What An Old Boyfriend Taught Me About Respect

We met for coffee recently. He was my first boyfriend and I, his first girlfriend. We were both 19 when we met and it was instant him-and-me at first sight. Weβve kept in touch and we catch up for a coffee and a chat on each otherβs lives every couple of years. Weβre exactly the same age, just a day apart. Each time we meet, we have a few more life milestones to talk about. So each conversation marks a checkpoint for me, on how far Iβve come, how my life has diverged and turned but stayed true to who I am (which I continue to discover with each turn).
He is charming but in an easy, non-agenda based way. And itβs easy to be around him. Each time we speak, I feel like he sees me as who I really am, beneath all the trappings and notions Iβve acquired over the years, because that core essence never really changes. It would probably seem more sensible to call him an old friend rather than an ex-boyfriend since he has been more of the former than the latter. And given that the term βex-boyfriendβ comes loaded (especially in my recent experience) with associations of angst and pain and unpleasantness, it doesnβt seem like it fits on him.
But perhaps for that very reason, I choose to hold on to that label for him. It makes me feel a little soothed from the toxicity of my love lifeβββthe manipulation, confusion, betrayal and mayhem that βloveβ brought me, since him. Itβs always pleasant to remember that I did haveβββdo haveβββone man in my life with whom romance happened minus poison.
One of the things we spoke about was the way our love lives shaped up. I guess thatβs part of turning 35 (since we didnβt meet last year), this stock-taking of life. In between laughs and onion rings, I told him that I had at some time, dated two classmates. Usually I pause for effect and then clarify that both men knew and each time the guy asked me out. This time, I just said, βNot together.β
He said, βI know. Youβre not capable of doing that. Itβs just not possible for you. You would be in much more pain than either guy in that situation. Thatβs how I know youβd never do that.β
This pleased me so much. It still pleases me. I love having someone in my life who knows and believes this about me and it makes me realise what a thorny, paranoid world I live in. I also know that loyalty and fidelity are very important to him and it makes me feel very good that he respects me, on that account.
This pleasant sensation felt unfamiliar till I realised that I havenβt cared about a manβs respect in a very long time. I would feel pained if I thought he didnβt trust or respect me. His opinion of me, matters to me. And I havenβt felt that way about a man, a romantic partner in a very long time.
Along with this came the realisation that respect has no currency in my relationships now. The people I went out with after him, did not care whether I respected them or not. It did not bother them that I thought badly of them afterwards, unless it caused problems in their daily lives. And since I have never really been the vindictive sort, my low opinions of them stayed just thatβββinconveniences that they shrugged off. That disregard and complete indifference to my respect really hurt. I realised that my respect held no value for the men I was around. They literally didnβt give a damn whether I thought of them as good people or bad.
For many years it was very important to me that the people in my life, even those who were once a part of it and not anymore, knew that I did right by them. In recent times, Iβve come to not care about it. I donβt think my last ex (the one I was engaged to) cares a bit about whether I cheated, whether I lied or whether I maliciously did harm by him or not. Would it matter to me if I discovered he had done any of these? I know already that there was lying and there may have been some semantic cheating. Simply for my own peace of mind, I will myself to not care. This means I must also stop caring about who he thinks I am. And that is how respect loses currency in relationships between people.
The magnitude of this realisation was staggering. Now, I approach men, especially those with whom there is even the slightest romantic context, by first putting respect out of the equation. I will myself to not care about what they think of me with such platitudes like βthereβs only one thing theyβre all thinking about and Iβm covered on that frontβ. I donβt allow a man the right to assess me on things other than appearance or frivolous things like achievement, success and vivacity. But on character, I donβt let it even come into the conversation.
And in turn, I am quick to throw my own respect out of the situation. I practically pore over a manβs character in a bid to find flaws and reasons to not respect him, the person, anymore. It feels easier to not respect a person at all than to respect them and be disappointedβββand worse, realise they donβt care.
I donβt really know where I go with this insight. Knowledge of what is, doesnβt give you the ability to change what is. There is plenty to prove that my way of doing things keeps me safe. After all, a staggering majority of men I know see me as a collection of visually appealing bits & bobs that could give them something they want. The minute the possibility of that diminishes, most of them lose interest and donβt care to even pursue a conversation, let alone treat me with courtesy or respect. Why should my respect even be allowed to them, when they donβt care either way?
But then I put my onion ring down and I look at the man across the table from me. Once I thought I loved him and that he loved me. Iβve known love to be cruel, selfish, controlling and untrustworthy and he has been none of those things. But in a single conversation with him, I feel the kind of peaceful serenity that I have never felt with the other men who have been in my life. Mutual respect must have something to do with that. Itβs very tiring holding it back and having it withheld. I donβt know whether itβs better to be exhausted and safe or whatever the alternative to that is.

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