The PDA dating paradox

Love, freedom, and masculinity: pick two

Being a single dad can really be a lot sometimes. But add PDA into the mix and it feels … impossible. Like right now. Right now dating feels impossible.

In my marriage, I had lost a lot of that masculine/feminine contrast that I desire in relationship (in men’s work, we call it “polarity”). I had unwittingly taken on a more feminine role in my marriage, by letting my ex take the lead on logistical and financial decisions. She was way better at that stuff, I told myself, so it’s a natural thing for her to take on. But it was also a way for me to avoid the discomfort of logistics and finances, a shadow of mine that I wasn’t comfortable acknowledging. Why were they so uncomfortable for me? I avoided having to answer that question by abdicating my leadership as the man of the home.

Why were family logistics and finances so uncomfortable for me?

Since my separation I’ve dated a few women, and I’ve wanted to keep that sense of polarity alive. But what tends to happen is I run out of steam for all the texting, all the logistics. Dating as a single dad requires a LOT of scheduling and coordination. In the beginning, a new relationship gives me a lot of energy, and I’m excited to do the planning and coordination in order to spend time together. But a few months down the road, that new relationship energy becomes long-term relationship energy, with less novelty for me. And then the logistics become more taxing. My capacity to lead in the relationship becomes more variable, more dependent on how resourced I am.

Women tend to take this very personally. When I seem to be putting in less effort, they wonder if I’m really that interested in them after all. They start to doubt whether I’m invested in the relationship. They feel less secure, and I can sense this in their demeanour. Their waning confidence in me then registers for me as rejection. And with my RSD (rejection sensitivity dysphoria) flaring up, I have yet another drain on my energy, and I become even less communicative.

That’s how the downward spiral begins. Being in the spiral is increasingly draining for me, and there isn’t enough energizing me to counteract it. I seem to drift away, because I’m dissociating. I’m shutting down. That leadership I need to provide in the relationship, in order to achieve the polarity I want, seems to crumble when I become dysregulated. And it’s heartbreaking for me every time I feel a relationship slipping away.

Do my ideas about masculinity need to be refined in order to accommodate who I am? Am I running out of steam because I’m just masking too much? Would it behoove me to own my dysregulation more concretely, by giving clearer guidance on what I need when I’m experiencing it? Would that indeed be more masculine of me, to own my vulnerability explicitly? Would that feel more like leadership, and less like my shadow? And what would I say to make this all clear?

Surely I’m not the first neurodivergent man to wonder.

Love, freedom, and polarity. Pick two. Love and freedom: not committed, no polarity. Love and polarity: but PDA wants freedom. Freedom and polarity: not much point, without the love.

As with any paradox, I’m sure I’ve created it with my own definitions. My PDA reacts to the loss of freedom I project into the future, but what good is that freedom to me if it’s preventing me from becoming close with anyone in particular? Perhaps hewing so close to traditional masculinity is my way of mitigating the risk of rejection. If I behave more traditionally masculine, the woman I’m with will be more predictably feminine. Right?

But that’s not love. That’s control. That ever-present need that’s so uncomfortable for me, I’ve banished it to my shadow.

I suppose the robust truth is that I am trying, and getting feedback. And I’ll try again. And I’ll get hurt again, probably. There’s no way around it. The more I insist on being in control, the less love I get. That’s a grim correlation for a man with PDA, but it seems to be the case. Love and control just don’t coexist. Love is always an invitation.