Model Chapel Rowan helped me get rid of dead-end relationships | Chapel Rowan

‘S“Addie,” I say. “I’ll call our daughter Sadie. Or I like Leo for a boy. I was on the phone for two and a half hours, talking about our hypothetical children to a man who flat out said he didn’t want a relationship. At the same time, he said things like: “I told my mom about you. She wants to meet you.” When he makes those comments, I can’t help but dream — to quote a certain song — about us in a year: Maybe we’ll get an apartment, and he’ll show me off to his friends on the sidewalk?

That’s the fantasy that Chappelle Rowan imagines in her 2022 hit “Casual.” My own vision looks a little different: Instead of a sidewalk there’s an apartment (where the familiar sound of his key in the door still turns me on), and his friends say things like: “I’ve never seen him act like that with anyone else before.” But crucially, in this fantasy, we made a commitment to each other. The first time I heard “casual,” I was in a committed relationship. I listened to it a lot, singing loudly in the bedroom I shared with my boyfriend, “Knees deep in the passenger seat, you’re eating me out.” (Rowan was nervous about that line — “It’s crass,” she said — but fans loved it.) I also liked the song’s sense of unrequited longing, but I couldn’t really relate to it. not yet.

Two years later, I was single again and then back on apps, searching for connection In the hell of modern dating, I kept finding myself in confusingly ambiguous relationships. I’ve dated people who did things that implied commitment: They’d offer me a toothbrush, I’d leave it there, and I’d keep my clothes in their drawers. We would pretend to be a couple – visiting garden centers on lazy Saturday mornings and giving each other our favorite books to read. They’ll say how well I treat their sister.

It was the imagination that made it so intoxicating – imagining what it could be instead of what it actually was. For months, I rode a dopamine rollercoaster that spiked whenever the fantasy was kindled, but then came crashing down when reality hit — when it would take them three weeks to respond, or they would accidentally send me a nude photo of someone else, or upload a photo to their Instagram with their arm around another girl.

I don’t think their ambiguity was intentional or malicious: we all crave connection, and it was easy for me to get swept up in the idea that this could be the one. But now, in my mid-30s, the fear of wasting my time on someone who will never commit begins to grow with every birthday. I found myself immersed in yet another indeterminate romance, this time a long-distance one. “Do you really want to wake up in two years and find that you’re still in a long-distance situation with someone who’s unwilling to commit?” I asked my sister.

I didn’t He thinks I did, but I wasn’t sure. Maybe you’re ok with that. I’ve found chemistry and connection, and isn’t that what we’re all looking for in the end? Why do I need commitment to feel safe and secure?

That night, on my way home, Casual started playing in my headphones. I heard the song as if it was the first time. When Rowan sang “I hate that I let this go on for so long, now I hate myself. I hate that I let this go on for so long, you can go to hell,” I heard the anger, the humiliation, and the abandonment — and I realized I had buried those same feelings inside me. I realized that by falling in love with someone, I forgot to care about who they really were. I responded to their gestures and ignored their words. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of what I actually wanted.

The next day, I asked my final “stand” the question: Will this ever become a thing? That relationship ended because of that conversation, and I haven’t been involved in it since. Now, when I’m dating someone and they say, “We’re not together,” I listen — instead of getting sucked into a fantasy future that includes Sadie, Leo, and a house in the country.