Ghostbuster

September 13, 2026

Something about being 36 years old and being ghosted by a romantic partner doesn’t sit right with me. You’re telling me that I only have 5-7 good child bearing years left in my life, and a grown adult can’t send me a 5 second text to let me know where I stand? You’re telling me that I am way older than most of my favorite historical figures and rock n’ roll stars were when they died, and I’m in bed crying because a man left me on read forever? I’m supposed to be pushing my kids in strollers through the zoo while they meltdown over dropped ice cream right now. I’m supposed to come home at night to a partner who will take out the trash when he gets home and throw one of the kids in tub. I’m not supposed to be thinking about downloading Hinge for the 500th time to repeat the same cycle again and again with the avoidants and the narcissists in the DC area who just love to mind-fuck little bronde girls from Kentucky. This wasn’t my plan for 36. This was never the plan.

Have I ghosted before? Sure. If someone on the apps is bugging me before we even have our date, I’ve been known to hit the block button and move on. I’ve also had men do this to me. It hurts for few hours and then you get over it. I’ve done the mutual ghost move after a bad or mediocre date, where neither party follows up the next day. But what I’m talking about right now that has me so indignant was real ghosting. The kind where we dated for months, established exclusivity, the whole shebang. Then one day, poof…he was gone. This was someone I invited into my home multiple times. I cooked for him. I gave him little gifts of appreciation. I shared my body with him. I gave him my time, my energy, and my attention. I told my friends and family about him. I showed my mom and dad his picture. I paid for my fair share of drinks and meals. I showed up as my authentic self and shared things with him that were sensitive and important to me. None of this is special or deserves a Medal of Honor or anything like that – this is just what you do when you’re trying to build a relationship with someone. You show up and you put in effort and you try to show them a preview of what a real partnership with you would look like. You put your best foot forward while also trying to be authentic and honest. You do your best to trust this new-ish person until they give you reason not to, knowing that they can kick the shit out of you at any time and break things off (and you can do the same to them). But once you get to a certain point, you expect that ending to come from an honest conversation. Not an interpretation of silence.

I’ve experienced a lot of turbulence in my dating life, but this is the first time I’ve lived through the unique heartbreak that is being ghosted in this way. Here’s a rundown of my experience:

