Dear Sars,

Almost 4 years ago now, I met “Steve” through a work project that our two companies were collaborating on. The project required us to work very closely together (emailing and talking on the phone several times a day), so even though we were located in different countries (and only saw each other a few times a year), we quickly got to know each other well and became friends.

Very early on, he told me that he had a girlfriend, and that their relationship was very tumultuous. This initially came up because he didn’t want me to ever call him on his cell phone after hours regarding our work project, no matter what the emergency, for fear that she would “catch” him talking to “another woman” and “punish” him. These “punishments” consisted of things like forcing him to sleep on the floor, or locking him out of the house, etc. He described her as having “many” psychological problems, jealousy issues, control issues, etc.

The whole situation sounded really unhealthy. We had many conversations about this relationship, virtually all the result of him calling me after something had happened with her. This continued long after we no longer worked together. In retrospect, I never should have let this dynamic develop between the two of us. But when I was in my 20s, I was involved in an abusive relationship myself for a time, so I understood what that does to one’s judgment and self-esteem.

I also remembered how isolating that experience was (he said he didn’t have any of his own friends anymore) so I tried instead to be as supportive as I could be, under the circumstances. I don’t know that anything I said or did made any difference at all, though — they would fight, get back together, things would improve for a short time, then he would be calling me again.

And so it went until one day last year, when he called me to let me know that he and his girlfriend were engaged! He said that it was not his idea, that she wanted to have children and so she was forcing this on him. I implored him to think through what marriage and children with this woman would be like — is this what he wanted for the rest of his life, is this what he wanted for his future children? He said no, but he felt he had no choice, and didn’t want to talk about it with me anymore.

So we didn’t talk about it again until several months later, when he called me to tell me that he wanted to come clean about something. That “something” was that every bad thing he ever said about his girlfriend was A LIE: he made it all up, right from day one, and his girlfriend is actually great, and they actually have a great relationship, and getting married and starting a family with her is going to be great too.

More than three years of lies — how to begin to process this? The only real answer Steve gave me to my questions about why, why, WHY he would do this was that he wanted to keep talking to me, and he felt that this was a hook that would keep my attention. That was about all he could give me. Frankly, he wasn’t overly apologetic about it either, and in response to a number of my questions about specific incidents, I got “I don’t remember saying that” or “I think you misunderstood” or “I was only joking that time.” It’s been a few months now, and I don’t really see any point in continuing to try to talk to him about it — I don’t imagine I will ever get a satisfactory explanation from him. My goal now is to try to move on, but I’m finding it easier said than done.

For one thing, this whole situation seems incredible to me, both in the sense that I can’t believe anyone would do something like this (let alone that he would do this to me), but also quite literally in the sense that I can’t quite believe that ALL of it was lies: I mean, I heard his voice on the phone when he was describing the latest drama, I saw his face when he was talking about her in person with me…his unhappiness, at least, was real. Or so I think. There are the things I know are true, the things he has now told me are lies, and then, in the vast expanse between, hundreds and hundreds of things that I just can’t categorize (although my brain keeps trying to). It’s exhausting.

Secondly, during the years I’ve known Steve, I’ve had real stuff — good and bad — going on in my own life: breaking up with a long-term boyfriend, quitting my job and taking another one 1000 miles away in a city where I didn’t know anyone, finishing my master’s degree, buying my first house, meeting my (now) husband, getting engaged, getting married, getting pregnant, having a miscarriage, getting pregnant again, etc. Steve wasn’t “there” (literally or figuratively) for any of it — he was always too preoccupied with his own situation to be any kind of friend to me.

When I think now about all the time and energy I spent listening to him on the phone, talking him through the crisis du jour, worrying and wondering if he was OK…I feel absolutely enraged. I mean, he was calling me about his (fake) problems during my (real) grief following my miscarriage. I can’t even articulate how incensed it makes me feel to know that he knew what I was going through, but still considered his need for attention (or whatever it was he was getting out of this) to be more important. It’s humiliating, to have genuinely tried to be a friend to someone who clearly had no regard for me at all.

I apologize for going on and on — and the point is, I don’t want to anymore. Sars, readers, what do I do with all this now? How can I move on from here?

