I love you, but I don’t like you.
That’s what my ex said to me in one of the last conversations we ever had. I was sitting in his apartment, perched on a footstool across from him as he sat on his couch, stone-facedly enumerating all the ways in which I’d failed him in the time we’d been together. I thought that hearing him out would help us move forward after a seemingly endless breakup that had taken months out of my life. In the years we were together, we’d promised each other to always be honest, to air things out and “blow the dust out of the filter,” so to speak.
What I didn’t know, as I sat listening attentively to him recount how he’d felt “abandoned” by me whenever I left town, was that he was already involved with someone else, and had been for months. He’d met her at an event that I was at with him, I later learned. I hadn’t clocked their meet-cute; I’ve never been the jealous type. So when he unceremoniously dumped me via FaceTime last summer, I was confused. I asked, Is there someone else? Absolutely not, he told me. Was it the sandwiches? Fuck no, he said. He didn’t want to be in a relationship because he needed to work on himself, in order to be a better partner someday. He couldn’t imagine not having me in his life. Let’s keep talking about being together, he later said.
He kept me on the hook with this future faking for an embarrassingly long time. Even after he delivered the death blow to our romance at Christmastime — why not maximize kicking a girl in the teeth? — I still believed that he really, really loved me, that he just couldn’t be in a relationship because of career goals, and yadda yadda. I mean, why not believe what the guy you’ve loved for years tells you? Which is why I still had him over to decorate my tree and exchange gifts a few days later! God, I was a fucking doormat.
I love you, but I don’t like you.
The phrase rang in my ears long after our conversation, along with the other things he felt it was necessary to tell me about how I’d disappointed him as a partner (the list was loooong). What the fuck does that even mean, I wondered. Did he think saying it gave him cover to say hurtful things to me? It smacked of something he’d heard on Succession, or as a child, and reserved for a pain-y day. I vaguely remembered my mother saying something like it to me when I was a teenager, after telling me she’d ‘bent over backwards’ for me.
I Googled it; the first hit was in the r/raisedbynarcissists thread on Reddit: “My parents… didn't treat me like they loved me,” one commenter wrote. “It had to be earned, and them saying ‘I don't like you’ was their justification for why they treated me poorly.” Oof. There was a snappy track by the English pop duo Right Said Fred titled “I Love You But I Don’t Like You,” and another one from all-American songstress Peggy Lee:
Discovering that “I love you, but I don’t like you” had been enshrined in pop culture felt aligned with my learning that “Shut up and make me a sandwich” was a meme when a bunch of dudes commented on an essay I wrote about sexism that I should do just that. I’ve been examining the ideologies behind both sayings. My Sandwich, My Choice is a project inspired by sexist commentary; parsing ILYBIDLY (I’m saying I coined it!) has borne fruit that feels ripe for me as a lifelong serial monogamist.
That day at my ex’s place, I told him that I didn’t give a fuck if he loved me — I’d finally accepted that we were never going to be a romantic couple again — but that, if he wanted me in his life in any way, he should, at the very least, *like* me. Why else would I hang out with you? I asked him. He looked surprised, like he’d never thought of it as a possibility. (He’s not a big thinker.) In the days afterwards, as I started to process our breakup, I kept coming back to the thought: What if I don’t need a man to love me? What if I give all the love I had for this guy to myself, and only interact with men who like me?
A few weeks later, I was in a hot tub in Idyllwild with a bunch of deeply cool, kind, sex-positive friends, and shared the thought that was banging around in my brain. One of them suggested that I put myself out there on dating apps — or, rather, one app in particular: Feeld. It’s an app for connecting with like-minded people, she said. Most of them aren’t looking for relationships; they just want to hang out, and have fun, and hook up.
I’ve never been on a dating app, which I’ve learned is a rarity (sidebar: years ago, I found out that a different ex was cheating when he matched on an app with a friend of mine minutes after I left his place. She immediately called me. We were both peeing at the time. In the film version in my head, that scene is a split screen of both of us screaming on our cell phones on the toilet).
Sucking up my insecurities, I downloaded the app the next day. Holy moly, it was a fuck fest free-for-all! Feeld is a platform where folks are open about their kinks; they say exactly what they’re looking for, whether it’s a FWB (friend with benefits), sub, dom, third, or rope bunny. Whaaaat. I uploaded a few pics, wrote a little bio, and smashed the post button. My sage friend who’d recommended the app hit me up within the hour to say she’d seen my profile, and, great job getting out there and all, but that I was wayyy too shy and retiring. She texted me a screenshot of a pic from my IG – Use this one, she wrote. You’re fucking hot and you should be feeling yourself.
