Escaping The Situationship Trap

I kept waiting for something that was never actually coming.

For eight months, I was seeing a woman who wasn’t my wife.

Except she wasn’t exactly my girlfriend either.

We went to dinner.

We spent weekends together.

She stayed at my place. She practically moved in from day one.

We texted almost every day. We knew what was happening at each other’s jobs. We had inside jokes. I knew she loved to listen to music while she worked.

If you had watched us from another table at a restaurant, you probably would have assumed we were a couple.

There was only one small problem.

We weren’t.

And every time I tried to figure out exactly what we were, the conversation somehow ended with me knowing less than when it started.

Looking back, I should have left after month two.

Instead, I stayed for another six.

The warning wasn’t subtle.

Around two months in, I asked her what she was looking for.

It wasn’t some dramatic “Where is this relationship going?” conversation.

We were lying in bed on a Sunday morning.

I liked her.

She seemed to like me.

So I asked.

She paused.

“I’m just seeing where things go.”

I asked what she meant. I wanted a wife, and the first time we talked, I made my intention very clear.

There are sentences that sound completely reasonable until you realise they don’t actually mean anything.

That was one of them.

Where were things going?

Were we both going there?

Was there an estimated arrival time?

I didn’t ask.

Instead, I said the sentence people say when they desperately don’t want to appear needy.

I said, “I don’t mind you doing that until you are very sure of what you really want or if I fit into the picture of someone you can get married to”

That wasn’t true.

I wanted a relationship that would lead to marriage, but I was afraid that saying it would scare her away.

So I abandoned what I wanted before she’d even asked me to.

That should have told me everything.

She said, “I don’t like how I feel when someone says he wants to marry me. I get anxious, my insecurity bubbles over, and I begin to misbehave”

I asked her to explain.

She said, “If I am just sleeping with a guy and we have no expectations, I am at peace. I will not be checking his phone to see if he was cheating, eavesdropping on his calls, throwing tantrums, or misbehaving in any way. So such an arrangement works for me, but the moment the discussion shifts towards marriage, the relationship becomes volatile and ends in a bitter way. Not because of the man but because of how marriage proposals or expectations make me feel edgy and easily spooked. The best version of me is the one I want to be with you. I like our arrangement, and unless you want it to end, don’t talk to me about marriage or making any form of permanent plans”

Situationships survive on possibility.

The strange thing about a situationship is that it can feel more exciting than an actual relationship.

Everything is unresolved.

Every good date feels like progress.

Every affectionate message becomes evidence.

Every time she introduces you to a friend, you think:

Maybe this means something.

You’re constantly collecting clues.

I became a detective in my own romantic life.

She invited me to her hometown to celebrate her father’s birthday, and she introduced me to all her family members.

Evidence.

She left clothes at my apartment. She started cooking, doing laundry, and collecting upkeep money for food and to pay the domestic staff members.

Very interesting.

She sent me a heart emoji.

We’re practically engaged.

It’s embarrassing to admit now.

But uncertainty has a way of making tiny gestures feel enormous.

When somebody gives you consistent love, you don’t spend hours analysing a text message.

When somebody gives you inconsistent affection, suddenly punctuation becomes forensic evidence.

I confused chemistry with compatibility.

The chemistry between us was good.

Probably too good.

We laughed constantly. The physical attraction was strong. Conversation was easy when we weren’t talking about us.

That last part should have mattered more.

We could discuss almost anything except the relationship we were supposedly building.

Every time I tried to move toward clarity, she moved toward ambiguity.

“I’m really happy with how things are.”

“Why do we need to label it?”

“Can’t we just enjoy this?”

These sentences made me feel unreasonable for wanting something perfectly reasonable.

Eventually, I started questioning myself.

Why did I need a label?

Why couldn’t I just enjoy it?

Was I putting unnecessary pressure on something good?

So I stayed.

But I understand something now that I didn’t understand then.

Wanting clarity isn’t pressure.

Sometimes clarity simply exposes an answer you don’t want to hear.

I was terrified of losing something I didn’t actually have

This might be the most ridiculous part.

I didn’t tell her exactly what I wanted because I was afraid she’d leave.

Think about that.

I was afraid of losing a relationship she had already told me we weren’t in.

What exactly was I protecting?

Friday nights?

Sex?

Good morning texts?

The possibility that one day she might decide I was enough?

I had turned potential into something more valuable than reality.

And potential is incredibly difficult to walk away from.

You aren’t grieving what happened.

You’re grieving what might happen.

Maybe next month she’ll be ready.

Maybe after that trip.

Maybe once work becomes less stressful.

Maybe once she trusts me more.

There is always another maybe.

And every maybe buys the situationship another month.

Month four should have been my second exit.

Around four months in, one of my friends asked if I was seeing anyone.

I said yes.

Then I immediately corrected myself.

“Well… sort of.”

He laughed.

“What does that mean?”

I couldn’t explain it.

Four months with someone, and I couldn’t answer the most basic question about my own romantic life.

That should have embarrassed me enough to do something.

Instead, I defended it.

“We’re taking things slowly.”

That sounded mature.

The truth was less flattering.

We weren’t taking things slowly.

We weren’t going anywhere.

There’s a difference.

Slow relationships still move.

A situationship can remain in exactly the same place while creating the illusion of progress because time keeps passing.