It’s Probably A Good Thing We Live In Different Countries

Dear Good,

To realize that what you thought was a friendship, a kinship, a meeting of the minds was actually a performance or a transaction of some kind — the kind you can’t really understand, because it wouldn’t occur to you to treat people that way — is difficult to process. It’s humiliating, as well. You feel like you got conned, and also like you were the last to figure it out.

Give yourself permission to get angry, angry enough to end the relationship permanently, and then do exactly that. Yes, it’s possible that Steve is lying now in order to enable or disguise abuse from his fiancée, and I think part of you is probably worried that you “don’t have the right” to rip a yard out of his ass for lying to you and wasting your time and never once helping you with your issues, juuuuuust in case it’s actually because he’s the victim here.

Maybe he is the victim, but he’s also a grown-up, and he may have his reasons for treating friendships like short cons, but reasons aren’t excuses; either he’s just a sociopath who enjoys toying with people, or he’s so emotionally stunted by years of dealing with the harpy he’s marrying that he has no idea how to conduct a relationship that isn’t based on a fucked-up power differential. Either way: that’ll do, pig. Tell him exactly what you just told me: whether he lied to you of his own volition all along, took advantage of your good nature to get attention, and never supported you with your own shit; or whether his fiancée really is abusive and has twisted him to the point where he no longer understands how to interact with other people, you’re out. If it’s the latter, you hope he gets the help he needs, but regardless, you don’t want to speak with him again.

The “why” isn’t irrelevant, but the “what” here is that the friendship is non-functional because it’s based on lies and pathology. End it and cut off contact. Eventually, the anger will fade.

Dear Sars,

I have a dilemma that just eats at me from time to time, and I’m really hoping you or the readers can offer some guidance, or reassurance, or what have you.

I’m a 25-year-old woman who is getting married in two months. The man I’m marrying is the love of my life. I suppose everyone feels this way about their future spouses, but I just adore him — he’s totally the sunshine of my life, and the intimate emotional bond we share is one of the most treasured aspects of my life. I love him so much. We met at the very beginning of our freshman year of college, when we were eighteen, and have been together ever since.

Here’s the thing: sexually, he is my first everything, short of my first kiss. He had some intimate relationships in high school, but as far as actual sex, I am his first as well. After seven years, our sex life is still fun and enjoyable; we occasionally fall into some boring spells, but are also good at recognizing it and brightening things up if it’s getting dull/routine.

Despite that, throughout the duration of our relationship, I have gone through some periods of wishing I could know what it would be like to be with other men. That desire will be gone for long stretches of time (like, years, sometimes), but when it rears up, it’s something that really gnaws at me.

I have never cheated on him, have never even come close. He has never cheated on me. Like I said, I absolutely love this man with my whole soul. The very idea of hurting him, betraying him, humiliating him, and everything else that cheating would bring, is horrifying to me. But I can’t ignore the fact that I do have regrets, and I wish that I had experienced a little more, gotten to know what being with other people is like, miss that electricity and sexiness and intense, hot connection that comes at the very beginning.

It’s purely a physical desire. This is not a situation where I’ve fallen out of love with him, or we’ve become “just friends” or “close roommates” or whatever. I’m totally in love him, I still think he’s incredibly attractive, and I love having sex with him. I just…sometimes really wish I could have sex with other people, too.

We have, here and there, talked about our monogamy. I feel like we talk honestly about it, and we have both acknowledged that monogamy is not always easy. We both know that the other is human, and that sexual desire and attraction to others is not something that can just be turned off. In the past, we mentioned the idea of taking a break so we could both sow our wild oats a bit, but we love each other, and the idea of being apart just for the purpose of having flings with other people made us too sad. I studied abroad for a semester in college and we agreed on a “don’t ask, don’t tell” free zone during that period, and when I came home, we both admitted that neither of us had done so much as kiss another person, because we spent the entire four months being horribly lonely for each other. The idea of an open relationship turns both of our stomachs.

For seven years, I’ve worked on reconciling myself with the fact that I sometimes have a strong desire to have sex with other people, but since I cannot fathom and do not ever, ever want to cheat on him, break up with him, or have an open relationship with him, sex with other people is never going to happen.

But now we’re getting married, and I’m feeling scared and anxious. I have great respect for the institution of marriage, and I love him so deeply, and I cannot wait to be his wife and the mother of his children someday. I just feel like the stakes are so high now, though. The finality of seriously, the gate is locking, I am NEVER, EVER going to experience anything else feels very intense.