I blushed, summoned her uber-sexy vibes for strength, and updated my profile:
Exploring new ways to enjoy myself, connecting with kind, curious, funny and fun-loving people… it’s been a wild time in life so I’m dedicated to having a low stress, very chill time with heaps of honesty and tip-top communication. Curvy. Body positivity is a must. Vaxxed, boosted, tested.
I’ve always loved being in love. I’ve loved many good men, and one wonderful woman. But this season of connecting with people who aren’t interested in being in a relationship, with total transparency, has been truly incredible. The first guy I met up with was so handsome that I had to steady myself when he walked up to the gate at the concert we’d set as our first date. The next guy was interesting, and kind, and shared a ton of playlists of music he loves that I’d never heard of. The third was someone I’d seen many times at my local dog park; it turned out we had a ton of cannabis industry stories in common. The fourth was an Indian guy who’d emigrated to the US as a child; we had a long conversation about his experiences with racism after 9/11. The fifth was a retired stuntman. The sixth… there’s no need for me to go on, but the last couple of months have been an interesting and deeply informative time as I learn about myself, and all the men I never would have met if I weren’t feeling as bold as I currently do.
Did I sleep with all of them? Ahem — that’s none of your business (and no, I did not sleep with all of them). I can hear my friend Kyria yelling “NO SEX” as she reads this. She has my best interests at heart; she reeeally wants me to meet a woman who will allow me to be my full self without apologizing for any of my quirks, habits, or baggage, who will be my lover, my safe space. Unfortunately I’m ‘resentfully heterosexual,’ as another friend put it, so I’m practicing a new way of consensually connecting with men who like me, without wanting any of them to love me — or me, them.
Ethical non-monogamy is the term for relationships in which *all* partners give explicit consent to engage in romantic, intimate, and/or sexual relationships with multiple people. It feels radical as someone who’s experienced unethical non-monogamy. Cheating and lying about it is a violation of someone’s trust, and of their body; they didn’t agree to have sex with someone who was having sex with other people.
Last week, I made a sandwich about it (recipe below!):
In a world full of unethical non-monogamists, be an ethical non-monogamist — that is, if it works for you! It’s working for me, at the moment. I’m feeling lucky, and delighted by new connections and energy.
Happy Spring, friends! Practice safe sex — and love yourself first, so you can love everyone else.
RECIPE
Mac and Cheese Sammy with Jalapeños and Bacon
Ingredients
Mac & Cheese
1/4 cup (or thereabouts) of cooked macaroni
2 slices bacon
Butter, for spreading
2 slices white bread
2 tbsp pickled jalapeños
Hot sauce, to serve
Béchamel sauce
1 tbsp butter
2.5 tsp all-purpose flour
1/2 cup milk
½ cup red Leicester cheese, or any other cheese you like, grated
¼ cup grated cheddar cheese
½ to 1 tsp wholegrain mustard (I love mustard so I used a whole teaspoon!)
Make Yourself a Sandwich
To make the béchamel sauce, melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat until foaming. Add the flour, and cook, stirring frequently, for 1-2 minutes. Add the milk and whisk constantly for 5-10 minutes until you have a thick, smooth sauce. Bring to the boil and add the cheese, then turn off the heat and continue to stir until the cheese has melted. Stir in the mustard and the cooked macaroni. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Cook the bacon in a frying pan over medium heat until crisp, or to your liking, and set aside on a paper towel.
Wipe the pan clean and place back over medium heat. Butter the bread and place one piece butter side down in the pan. Pile your macaroni cheese onto the bread. Top with jalapeños and bacon.
Place the remaining slice of bread, butter side up, on top. Fry for 2-3 minutes on both sides until golden brown. Serve with your favorite hot sauce on the side.
Tuck a napkin into your collar, or spread it out on your lap. Eat with your eyes closed to feel the deep gratification of your delicious sandwich, which you made for yourself, because you’re fucking awesome!
Much love, and thank you all for your support and subscriptions. I’m working on audio, and more frequent posts for paid subscribers. Stay tuned! - MJ ❤️
Absolutely AWESOME! (The essay, not the sandwich, which uhm, no). I've done it all the ways. Came back to ethical monogamy and a happy heart for people that do better with non-monogamy than I did. There is more than one right way to do it! Can't wait to read more.
that toilet scene must be staged.
fantastic post!