Dating a Separated Man whose Ex-Wife Won't Let Go - Christie Hartman, PhD
There's a phrase that best describes the feeling many people have when they begin dating after divorce: Scary as hell. Putting yourself out. Even though it can feel like some kind of bad joke to be thrown back into the dating world after going through a divorce, we have to remind. Shrenu and avinash dating after divorce - shivani narang and farnaz shetty dating sim. Avinash Image. demand and pansy dating website jdi dating ltd.
Do you understand me? Only doctors had mobile phones and they were as big as a shoe box! Online dating scares the snot out of me. Weeding through hundreds of guys who probably want to make a suit of my skin, trying to find that one gem who not only is not a serial killer, but who also chews with his mouth closed can be daunting.
And which of the trillions of online dating sites should you use? Out of necessity, I learned how to do these things. I no longer felt like I needed a man in my life. Sure, it would be nice to have someone to do those things and to help out, but when it comes down to it, I am capable of taking care of everything on my own. You decide you never want to share a bathroom again There are some advantages to being on your own — advantages like getting up to pee in the middle of the night and not falling in the toilet because no one has left the seat up.
Researcher Brene Brown has spent years exploring the importance of being vulnerable. This is the case for many of us, post-divorce. If you want others to be there for you, you have to give them the chance to show up. But it does mean putting ourselves out there a bit more and being willing to let others really see us.
When people tell you what they want, believe them.
I dated my ex-husband for seven years before we were married. I am grateful because it takes courage to tell someone what you want when you are dating. Now, I know that when someone tells me what he wants, he means it. Because successful relationships happen when both people are in the same place. Pay attention to the small things.
- Dating a Separated Man whose Ex-Wife Won’t Let Go
- 7 Reasons Not to Wait Too Long to Start Dating After Divorce
Like many women, I adore getting flowers, but having been married, I know that even smaller gestures can say more. They can smooth over a multitude of issues. They are social media-ready blessed. And when you first start dating someone, especially after having gone through some tough times, they can be impressive. But you know what is just as impressive? When someone goes out of his way to remember how I take my coffee.
When he keeps Half n Half in his fridge, even though he drinks his coffee black, just because he knows I like it. Or when he turns up the thermostat to 65 and turns down the always-on television, without being asked, simply because he knows both make me more comfortable. They all fancy the idea that you're their hero.
You'll fall in love with them and carry them off into the sunset where they'll never have to waitress again. Or some rubbish, I'm not sure. I'm positive I'm the only person in this restaurant that isn't delusional … or blinded by your…" She waves her hand haphazardly.
I suppose you're used to that. His confidence builds on her silence. They don't get the support of their family, friends tend to vanish, and they're burned off the family tree.
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It just made me realise that I wasn't being fair to you. I don't know the specifics, but I'm sure none of this has been easy. Pansy doesn't think about the rest of what he says because she doesn't want her face to betray anything to him.
Hearing it come from someone else feels like he's opened her mind's diary and read her latest entry. It doesn't feel good. It makes her feel raw and exposed. Pansy tips her head to the side, cold smile slashing across her mouth as she pockets her order pad.
The rest of Pansy's shift passes in an exhausting blur that doesn't end until lock-up. The dinner rush today is particularly bad, probably due to the visit from the famous Harry Potter, but she leaves with twenty-four Galleons in tips.
Her bad day ends up being a decent night, but she's too restless to go home so she drops the glamour and ventures around Proxim Alley. All the shops are closed and the vendors gone, except a small pub that's lit pleasantly against the dim streetlamps. The pub itself isn't bad.
It's kind of crowded with a few drunks and teenagers fresh out of school, so no one pays much attention to her.
She's able to order food, steal two Ogden's from a rambunctious group of lads too drunk to notice, and find a spot at the end of the bar that's practically deserted. She considers this a success. She can't help but frown when the person who sits on the stool next to her is none other than Harry Potter. Pansy's a little too tired for this, to be honest, and picks up a shot.
It burns on the way down, but she doesn't mind. It's good enough to make her consider ordering her own.
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Pansy glares, but there's not much heat in it. She slides the other firewhisky over, thinking he'll lecture her about the dangers of drinking, like the saint he is, but when he takes the shot like a professional, Pansy is unable to hide her look of surprise. He orders doubles on the rocks for the both of them, and stew for himself because it's been hours since he's eaten.
