I needed something extra but I didn’t recognise the amounts of money he claimed I’d spent, but – again – the person with the money and the attorney has the power and I didn't question it.

I could produce my bank statements to show no such amounts ever reached my account, but what would be the point? Clearly, he had a reason for doing it that way and none of it was ever to benefit me.

I saw what happened when I questioned things (more below).

The T-Mobile bill that was in my name in Germany that we most definitely followed the instructions to cancel went into collections and is now lumped on my US credit score (Yay!).

I asked him to sort it and he never did.

I guess this is another reason I can’t live in America again. LOLs.

He took all the furniture, claimed I was getting a furniture allowance which he never fully paid, and then I had the joy of living on £500/month.

From living on double-digit thousands per month to managing on a few hundred was a bit of a rude awakening.

He paid for fuel and miscellaneous expenses like the time I had to go to London for an interview for a teaching training position that I didn't get and was utterly demoralised. I remember after another all-day interview for a flight attendant role in Manchester calling him in floods of tears and he told me don’t worry, I’m giving you this money for a year to take the pressure off.

I’ll write more about this later but it took over a year for me to find a full-time job, though I did have some small part-time ones in the interim. Let’s just say that that time was a big struggle.

What narrative did he spin?

I’ll never know what he told people about our split. If anything, I wonder what narrative he spun to his family.

He did finally ship my things and I told his sister.

She told me, “I know you love [Benny]. I think he loves you too but in his mind that is not enough. Again, I am sorry things went like this. Good luck with everything and keep us posted on your news.”

We exchanged a few more messages but after that June 2016, she never did keep in touch again and I always felt sad about that. I’d come into these people’s lives and they’d meant a lot to me and I’d meant very little in the end to them.

Final reflections

Once, when I was still in Florida before I’d moved to England – and I did delete the Blink app or he changed the password or something – I viewed the camera live, heart in my throat.

He was washing up and singing to himself. He looked perfectly happy. Boy was that a stab to the heart.

I thought he’d miss me and realise his mistake but he never would. He’d planned it and things were panning out exactly as he wanted them to.

Coming up next, how the TV programme Grantchester and ASMR gave me hope in heartbreak.

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Have you ever gone through a divorce? Did you go the route of getting a solicitor or did you not bother?

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P.S. Present-day exciting news for me

Now for the news that’s very exciting for me…

I actually got accepted to something after becoming very resilient at rejection (thanks, , for your workshop on that topic).

I submitted a 300-word novel pitch to Mslexia’s Pitch Perfect competition and it was accepted to the magazine! I even think they are paying me something for winning (but no idea how much but I’d do it for free!).

My pitch will be critiqued by a real literary agent (who used to work at Curtis Brown and now has her own agency – and she’s a published author too), which is kind of exciting except it could be an example showcasing ‘what not to do’ but even still I’ll learn something.

The issue will be out in March so I will share more then when I know what’s happening.

P.P.S. Want to find your next amazing read?

Just another reminder about ’s mystery book, The Man in the Wall. Thankfully Katie put it on Goodreads so I could get credit for it in my 2025 reading challenge (LOLs).

Rom-coms and murder mysteries are my favourite types of reads so I’m always up for recommendations.

I’ve discovered lots of books via supporting/being fans of other people’s Substacks from (six books including This is Fine) to (Ugly) to (three books including The Coffin Path) to (Call It What You Want) to (six books including What Happens Now?) and (How Not to Be A Supermodel – I followed her YouTube channel back in the day).

I’ve been a long supporter of from her Buzzfeed and YouTube days and I’m looking forward to her upcoming rom-com Save the Date as well as ’ new book We All Live Here.

I discovered Moyes in 2015 (thankfully). I was a little late to the party as she’d been writing for many years before Me Before You made her even more popular. I don’t know how many books she has written – eighteen maybe – but I’ve read them all and am very much looking forward to her latest book.

I must have changed my reading habits and read at least a combined twenty or twenty-five books from these ‘Substackers’ alone and I’m the better for it.

Substack is such a lovely, supportive community and I’m glad to be part of it and support these amazing women who write lovely books (with the hope that one day I’ll join the ranks)!

Need to catch up on the Benoit saga? Check out the past chapters: