The Lesson I Learned from Getting Love-Bombed

Also, did I give a man a heart attack on a first date?

It started with an impromptu cocktail date. Late on a Sunday afternoon, I matched with a new man on Feeld. He was a divorced dad, just shy of 50, who worked in film and was shooting a TV show not far from where I live. He asked about my schedule for the week; I told him my kids were coming home the next day so I’d be pretty busy.

“This is super last minute, but how about having dinner with me tonight?” he replied.

Uhhhhh. Dinner, after chatting for all of three minutes? That felt like a lot. I wrote back that I could meet him for a drink instead.

We met soon after at a loud bar. I didn’t get great vibes. He wasn’t as cute as his photos and he spent the entire time talking about himself — with that performative storytelling men use when they’re trying to seem virtuous. Once, he said, he took home a broken table that someone had left next to their garbage bin, fixed it, and returned it to the family out of the goodness of his heart.

When we finished our drinks, I was relieved that he didn’t want another. He was tired, he said. We settled the check, he walked me to my car and yes — we kissed for a little while. He wasn’t a bad kisser. He asked when we could see each other again, and I told him that I needed to let the evening percolate and that I’d get back to him.

The next afternoon I texted to say hi. He replied that he was in the ICU. He’d had mild chest pains before meeting me, he said, which he’d ignored. Then, after our date, they got worse, and he took himself to the hospital.

Turns out he’d been having a major coronary event.

OMG. Had I given this man a heart attack? I told myself no, it had started before we had met. But still: what if I’d made it worse? What exactly had I done?!

It was a lot to take in, especially since I’d been planning to tell him I wasn’t interested. But could I dump a guy in the ICU? That felt cruel. Then again, the heart attack didn’t exactly make him more appealing. I wanted a virulent naked hottie in my bed, not a weary middle-aged man recovering from angioplasty.

I decided to hold off. I’d let him recover, at least. A few days went by and I checked in on him via text. He said he was getting discharged in a few hours — and would I like to have dinner with him that night?

Shit. Time to rip off the Band-Aid. I texted back that I was glad he was being discharged, and then: “I very much enjoyed meeting you, but I’m not feeling a spark. I’ll pass on dinner, but I’m wishing you all the best (including a speedy recovery!).”

His reply came in immediately. “You are so smart and beautiful, great mother and I’m sure a wonderful partner. This were All green flags flapping in the wind for me. But I get it, hope the best for you, and that you can find the spark in your life and whatever you’re looking for…. Sorry I showed up with a broken heart 💔 literally lol.”

Well. That was a lot. But at least it seemed he got the message.

Except…. he didn’t. Three days later, he was back with a seven paragraph text essay. I had told him at the bar that I loved astronomy, and his new message was a bizarre (though slightly charming) ode to the stars — a galactic metaphorical maze that ended with him asking me out again. A heart attack is not a great backdrop for a date, he added. Would I please give him a second chance?

He had a point. The circumstances under which we met weren’t ideal. Maybe his heart attack had briefly transformed him into a narcissist, but now he was cured? Fine, I’d have dinner with him. We made plans for the following Sunday.

When Sunday rolled around, though, I’d picked up a nasty cold. I told him I needed to reschedule. He kind about it — and then texted me back that there was something waiting for me at a florist 20 minutes from my house.

Wait. What. He’d bought me flowers?! That was sweet ….. but over the top, no? And now I had to drive 20 minutes — while sick! — to pick them up as soon as possible? Hmm. I was starting to feel uneasy. My discomfort intensified when, over the next 24 hours, he sent me three text updates about the florist’s hours and availability, somehow knowing I hadn’t picked my flowers up yet.

This guy was clearly into me and trying hard to win me over. But his intensity and certainty felt inappropriate. I’d spent 45 minutes in his company and somehow that was enough to convince him that I was a good mother and would be a good partner. How could he know? He couldn’t. Worse, he wasn’t really respecting my no — and was trying to romance me back into yes.

This was love-bombing, wasn’t it?

Suddenly, I remembered something that my therapist had said to me recently. I’d been gushing to her about the beautiful man I’d met several weeks before, the one I couldn’t stop thinking about. The one who fingered me in a park in the middle of the day. We’d only spent one night together, but it had been sizzling hot and I’d fallen hard.

“You hardly know this man,” my therapist had told me. “You aren’t really falling for him. You’re falling for the idea of him.”

The more I got to know him, she added, the less perfect he was going to seem. I was setting myself up for disappointment.

Of course, she was right. I’d built a fantasy version of him in my head — an idealized man who didn’t actually exist. Given how little time we’d spent together (and how little of that time we spent talking), I knew almost nothing real about him.

“This is why people get freaked out by love-bombing,” my therapist had added. “They know the other person’s feelings can’t be authentic. They’re falling for a fantasy, not the real you — and that feels unsettling.”

Thinking about heart attack guy, it all clicked. I was feeling uncomfortable because his intense feelings were too much too fast — they couldn’t be rooted in a real understanding of who I was and whether I was right for him. I realized the same had to be true of my feelings for beautiful park man. My feelings weren’t fake, exactly, but they were fantasy-fueled.

For some reason, that realization helped. Now, when I catch myself obsessing over my beautiful park man — which, by the way, is still far too often — I remind myself that my feelings are more dream than data. He probably isn’t the perfect man I imagine.

So while heart attack guy may not be in my future, I’m grateful that we met. He’s the cautionary tale I need right now to put my own intensity into perspective. I’ll still yearn for beautiful park man — who today seems less available than ever, sob — but I’ll keep reminding myself that longing is not the same thing as love.

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