Pansy doesn't thank him, but she does indulge Potter when he wants to clink their glasses together. They drink in silence until curiosity gets the best of her. Think we can manage that?
The Proxim bells tolls eleven times, noting the start of a new hour. More patrons are pouring in now, taking over the tables and the rest of the bar, and she has to fend off a few advances and drink offers from a few wizards in Potter's absence. They're harmless but a little annoying, and she's almost relieved when she spies him coming out of the loo, wiping his hands on his trousers.
As he makes his way back to the bar, a table of four witches their age stop him with inviting smiles and conversation. The blonde goes as far as to snake her arm around his waist in a move that clearly makes him uncomfortable, but Potter subtly slips out of her grip and makes gestures in her direction. They peer over at Pansy, the handsy one glares, and they all stare after him when he leaves.
I've done it before and discovered it's not me. I'm the loyal, faithful type. Marcus loved having flings so much he didn't bother stopping them after they were married. Not even once while you were together? Also, her name is Ginny. Yes, I did love her, but that came later. When I'm in a relationship with someone, I make a commitment to be with that person and only her. I trust her, and I make sure I earn her trust as well.
What's the point of being in a relationship if you aren't going to be honest and faithful? I'm not saying I'm perfect, I've messed up more times than I can count in other areas, but I do my best.
She can't help but feel a little jealous of Ginny Weasley, not because she dated Potter, but because she got to have the one thing Pansy always wanted. She got to just be with someone without pretence or fear, without being self-conscious or worrying where he was or who he was with, without having her fears confirmed over and over again.
Must have been nice. She wondered if she could ever have that, if she could have had it with Marcus. Perhaps she was just as much to blame as him. She never said anything about his straying, and her silence let him believe that he could do and be with anyone he wanted and that she would just turn a blind eye and sweep it all under the rug.
That was the pureblood way, after all. That mentality doesn't work for her any more. She'll never accept anything less than she deserves in a relationship. And she deserves the best. Pansy knows he's trying to maintain the conversation because she's been quiet for far too long. She shakes her head. She cocks a brow at him, still trying to shake off the wistful feelings his words stirred up. He clears his throat.
He takes a few bites, and when he reaches for the salt shaker, he asks, "So do you just waitress? I'm a magical art conservation student at the wizarding college at Cardiff. I waitress to save for next year's tuition, and I work weekends at the wizarding museum near Cardiff. Hopefully I'll get promoted to full-time. That will be the most she reveals. Potter's face blanks out like a messy table being wiped down, and a new expression settles. It's one she can't quite read, and it unsettles her, just for a moment.
I quit last year. I train new Auror and Law Enforcement Squad recruits. I generally try to stay no more than a few hours from home. What happened to your sense of adventure, Potter? It's low, almost husky, and warm in a way that makes her tense.
That's what she needs to do. Finish eating and ignore the funny, fluttering thing his chuckle does to her stomach. She's tipsy, after all, but in control of herself enough to know that anything she feels right now isn't real. Potter's a bit of a lightweight or he doesn't drink often, she can tell from his glazed eyes and the lack of calculation in them.
Pansy balks at the thought, but then he rubs the back of his neck and she can admit that, yes, he really is attractive. In a boyish, nerdy, fresh-out-of-the-jungle sort of way. His fashion sense is woeful, his glasses are ridiculous, and his hair looks like something that grows behind her flat, wild and only tameable with herbicide.
On that note, it's time to leave.
Potter sits up straighter when she fishes two Galleons from her purse. Far too much, but he doesn't seem to care.
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Potter's almost legendary for being too generous with his money. She isn't sure if that makes him a good person or a damn fool. It's colder outside, the air is crisp and the night is calm.
The stars are out tonight over Cardiff after a few days of cloudy gloom. It's nice, but a sporadic wind could make it better. But Pansy takes what she can get and slips into her grey pea coat, buttoning it all the way.
It's crooked, making him look more ridiculous than usual. Pansy notices immediately, but doesn't point it out because she's in dire need of entertainment at the moment. Unfortunately, it doesn't last. Potter partially fixes his hat with a tug on the flap covering his ear. The tug is so hard it knocks his glasses out of alignment in such a way that she can't ignore it, even if she tries.
