Why Do We Stay In Mediocre Relationships?

Today marks 52 weeks since I ended my last long-term relationship (just shy of two years). I remember the day it ended better than most of the rest of the relationship; not surprising, as the relationship, on the whole, wasn’t one that rocked my socks off. It wasn’t a bad relationship, precisely, it just wasn’t that great. We had some good times, some rough ones, and there was definitely some compatibility to it, but, when it all comes down to it, I just wasn’t that into it.

I’ll spare the relationship details- suffice to say that we’d hit our limit. She didn’t want to get married ever again, and living together would’ve been difficult at best anyway, given that she had two kids still living at home and I have my housemate for whom I’m an in-home caregiver. Realizing that point was, in fact, the beginning of the end. Also, for the last month, I’d started to see some of the telltale signs of infidelity on her part- last-minute cancelations with no reason given, dates suddenly ending early with no excuse and the two of us going home separately, and fights getting started from nothing. I’ve been cheated on enough to know. And, though I didn’t uncover any hard evidence while we were together, I found out after we’d split that she’d kept her online dating profile open and active, so draw your own conclusions.

After that one was over, I gave myself time to mourn. I didn’t feel like launching into another relationship so close to the holidays (I’d specifically broken up with her before Thanksgiving to prevent the possibility of holiday spirit intruding and potentially keeping us together), and I thought that, after being together so long, it would take some time to recover. Turns out it didn’t take near as long as I’d thought, likely because the relationship had been falling apart for so long before, and that our connection wasn’t that great to begin. By the start of the year, I was ready to date again, and so I did.

This woman was completely the opposite, emotionally speaking. We connected quickly, I can remember many of the details of our first dates and events after. We were great together; she remains the only woman I’ve dated who my housemate actually liked (and we’ve lived together for over six and a half years). Both my housemate and one of my longest-standing friends (of over 25 years) both said that I was happier with this woman than I’d been in over a decade; that friend even went so far as to say the happiest she’d seen me since 2010.

Again, I’ll spare the details for brevity’s sake, but she and I only lasted about three months. Things fell apart quickly and we just quit talking. We didn’t actually have a “break up” moment- after two weeks of silence, I just changed my relationship status on Facebook, and she deleted all the pictures of the two of us. Strangely enough, we’re still Facebook friends, though we do not interact at all; the former woman unfriended and blocked me less than a week after I dumped her.

So why the difference between the two? Why did I remain in a relationship that, by and large, wasn’t doing it for me for so long, whilst this other relationship that set my blood to boiling didn’t even make it a hundred days?

It’s a phenomenon that I’ve seen many times, both in my own life and that of others. People remain in relationships that aren’t making them happy for months or even years longer than ones that they seem enraptured by.

As to the latter, I’ve often compared such relationships to the consumption of hard drugs (not that I ever have, but I have studied the effects and aftermath). You get that rush, that thrill, and you want more. You’re swept off your feet and the world seems so… possible. Like you could achieve anything. The dream has come true, and, for people who, for whatever reason, have certain emotional insecurities, it can feel like everything finally makes sense; everything you’ve worked for has finally paid off.

Then, when the difficulties kick in, it’s like being ambushed by a grotesque. Suddenly, that dopamine high is gone, and you’re left… wanting. You want more, you need more. It’s a vacuum that you need to fill. That’s when things start flying south. And, in most of these cases, one partner wants more from the relationship, the other wants to fly, and you start the whole damn cycle all over again. Hopeless romantics, here we go again, as The Eagles so eloquently said.

If that’s the case, why do we stick with the mediocre so much longer? Why do we put up with so much more while getting so much less? It doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it?

For starters, you can compare the drug analogy. If that passionate relationship is like hard drugs, the mediocre one is more like alcohol, or nicotine. They don’t do as much for you, not really, and not as quickly, but they’re there, and they become a habit, a part of your life. Going without them for a while can be somewhat taxing, but nowhere near the crash of the other type, and the subsequent satisfaction that comes with reinstatement of exposure isn’t nearly as relieving. It’s more about comfort than thrills.

Of course, a relationship that lacks that kind of passion can also have its costs. Just like using cigs or alcohol to maintain, you’re eventually going to need more and more of them to keep the same kind of buzz, and that will inevitably lead to its own sort of crash. In the case of that last long-term relationship, once we’d hit the ceiling and there were no new worlds to conquer, things… stagnated. She was okay with that- she had her job and her kids and whatnot, so I was just some enjoyment and affirmation to add to things, and she wanted them to stay just as they were. I wanted things to move forward, but they couldn’t, and that’s where things fell apart.

If you’re hoping that I’ll provide some sort of answer, the sort of relationship that can make it long-term, well, consider that you’re reading a blog written by a 45 year old three-time divorcee. It’s not that I’ve given up on finding it, just that I haven’t yet. Maybe it’s mostly in finding someone whose passion and energy match your own, so you can move forward at the same pace. If such a thing exists. The alternative is one I’ve drawn from an episode of How I Met Your Mother, wherein every relationship has a reacher and a settler. The reacher is dating above their normal, whilst the settler… settles. But I can’t believe that’s in any way a healthy combination, either; someone will always feel like they’re getting less, and the other may well feel constant insecurity.

Either way, that’s the thought train on the morning. Time to hit the gym ere I have to be at work later. Here’s hoping the holiday prep isn’t weighing too heavy on anyone. Take care of yourselves.