This week, a woman processes her breakup by talking to men online: 50, single, Australia.
DAY ONE
4:38 a.m. I wake on a Sunday with my heart pounding. I’m 50 and on the other side of a 20-year marriage. My husband and I split in 2019, just before COVID hit. It was an unhealthy relationship — both of us were unhappy. We have two teenagers and tried to stay together for them. He started dating straight away. I took a year and a half off men and relationships, then met George, who I’ve had a devastating three-year love affair with … until last week.
6 a.m. Processing the last few days, and now crying. George — a handsome psychologist, with kids, I met on Bumble — obliterated my heart via text last week. I was home alone with my dog. I had no idea he wanted to end our relationship.
10 a.m. I make coffee then download Hinge. I do this because I enjoy validation from a man but also because if I don’t distract myself this pain will ruin me.
12 p.m. I get to work on my profile. I find some action shots to use, ski pics and some semi-recent running photos. I realize the running pics are misleading, given I ruptured my achilles in January and walking around the block is still effortful. I choose a couple of George’s favorite photos of me, pathetically praying he sees my profile.
12:32 p.m. Leo messages me first. He looks tall and Italian. This is an awfully superficial but massive green flag for me, especially in this state. I ask him if he’d like to meet for coffee.
Then I chat with Tal, who speaks Finnish and knows how to drive a tank — yippee. We organize a drink nearby. I’m possibly way too responsive and perhaps appear desperate, but I give zero fucks right now.
12:45 p.m. Brian is 44, he is funny, has light-blue eyes, and lives in leafy Camberwell. Yeah, baby.
12:50 p.m. Gil is 47 and geeks out on philosophy, psychology, and art. Bang.
1 p.m. There is a flurry of texts between myself and about eight matches. It’s a numbers game. I just need to work my way through this list and eventually one of these blokes will be able to fill this devastating void.
7 p.m. Christine, my 19-year-old, and Michaela, my 17-year-old, are both home, and we have a snack together on the couch. It’s pretty lonely having teenagers. Christine gazes at me the way you’d look at an abandoned puppy, with a mix of pity and shame. She’s quietly happy it’s over with George. They had a mutual dislike of one another.
10 p.m. I book a wax online and think about telling my waxer about what George did to my heart and my mind. With her gravely voice and her efficient and caring way, she will listen and de-fuzz my muff and make me feel better.
DAY TWO
7 a.m. It’s a holiday here so I get the day off from work (I’m a nurse). I take out my vibrator and have a quick play. Don’t even brush my teeth first. This is great.
10 a.m. As I start the day, I feel a little more relaxed, but my heart still hurts.
2 p.m. I meet Leo at the coffee shop. He’s six-foot-three and wearing faded jeans, a T-shirt, a jacket, and a scarf. He’s flustered — work on the train made him late to the bar. He’s charming, Milanese and 40-ish. We talk about the Italian Alps, Lake Como, and the Italian economy. I did a quick Wiki search before we met. I ask Leo to my place after.
4 p.m. We have a deep but quick pash on the couch, then scoot upstairs to my room before Christine arrives home from her supermarket deli shift.
Leo’s lovemaking is fun and powerful. He puts a condom on without me suggesting this, which seals his five-star rating.
5 p.m. I feel replenished and euphoric. Our sexy time was punctuated with howls of “mama mia” and “belladonna.” Leo leaves and I have a spring in my step.
6. p.m. Whip up some dinner for the girls.
7 p.m. Leo texts to say he loved meeting me, and he sends me a photo of the pizza he made when he got home. I respond saying I like the look of his pizza, loved meeting him, too, and agree that we had an amazing connection.
9:30 p.m. I sleep deeply for the first time in days.
DAY THREE
7 a.m. Back to work today.
10 a.m. I’m feeling particularly fragile. Work is a great distraction. I love the women and families I get to know. I also adore the babies and toddlers. The work is also very much action-packed, and I need to be present, so I can’t indulge in my own misery for too long.
4:30 p.m. George texts and tells me that he misses me. He says he’s realized I have my life sorted out compared to the younger women he’s been talking to since our breakup (which was only about a week ago, but I guess he’s been busy). He says everyone is crazy, and that no one knows what they are doing with their lives. I start to feel lighter and a little smug.
5 p.m. George wants to FaceTime after I finish work. I ask him why he ended our relationship. I mean, a week earlier he made a speech at my 50th birthday and proclaimed to my family that he loved me.
6 p.m. Still texting, George runs through his shopping list of reasons he ended it. The list is extensive. He does not like it when I have drinks with my friends. He does not like it when I go on my feminist “rants.” He also finds my humor irritating. Despite all these lovely things he’s saying about me, he suggests that we could get back together and that I — wait for it — change myself, my friends, and my core values.
Fuck off, George.
7:30 p.m. He also reports that the sex we had was amazing. “You don’t just find that kind of sex in a relationship,” he texts. I keep it to myself that I found better sex just yesterday.
8 p.m. It’s also George’s 51st birthday today. I had booked a nice restaurant for dinner months ago and remembered to cancel it today. So instead of celebrating his birthday, I am walking home on my own mindlessly scrolling Hinge.