His expression is nearly blank. You're still hopeless, Potter, but at least you'll be able to see your way back to the Inn. The firewhisky makes her mind take it one step further: Don't—" "I don't understand you, and that's the truth.
Maybe that makes me want to stick around and figure you out, but I'm only human. Regardless, we've proven we can have a conversation without arguing, and I'd like to do it again. Perhaps in a different setting and a different time of day. It wouldn't hurt if we became friends. Or something close to it, perhaps. For Pansy, her refusal to let anyone new in isn't about keeping her distance.
It's a factor, but not the reason. The truth is that friendships are overrated and seasonal. Pansy has always had plenty of friends, but none that live in reality. When she went to them for advice and confidence after leaving Marcus, they all told her to go back, that it wasn't too late and he'd take her back if she begged, that she'd never be anything without him and she'd spend the rest of her life alone.
It makes her sick.Dating After Divorce: Single Parent Problems: Dating advice for women
In the end, she found herself staying in Draco and Granger's spare room, wearing Granger's pyjamas because she forgot her own in her rush to pack and redefining everything she knew about the meaning of friendship. She left the next week with a burgeoning respect for Granger and an understanding that what she had in Draco was all the friendship she needed.
But Potter isn't a friend. He isn't anything to her. He's come around twice, once a complete coincidence, and annoys her and makes her think and smoke. He's the last person Pansy wants around, and it's starting to look impossible to make him bugger off. But he's human, after all, and his soliloquy about fidelity aside, he's just a man.
One day, he'll get bored and vanish. She just has to wait until then. It sounds like a solid enough plan so Pansy pulls on her gloves and shrugs, "Fair enough. Pansy blames her blush on the firewhisky and the chill of the night. Actually, Harry thinks as he shifts uncomfortably under Malfoy's gaze, it's downright disconcerting. Hermione prattles on about Harry's impending trip while making tea—and likely snacking on something—and Harry is literally trying to make her reappear with the power of his mind.
It isn't working fast enough. Harry gets uncomfortable, visibly self-conscious. He twiddles his thumbs, gnaws at a fingernail, and wipes clammy sweat onto his jeans. Harry fishes a peppermint from his pocket, then puts it back, disinterested. All the while, Malfoy sits comfortably in the Chesterfield, looking like he should be in an underground lair stroking a cat and twiddling his moustache. If he had one. She's miffed that you're leaving two weeks after returning, but blames her irritation on hormones, but you didn't hear that from me.
Harry's still getting used to the idea of them having a child even though it's been months since they announced her pregnancy. I'll be back in a week.
I already know why you're staying, I'm just waiting for you to tell me. Harry isn't even sure why he's going back, only that he is. When he volunteered to head the seminar, it was like an out-of-body experience.
One minute he's listening to the head of Magical Law Enforcement drone on in their weekly meetings, the next there's a mention of this Cardiff seminar, and he hears himself saying, "I'll head it. It's just a training seminar, Harry said aloud in his office later, repeating it over and over like a mantra. It made him feel better about leaving. I know when you're faking, but if you insist on bringing names into this, fine. I know you are, at the very least, interested in her.
Okay, so maybe the bouncing ferret is right. There's something interesting about her, different even, that he can't ignore. It's almost bizarre watching her waitress, even if it is as Senna-the-glamour. There is such a raging contrast between the two personas that it's almost distracting. Senna is charming, freer with her emotions, relaxed and calm, and it's all natural.
Pansy is constantly on the defensive, standoffish and aggravating. Nothing unexpected, except for the fact that everything about her is now separated, protected, and walled off.
Harry isn't used to a Pansy that doesn't flaunt everything and her power over everyone; a Pansy who constantly contradicts everything he's ever known about her, which isn't too much. Growing up with Vernon Dursley made him judgemental, taught him that people didn't change; they just took momentary steps outside their true characters.
Experience and war taught him otherwise, but he's forgotten that lately. Without realising it, he'd become guilty of putting Pansy into a box and stacking her in the 'will never change' section of his mind next to his uncle. But he sees her changes. Not the obvious ones that initially piqued his curiosity, but the subtle ones.
