He strode confidently into the library talking on his phone, and everyone looked up.
Unfazed by the group of stares, he continued to talk, browsing the first few aisles of books. Finally, a librarian hurriedly walked over to him and in unheard whispers told him that phone calls were prohibited in the library.
He rolled his eyes and said into the phone âI guess I should probably call you back.â
I was annoyed. I hate arrogant, entitled people who think they can do whatever theyâd like whenever theyâd like. But, I needed to push those thoughts out of my mind as I really needed to work on finishing my article.
âFocus,â I whispered under my breath.
I sat in the middle of the library in which a number of tables were available for people to work. I occupied a large table at the back, as I usually did. I didnât like to be distracted by the opening and closing of the front door, people coming and going, checking out books at the front of the store making small talk with the librarians.
I couldnât help but lose focus with Mr. Arrogant walking through the aisles. Everything about him seemed noisy and imposing. His large strides and heavy footfall, and the occasional âhmmmâ or chuckle as he read the summaries on the back of each book he picked up.
As he slowly walked around the store, his arms filled with a number of books that interested him. He turned towards the tables and met my gaze before walking over to where I was sitting.
âDo you mind if I join you?â He said, a little smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.
âSure,â I replied flatly.
Of course, this was just what I needed, the day before Iâm supposed to submit my article.
âWhat are you working on?â he asked in his booming voice.
âIf you use your inside voice, Iâll tell you.â
He paused, looking at me incredulously, as if I were the one breaking the rules in a library.
âVery well,â he said sarcastically, but quietly. In an even quieter whisper, barely audible, he asked again âwhat are you working on?â
âIâm writing an article that Iâm trying to submit to a psychology journal. Itâs a student competition for a small prize, and itâs due tomorrow.â
âOh, very interesting,â he said, his voice beginning to return to its original volume. âPsychology, huh? So you can tell me all about why my childhood was messed up and help me be a better person and all that?â
âShhh,â I reminded him. âSure, I guess thatâs part of what I do, butââ
âSo tell me,â he interrupted, âif you know human behavior and stuff, what is the best way for me to close a business deal with a big company? Iâve got a big meeting next week, and I need to persuade this guy to come on as our client. How do I make a good impressionâboth in my presentation and non-verbally?â
What am I, his personal psychologist? I thought.
Frustrated by his interruption and the fact that he didnât seem to care I had a pressing deadline, I took a deep breath and responded, âWell, take up space, which you seem to have no problem doingâ I jabbed sarcastically.
His eyebrow cocked.
I continued, âGive him a firm handshake when he walks in, make lots of eye contact, and keep your presentation short and concise. Try to avoid filler words like âumâ as they make you seem insecure or unprepared. And genuinely listen to questions he has. Rephrase them back to him so he knows you understand his concerns and then do your best to address exactly what they are rather than dancing around them.â
His eyes shifted down to the table and he nodded thoughtfully. âHmmm, yeah thatâs helpful. Iâve got a few books here about body language and business presentations that Iâm planning to read this week, too. I might just be able to pull this off. . .â He trailed off.
âAre we done?â I asked. âI really need to get back to this.â
He looked back up at me, surprised that our conversation had ended so soon. âOnly if I can have your number.â He smiled. âYou are clearly intelligent, and beautiful I might add. Let me take you out to dinner.â
I donât know why I was surprised by his directness at this point, but I was. Heâs definitely not my type, but he is handsome. I ran through a few scenarios in my head and finally responded, âif you close the business deal next week, then yes. Iâm here almost every day working, so you can come find me when you do. And if you donât manage the deal, donât bother.â A tiny smile broke out across my face.
Without skipping a beat, he said confidently âeasy, challenge accepted. See you next week,â he smiled at me, turned on his heels, and confidently strode out the door.
CW: trauma, manipulation and control
I feared this day would come.
Itâs been just over 5 years now, and I am finally at a place where my blood doesnât boil when I think about him. I donât relive the trauma every time his name is mentioned. That doesnât mean that I ever want to see him again, but I knew it would be inevitable. I met him in the academic world, and itâs probably been a miracle that I havenât seen him in these 5 years already.
We have to present at conferencesâthatâs simply part of our job description as scholarsâand there are only so many of them to choose from.
Goddamn Switzerland and its vacation appeal.
He probably had the same idea to turn this conference into a holiday. Go to sessions in the morning, and spend a couple of hours in the afternoon wandering around the city. Maybe spend a few days after the conference is over for some extra time to explore.
What are the odds I could hide from him the whole time? Probably not likely, but I wish! Youâd think as a grown-ass woman with a doctorate, I wouldnât let anyone stand in my way, much less a narcissistic asshole who doesnât deserve an ounce of my attention. Unfortunately, though, thatâs not how trauma works.
Seeing him for the first time after I left himâno matter how long ago it wasâmight trigger those long lost memories of our relationship. The manipulation. The control. The many times he went through my phone and deleted the contacts he didnât want me talking to. The way he tried to hold onto me by telling me that Iâd never find anyone again and that I was way too desperate to be lovable. The moments he claimed he was suicidal and that I needed to take care of him. Oh, and letâs not forget the time he fucking catfished me on tinder just as I had started dating my now-husband. It almost worked, too. He knew every perfect thing to say because he already knew meâwhat I loved, what I wanted, and everything I needed to hear. The sick, manipulative bastard.
