The Summer of Rebecca
The night my husband David and I agreed to separate, I felt an odd mix of relief and uncertainty. Sixteen years together, sixteen years of trying to bridge an unbridgeable gap, had finally ended with a calm, reasoned conversation on the couch. We didn’t scream or hurl accusations; we simply acknowledged what we both already knew—we were done.
The next morning, I went to work with a strange sense of clarity. I told my closest work friends over coffee, “It’s over. David and I are separating.” To my surprise, their response wasn’t pity or concern but something else entirely: joy. “Congratulations!” one of them exclaimed, wrapping me in a hug. Another declared we had to go out for lunch immediately.
That lunch turned into a crash course on the wild world of online dating, which, in 2016, felt like stepping into an entirely new dimension. I’d been married for most of my adult life, and the idea of ‘swiping’ on strangers was equal parts exhilarating and intimidating. My friend helped me set up a Tinder profile, coaching me through the rules of engagement. “Be bold, but don’t overshare,” she advised. “Know your boundaries but have fun. You deserve this.”
I hit ‘launch’ on my profile as a 40-year-old separated woman. There was anticipation and optimism, but it was soon overwhelmed by the sheer number of men willing to match with me. I was a woman who’d been told for more than a decade by the man who was supposed to love and cherish her that she was un-sexy, too fat (I was Australian Size 12 – US Size 8), un-funny and altogether unlovable. Despite what I’d heard, plenty of single men were available for chat and maybe more. And here I was, being inundated with Tinder matches! I was so overwhelmed that I had to shut my profile off after 24 hours.
A week later, I was brave enough to switch it back on, and I chatted with four guys: a nice-sounding guy who worked in advertising, a lawyer, a policeman, and a public servant. I found I was good at texting messages back and forth, and the guys seemed to enjoy my cheeky banter. I was always on the lookout for bad behaviour and signs of creepiness, wanting to avoid the pitfalls that my single girlfriends had warned me about.
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