9 p.m. The girls were on their own for dinner tonight since I get home late. I’m eating a bowl of porridge and a drinking glass of Shiraz. This is my shittiest girl dinner and possible lowest point. I feel flat but glad to have resisted his bread-crumbing.
DAY FOUR
7 a.m. I wake up with an urge to message Annie, George’s second ex-wife. I’ve never met her. All I know is that she was the “worst person in the world.” They went to court over the kids and spent half a million dollars on their battle royale. I message her on Facebook messenger. She responds quickly, and we make a plan to meet after work.
9 a.m. Work is busy, lots of meetings and staffing issues.
12 p.m. I have a cheese-and-tomato sandwich for lunch and walk down to get a coffee. I have a few minutes to catch up on some Hinge admin and respond to some messages.
5 p.m. I meet Annie at a bar between both our houses. She opens her arms out for a hug. Turns out Annie is one of the most delightful people I’ve ever met. She’s stunning, intelligent, kind, and engaging. Our drink goes for four hours. I find out lots of things about George, and the catch-up is more than affirming for me. I hope it isn’t re-traumatizing for Annie. The clanger for me was that after George and Annie were married for a week, George asked for an annulment of their marriage after a minor disagreement. Annie is also on Hinge. We have so much in common, including online matches.
7 p.m. Our friendship is cemented. We decide to catch up fortnightly for a drink or walk and share our stories about our kids, George, but mostly about dating — the good, the bad, and the dirty.
DAY FIVE
9 a.m. While at work, I remember I have a date tonight with Brian and run his profile pic past Annie. Has she dated him?
She alerts me that Brian — who I’ve been chatting with a lot at this point — is ten years older than his profile says and is significantly shorter. Welcome to online dating. I decide to keep our date regardless.
5:30 p.m. I meet Brian for a drink. He’s very handsome, well-mannered, and has really nice shoulders. We have relaxed banter about Carlton football club, exes, work, and kids. He gives me a big hug and deep and sexy kiss good-bye. I don’t address his untrue profile details. It will just kill the fun, I suppose.
9 p.m. Brian texts and wants to catch up again. I really want to see him, too, but am put off by some other details that don’t add up (like I’m not sure this is even his real name). He might turn out to be a lovely diversion from George, though, so we organize another date. I’ll ask him about the lies next time I see him … surely a few untruths are forgivable.
DAY SIX
6 a.m. I get up for Pilates. My instructor asks how my broken heart is going, and I tell her it’s still way more painful than my ruptured Achilles but getting a lot stronger.
8 a.m. I check Tal with Annie. He’s my date tonight. Does she have the scoop on him too?
11 a.m. No inside info on Tal from Annie. I guess that’s a good thing.
5 p.m. I’m home getting ready to meet Tal after work. He’s the one who knows how to drive a tank.
7 p.m. Tal is … interesting. He has amazing stories about growing up in Estonia. His maternal grandmother was in a Russian prison camp and was eventually released in 1953 after Stalin died. His people have endured unimaginable hardships. It is really difficult to communicate with him, and I get the feeling he has little interest in my stories of work or kids. My contributions to our chat feel insignificant, and my knowledge of Estonia is poor. I want to go home.
8:30 p.m. I don’t go home. In fact, I’m lured to George’s house. He’s been sending me texts to come over.
9 p.m. We don’t make it up the stairs and we’ve already undressed each other completely. We get to his room naked and I’m wet. I wonder how this man can still make me feel emotionally safe and horny after all the shit he’s done. I cry after sex and feel calm, ashamed, and awash with a cocktail of dopamine and oxytocin. I get dressed and leave half an hour later.
11 p.m. I shower and rinse myself off and climb into my bed.
DAY SEVEN
7 a.m. I wake to a text from Leo. He has sent me some arty photos of his cooking and trips up to northern Victoria. He wants to see me again. We book a date next week.
9 a.m. I put on Massive Attack and turn it up. It is nostalgic and soothing for me to play my CDs. I collect them for a dollar each, and I’m anxiously awaiting someone else to realize how cool they are.
12 p.m. My girlfriends have been the best support crew throughout a shitty marriage, divorce, and now dating as a 50-year-old. A few of us have a catch-up for lunch for my friend’s birthday today.
1 p.m. They’re all asking me about dating and about George. They advise me against ever going back to him because they all want to take turns to stab him. They warmly add that I should do what I need to do. They like the sound of Brian, despite his shady profile, and love the sound of Leo.
7p.m. I have dinner with Christine and Michaela at home. I put my Pretty Woman CD on.
7:45 p.m. Christine tells me I need to delete George on social media and never see him again. “Do not give him any power, Mum, and have some fucking self respect.” Michaela backs up Christine’s wise words.
8 p.m. We have pasta, salad, and talk about school, the arts, and current events. There’s nothing like having a 19- and 17-year-old to keep your ego in check. My girls are a constant source of wisdom and wonder. I’m so lucky to have these nights with them both. My heart is full.
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