Yeah, those are the things that I donât think about anymore, but this goddamn conference. I definitely have to present, right? I know heâll be in the audience just to mess with my head. He could choose another presentation to go to in my time slot. There are plenty, but of course he wonât.
Oh, god. Heâll probably ask a question, too. When I was starting my Ph.D., he taught me everything. He gave me the right books, edited my writing, and we had endless conversations about the topics of our dissertations. I know Iâve learned a lot since then, but I canât help but remember the power dynamics that existed when we were together. He was nearly done with his Ph.D. while I was just getting started. He positioned himself as a second supervisor and tried to correct every last word that he didnât agree with.
That was the whole relationship. A fight for my right to exist, to think on my own terms, to spend my free time how I wanted, and to relate with those whose company I enjoyed. He questioned everything.
Maybe I can ask the moderator not to take his question.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!
Hannah, get a hold of yourself. Just breathe. You are not the girl you were in that relationship. Even then you had the sense and the courage to leave, and since then, you have done so much in your life without him.
Itâs one conference. Itâs the first one since you left, but it probably wonât be the last. Maybe we can be more hopeful. Maybe he has even grown since then. Maybe he wonât even go to your session.
Just breathe. Thatâs all thatâs under our control. Breathe. Stay steady. Present what youâve been working on for the last several months and be proud of how far youâve come. We can do this.
Moderator: âAnd now Iâd like to introduce Dr. James, who earned her Ph.D from St. Andrews. . . .â
Iâve moved several times before, but this one hurts the most.
When I was 10, my best friend in the world gave me a rock from his backyard and told me to take it with me to California. The marbled white stone sat on my nightstand for years, reminding me of where I came from and who I was missing.
When I was 18, I moved, as a lot of teenagers do, to pursue my education at a 4-year university. I left my dearest high school friends, a boy I loved but knew I could never be with, and a place I had called home for the past 8 years. It took me a year to appreciate this new place with new people and the value of my education.
When 4 years was up, I moved again, this time across the country. My roommate and I shared a U-Haul and road-tripped across America with the few belongings we had as broke 20-somethingâs searching for our purpose. Saying goodbye to her was like ripping off my own skinâso intertwined we had become in each otherâs lives during those 4 years of school. We became adults together.
But, so it was I went to grad school in North Carolina, and she went up North for a job. Compared to the 4 years of undergrad, my 2 years spent earning my Masterâs degree felt like nothing at all. I transformed during those years in a way I hadnât ever experienced beforeâmy views on relationships, religion, adulthood, and mental health were pushed like they never had been before. Burnt out from the stress, I left North Carolina gladly, ready for a new place to reset.
Ah, here we are in the present. Itâs been 4 and a half years since I moved to the UK, and my heart aches as I think about leaving. These moves of the past have shown me that I can do it. I always manage to leave the people and places that I grow attached to and find meaning and safety some place else. Each new place is a chance for new experiences, new friends and opportunities, and Iâm grateful that I get to live this life of adventure.
But this may be the hardest move yet. I havenât lived in a place this long since I was in high school, and Iâve grown more attached to the life I have here. The slow pace of life on the Scottish coast makes it easy to balance life and work, even as the work of a PhD student is relentlessly demanding. My Scottish partner of the past 3.5 years has also helped me to learn the ins and outs of Scottish culture. I feel connected to the land in a way my peers have not had the opportunity to. Iâve been up and down the east and west coasts of Scotland, travelled around in circles in the middle, and spent days in the big cities of Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Aberdeen.
But the next thing is graduation, getting a job, and leaving this country with pieces of my heart left in the North Sea. Maybe Iâll stay in the UK, move down South to teach at a nice university in England. Maybe Iâll return to the U.S. and attempt to catch up on the cultural and political happenings that Iâve been fortunate enough to miss these last few years.
Iâve said goodbye so many times, and I hate to do it again. Iâve fallen in love over and over again not just with the places Iâve lived in, but with the versions of myself that these places have elicited. To Scotland, you have made me a doctor. You have inflamed my heart with a passion for wild terrains and slow living. You taught me to breathe again when my anxiety and depression from grad school made me think I might die. You taught me to live and love again.
This wonât be the end. I know Iâll be back soon.
Iâm not going to lie. Life without you would probably be easier.
We discovered quickly that loving someone with a different passport is far from a walk in the park.
Without you, Iâd be financially better offânot having to spend thousands of dollars each year jumping across the Atlantic to see both of our families or spending money on visas. Letâs not even think about wedding planning.
Without you, Iâd let my job carry me across the world without a second thought.
Without you, I wouldnât have had to fuss with learning to drive in this damn country.
But.
Without you, I wouldnât get to laugh at the terrible puns you make every day.
I wouldnât be motivated to go rock climbingâthe sport we always do together.
I wouldnât feel as supported and loved.
I wouldnât have a reason to stay in this beautiful place where Iâve grown so much as a scholar and a human.
Life with you is hard, but life without you would be so much harder.