She made me promise never to tell anybody or introduce her to anybody.

When someone asked her in my presence if she was dating anybody, she denied me to my own face with a smile.

The good days kept resetting the clock.

Every time I started thinking about leaving, we’d have an incredible weekend.

That’s how I stayed eight months.

I’d spend Tuesday wondering why I was doing this.

Then she’d come over Friday.

We’d cook dinner, drink wine, laugh until midnight, sleep together, wake up tangled in the sheets, get breakfast somewhere.

And I’d think:

How can this not be a relationship?

By Monday, I’d feel secure again.

Then something would happen.

She’d become distant.

Plans would become vague.

Her phone would start buzzing, and some ex-boyfriend or suitor would be on the phone with her, and they would be vibing with familiarity.

I think she did that deliberately, but I don’t know why

I could never be with one woman while calling another one when I know it would make her feel uncomfortable, but she did it without a second thought.

I’d mention the future and feel her pull away.

And the cycle would start again.

I mistook emotional intensity for emotional intimacy.

They’re not the same thing.

One makes you feel deeply.

The other makes you feel safe.

I started pretending I needed less.

This is the part I regret most.

Not that she wouldn’t commit.

She was entitled to want whatever she wanted.

I regret what I did to myself in response.

I became strategically casual.

I stopped asking questions I wanted answered.

I pretended I wasn’t bothered when plans changed.

I avoided talking about the future.

I tried to become the kind of man who didn’t need reassurance.

I thought if I could make myself easy enough to be with, eventually she’d choose me.

But every time I made myself smaller, the situationship became easier for her and harder for me.

That’s the bargain nobody talks about.

Sometimes keeping someone requires you to slowly abandon yourself.

At some point, that’s too expensive.

Why didn’t I just leave?

People outside situationships love asking this.

Why stay if you’re unhappy?

Because I wasn’t unhappy all the time.

That’s what made it difficult.

If she’d treated me terribly, leaving would have been easy.

She didn’t.

She was funny. Affectionate. Thoughtful.

She remembered things I told her.

She made me feel wanted.

Until I asked to know what that wanting meant.

Then everything became blurry again.

People don’t always stay in situationships because they have low self-esteem.

Sometimes they stay because 80% of the experience feels wonderful.

It’s the remaining 20% that slowly destroys them.

Month eight finally gave me the answer.

The end wasn’t dramatic either.

I asked again where things were going.

She gave me a longer version of the same answer she’d given me six months earlier.

She cared about me.

She loved spending time with me.

She wasn’t ready for anything serious.

She didn’t want to lose what we had.

And suddenly I heard the sentence differently.

She didn’t want to lose what we had.

Of course she didn’t.

What we had worked perfectly for her.

She had companionship without commitment.

Intimacy without obligation.

Someone who behaved like a boyfriend without requiring her to call him one.

I wasn’t angry with her.

The arrangement existed because I kept agreeing to it.

That realisation hurt more than blaming her would have.

So I ended it.

The challenge was getting her to leave my apartment after it ended. She refused to leave. On the day it ended, she packed her bags and started scrolling through her phone, saying she was trying to call a cousin or a friend or a boyfriend to come and pick her. Later she said she would like a few days to sort out her accommodation issues because she had given up her accommodation at some point after she moved into mine. I said Okay, you have a week.

She moved into the guest room.

That night, she was back in my bed. Though her things were packed and in the guest room, she said it was supposed to be farewell sex. Then she came back the night after that, and then again the night after that.

She wanted to be with me but not to marry me.

She wanted to play the wife but not be the wife.

I wanted to get married, but she just wanted the situationship to continue forever.

Eventually, I told her I had been transferred to another state by my employers and used the ploy to force her out of my house.

Even after she left, she still travelled to the state where I travelled to several times just to be with me for the weekend and then travel back to her apartment.

She said she had become attached to me and liked our companionship, but not enough to commit.

On the day I decided I must move on if I don’t want to get stuck in her world, she said to me, “I have commitment issues. I needed to let that out of my chest. I was told I need to see a therapist, but I kinda like myself this way.”

I wish I had believed her the first time.

That’s the lesson I took from those eight months.

Not that situationships are evil.

Not that people who don’t want relationships are selfish.

Not even that everyone needs labels immediately.

It’s simpler than that.

Believe people when they tell you what they can offer.

She told me in month two.

“I’m just seeing where things go.”

I heard:

Give me time.

What she probably meant was:

This is all I can offer right now.

I spent another six months trying to turn her answer into mine.

That’s on me.

Clarity can hurt, but confusion hurts longer.

If I could go back to that Sunday morning in month two, I’d answer differently.

She’d say she wanted to see where things went.

I’d tell her I was looking for a relationship.

Not as an ultimatum.

Not to pressure her.

Just because it was true.

And if those two things didn’t match, I’d leave.

I used to think walking away meant giving up too soon.

Now I think sometimes walking away is simply believing the information you’ve been given.

Because eight months taught me something two months had already made clear.

You shouldn’t have to convince someone to choose you.

You shouldn’t have to pretend you want less so they’ll stay.

And you shouldn’t spend months interpreting mixed signals when the clearest signal is how confused you constantly feel.

The hardest part of my situationship wasn’t realising she didn’t want the same thing I wanted.

It was realising she’d told me that months earlier.

I just kept hoping she’d change her mind.

-El Demilade