Pansy talked more, even if it was accidental. The coldness he remembered from school was still there, but it felt more like a defence mechanism than anything. And the look on her face after she straightened his glasses was The entire night had been just that. He was already in the pub when Pansy arrived, and it hadn't been his intention to join her, but he'd done just that. Perhaps he'd felt a bit guilty for pushing her the last time, Harry wasn't sure, but he'd figured he owed her a drink regardless.
One turned into doubles. They'd been talking and eating, and it was decent enough that when she'd started to leave, all he could think was how he'd wanted to do that again and soon. It didn't help that the thought hasn't diminished over the weeks, but rather intensified. When Harry looks over, Malfoy hasn't moved an inch, but he looks far more interested than he had a minute ago. And we both know she doesn't. Owling works just fine, thank you.
It's very hard to tell these things from owls, you know.
When this happens—and judging from the way you're looking right now, it will—just go with it. There's a high chance you two will kill each other, but at least you'll never get bored. Also, if you hurt her, they'll never find your body. Malfoy gets up quickly. She probably saw something delectable and is mentally listing all the pros and cons for eating it.
Malfoy isn't gone long, but by the time he and Hermione come out of the kitchen hand-in-hand, Harry's decided to file this conversation into the 'strange advice that makes me uncomfortable and I refuse to dwell on' part of his brain.
Impending fatherhood has turned Malfoy into a nutter, Harry concludes when Hermione sits next to him and Malfoy returns to the kitchen. She blames her wet eyes on hormones, but she grins when her husband returns with the tea platter and fresh fruit for her.
When Harry asks for a strawberry, the glare he receives effectively makes him mumble a 'never mind'. The rest of tea time goes by in a haze of conversation and laughs, and soon he's begging off to go pack for his trip.
Malfoy gives him a parting look before kissing Hermione and leaving to change for his pick-up Quidditch game with his work friends. He thinks he's finally done talking about everything that makes him uncomfortable, but as soon as her husband is gone, Hermione turns on him.
Ginny was that for him at a time when he really needed it and he clung to the routine they fell into. For years, they grew up and together and it was fine—until it wasn't anymore.
It was typical the way it happened. One day, they arrived early at Hermione's flat and overheard her and Malfoy arguing heatedly about his family's blatant disapproval of their relationship. Ginny shook her head and said, "Glad that isn't us. The truth left him disoriented. Even now, Hermione and Malfoy fight more than anyone he knows, but he can just look at them and tell they are completely devoted to each other. Malfoy is an absolute wanker and private with his feelings, but there are moments when Harry sees just how deeply he feels for Hermione and he wants that more than he wants anything.
He wants the good days and bad moments, the misunderstandings and compromises; he wants something deeper that's worth every fight and every moment of making up. It wasn't like that with Ginny. She was great, exactly what he needed after the war.
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Being with her was comfortable, helped him learn how to be a man, but it had run its course. And the thought consumed him. It was only natural what followed. Harry changed, they devolved, and soon they were strangers living under the same roof. He dragged his heels on the proposal everyone expected, Ginny confronted him, the truth was painful, and they just stopped.
She didn't leave because she hoped they would eventually fix what was broken, and he didn't tell her that she couldn't. They didn't fight about it, but didn't speak much either, and Harry couldn't bring himself to care.
They played the role of the happy couple until an Italian Quidditch team made her a lucrative offer to end her days as a back-up Beater. She told Harry she would stay if he asked, but he told her to go, and that was that. They officially broke up, Ginny left, rumours swirled, and Harry tried to feel something other than complete and utter relief, but he wouldn't let himself because he knew they did the right thing.
When you came back from Cardiff last time, I thought I saw … I don't know. It was just a moment. When you were telling me about seeing her at the pub. You looked like you were remembering something He remembers the heady feeling from the firewhisky, the chill and dimness of the streetlamps, and the warmth of her fingers that brushed across his skin.
It still confuses him—a lot of things do about Pansy—but he also remembers wanting to blurt out, "Warm hands, you have," in the Yoda voice he spent an entire summer secretly perfecting with the action figure Dudley discarded after one use. And for the first time, Harry considers the possibility that he's probably screwed. She's moving to Scotland to manage a new restaurant and promises to write to update them all on how she's doing. Pansy is almost sad to see her go. She wears Senna like a real face, and her fake personality Pansy cherishes and cultivates like a real identity, but it's time to let her go.