Page 7 of The Dating Ban
The room feels suddenly warmer, like I’m under a spotlight. “I… I don’t know.”
Phyllis hums again, scribbling something down.
I groan, slumping further into the chair. “Fine. Maybe I haven’t spent much time alone. But isn’t that normal? People like being with other people. It’s human nature.”
“Of course,” she agrees. “But there’s a difference between enjoying other people's company and needing it to avoid being with yourself.”
I open my mouth to protest, then snap it shut. Because I don’t have a counterargument.
I think about the past three years—about the string of dates, flings, and relationships that barely lasted long enough for me to learn their middle names. About the times I’ve thrown myself into something just because it was something, without stopping to ask if it was what I actually wanted.
And the worst part? I don’t know if I’ve ever really asked myself that. Instead, my brain hijacks the moment and fillsit with fairytales and happily-ever-afters I didn’t ask for but secretly dream of.
Phyllis watches as the realisation sinks in. “I think,” she says gently, “that you’re still figuring out who you are on your own.”
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “So, what are you saying, I should just… stop dating? Go on some kind of romantic detox?”
Pee-Pee smiles. “I’m saying it might be worth exploring what life looks like when you’re not focused on the next relationship. What do you like? What excites you? Not in relation to someone else, but just for yourself?”
I blink. That is a horrifyingly big question.
“I mean… I like brunch?” I offer weakly.
Pee-Pee laughs, the first proper laugh of the session. “That’s a start.” She smiles at me, the kind of smile that therapists use when they know they’ve led you right into a trap of your own making.
“I think you need a break,” she says gently.
I squint at her. “From therapy?”
“From dating.”
I physically recoil. “What? No. Absolutely not. What am I supposed to do with all that free time?”
She gives me a patient look. “I don’t know, Ivy. That’s kind of the point.”
I cross my arms. “This feels extreme.”
Pee-Pee tilts her head, which is never a good sign for me. “Let’s look at the facts. You’ve been dating almost non-stop since your divorce—”
“Not non-stop,” I interrupt. “I had that two-week gap last summer when I went on holiday.”
“Which, if I recall correctly, you described as ‘the worst fourteen days of your life because you had to eat alone and no one was there to take Instagram photos of you’?”
I open my mouth, then close it. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
She gives me a look.
I sigh. “Okay, fine, but what if I just… slow down? You know, only go on, like, one or two dates a month? A gentle, leisurely pace.”
“I think you need a proper reset.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re really going to make me go cold turkey?”
Pee-Pee smiles. “I’m not making you do anything. I’m simply suggesting that if you really want to figure out who you are outside of dating, you must take it off the table entirely.”
I groan and let my head fall back against the chair again.
“Three months,” she says.