• Filling in the blanks. It’s hard to resist the urge to fill in knowledge gaps with my own version of events/facts. When you’ve been ghosted, you have no context for why the relationship has ended, so you start to imagine your own reasons. And for me, my brain is not always kind to me and chooses some of the more painful scenarios. He decided he didn’t like me; He met someone better; One of his friends saw my picture and said he can do better; I wasn’t enough for him; His ex came back. My clever little brain sometimes invents more interesting or funny scenarios. He literally died (this happened on an episode of New Girl); He ran off to Yellowstone to study Grizzly bears and lost phone service…forever; He met Jessica Chastain at a party and ran off with her because he knew I would support it; He did meet someone else (not Jessica Chastain), but she ended up being a serial killer and his body is now floating in the Potomac River; He was daydreaming about me at work and had a heart attack from thinking about how beautiful I am, and is now on life support at Walter Reid; He was defending my honor in a bar fight and got knocked out and lost all of his memories from June onward. Sigh. We know which scenarios my brain is holding onto and believes to be true. But the thing is, I’ll never know. I can ruminate on the why of it all until the cows come home, but I will never know the truth. It’s a futile exercise and my logic brain knows it.
• The shame game. Reeling this much over a relationship (using this word in the non-technical “we never defined the relationship” sense) that was shorter than 3 months makes you start to question your own sanity a little bit. I removed myself from a long term relationship earlier this year, and the amount of grief I experienced then was significantly less impactful than this current round of grief. Not to say I wasn’t upset, but the main difference was that I had tons of clarity around that relationship ending. I knew exactly what got me there, and I was able to methodically unravel my feelings on the subject because I had all the data. This time, I have profound grief but no understanding to help ground it. Feeling more than you think you should and hurting so much over what people on the outside-looking-in view as just a blip on the radar can result in shame. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get over this? Am I really going to let this person I barely know ruin my whole summer/fall? I often worry that my friends and family are exasperated with me and can’t comprehend why I’m not stronger or more resilient.
• The loss of potential. The grief seems to be coming less from a place of “omg this was my person, what happened?” and more from “omg, I allowed myself to think about the future I wanted even for a millisecond and then that future died a millisecond later” – and for reasons I don’t even know, let alone understand. I met this person and he was telling me how wonderful I am and how different everything felt this time. He met my best friend, he talked about the future. My heart ate that up like candy. For the briefest of moments, I allowed myself to envision that “what if it all works out” scenario. Candidly, I’ve never imagined that scenario before, probably because I have some deep-rooted belief that I don’t deserve it and it will never happen for me. I didn’t allow myself to consider it in any of my previous relationships, not even the long-term ones. But something about this felt different and I gave myself the tiniest bit of permission to dream about it. It’s hard to not feel silly now, and I worry that this is just another reinforcement to my deep-rooted, core belief that I don’t have the things I want (a partner, a family) because I don’t deserve them. It’s going to be a herculean task to tear that core-belief down brick by brick, but I will.
• Boundaries, baby. It’s hard not to feel bitter and angry. This person literally said the words “ghosting is for cowards” to me. I have the text receipt. Yet here I am. It’s tempting to send a text to throw that in his face. It’s tempting to reach out and ask “WTF?! Jackass!” I’ve stared at my phone more times than I can count over the last two weeks, itching to tell him what I really think about this or ask him why he thinks this is okay or what I deserve. I repeat my affirmation over and over, “I am stable even when people around me are inconsistent” and remind myself that stable people don’t send desperate texts to their ghosts. Stable people don’t need closure from others because stable people can have closure on their own. But dammit, I’m mad and hurt and I miss him and WHY DOESN’T HE MISS ME??!!! Wahhhhhhh. This is the battle I’ve been having in my head. The only reasoning that has really helped me avoid sending those texts has been the boundary argument. I realized that even though he didn’t communicate any boundaries to me (or anything else!), him not wanting to engage me in conversation is a boundary he has put up. He wants a Rebecca-free life, and he has the right to that. Sending more messages, blowing up his phone, would be me treading on his right to a life without me in it. I learned this lesson from a previous relationship where I just couldn’t let go and accept the end. I trampled all over that guy’s boundaries by begging and constantly trying to get him to work on things with me. I deeply regret it because he deserved more respect than that, and I let my own pain get the best of me. I was the opposite of stable. Right now, I am choosing to show respect for someone who did not do the same for me by honoring his right to enjoy his life without me making cameos. Which is a hella stable decision.

I went to a farmer’s market this morning and there was a little metaphysical booth there. The lady had this table set up where you could set an intention and fill a jar with different crystals, herbs, spice, and flowers to create a potion/spell/magic jar or whatever (for $8!). She had some “recipe” cards on the table, and I got to go through the whole process. I set an intention to love myself more and open myself up to the love around me. I “cleansed” my jar with incense, then I carefully filled it with rose quartz, pink salt, lavender, rose pedals, and rosemary. I added a little “love” charm to it and sealed the jar with the most beautiful maroon wax. I can’t stop looking at my stunning little jar, and I love the meaning behind it. It’s probably not magic, but what matters is the intention I set at the very beginning. Now every time I look at it, I can remind myself that I do love myself, and that love can help me overcome my ruminating, my feelings of shame and anger, and help me break down some of those core beliefs that are holding me back. Self-love is the ultimate ghostbuster. The more I fall in love with myself, the less I will fall in love with the potential of other people who can’t give me what I deserve. These ghosts won’t haunt me forever. I’m going to try to be kind to myself while I do my best to expel them.