I mean, overall, the seriousness and bigness of the commitment we’re making is scaring me a little. Forever is a long, long, long-ass time. What if I can’t do this marriage thing? What if I screw it up or fail at it completely? What if it goes wrong, or we do fall out of love, or something horrible happens, and we lose each other? What if I hurt him or let him down? Am I a loaded gun who will, eventually, someday, be overwhelmed by temptation because I have (and apparently can’t get rid of) these desires for other people? (I have given up reading Dan Savage because he seems to think that yes, definitely, inevitably, I will cheat someday and it terrifies me.)

So that’s my situation. I am deeply in love with my fiancé, but I sometimes really wish I were more experienced/could try having sex with other people, but I don’t ever, ever want to cheat on him, and the idea of non-monogamy breaks both of our hearts. So it’s just…stuck. Like I said, this doesn’t bother me all the time (and often doesn’t bother me for a LONG time), but when it does, it REALLY bothers me. I have never fully confessed all this to anyone, because I feel so ashamed about it, like something is wrong with me.

So I guess my question is this: is monogamy hard for everyone? Do other people feel scared and intimidated by the prospect of only being with one person physically for the rest of their lives? Do other long-term couples still fight off desires to experience some variety? I feel horribly guilty about having these feelings. Help?

Am I The Only One?

Dear One,

Hell no you aren’t the only one. People who have had several, or many, partners feel that way; people who have survived dozens of break-ups feel that way. George Clooney exists, so here we all are. It is completely normal to desire other people, and occasionally to feel a little trapped in the choices you’ve made, in any area of life; I would find it more worrisome if you sent me a chirpy “no more partners, no problem — huzzah for the unexamined life!” letter, because: the Cloon, come on.

And it doesn’t make you a bad person or mean you don’t love your fiancé. It just means that forever is daunting. To everyone. Give yourself a break.

And don’t talk to yourself about it with words like “forever,” if you can help it. Remind yourself that the gate is not in fact locking. It’s a marriage, not a pair of concrete galoshes, and if things don’t work out, the marriage can end and you will survive. If, God forbid, something happens to your fiancé, you will mourn, and then you will survive. If it’s something greyer than divorce or death — you just don’t communicate very well anymore; he’s talking too much for your taste about that woman in accounts payable — you can go to marriage counseling and you will work it out, or not, and you will survive.

I’ve weathered horrendous splits and easy ones; my “first” was before cell phones, and…so was my tenth; blah blah blah the fullness of time, but I would feel the same way in your situation. Committing to another person for life is scary. It’s also awesome, and totally doable, and because you don’t have as much perspective as you might on the fact that even the hugest mistakes of a relationship nature sort themselves out in time, you should take advantage of any pre-marital counseling available via your clergyperson (or just go see a therapist a few times) and get it all out. Ministers and counselors hear this allllll the time, and can help you manage the anxiety and refocus on the positives.

And those positives include the ability to talk with your beloved about this stuff, which is also a big deal and bodes well for your marriage. You’re not in denial about it, and it’s not abnormal in the first place, so if, sometimes, you need to take some “alone time” and “think about” Adam Baldwin, that’s just biology and it doesn’t make you a cheaty freak.

Don’t be ashamed. You’ve got this. Readers, back me up here.

Sars, I know you’ve freelanced in the past (still?) and I suspect you know exactly how to handle this with aplomb.

I’ve recently started freelancing and so far it’s going well. I’m getting clients, and it’s looking like I actually might be able to support myself this way. However, I am completely weird and awkward about bringing up rates with a new client.

Here’s an example: I had an initial phone conversation with a new client today. After talking to her for about half an hour about what she’s looking for and how we’d work together, and after making plans for a meeting next week, it seemed clear that we were both just assuming I was hired. But we hadn’t talked rates yet!

So I said, “Let me tell you my rates. I charge $100 an hour. Is that in the range of what you were envisioning?” She said yes, and that was that.

But I am sure I detected some discomfort in her voice (maybe just because everyone is uncomfortable talking about money, but who knows), and I felt completely awkward myself. Now I’m wondering — should I have not waited until we’d already talked for half an hour about what she’s looking for? Should I not have waited until we were so far in that we’d already set up our first meeting? Does asking if that was in her range somehow imply I’ll lower it if needed? How do you have that conversation?

Please save me before I spread further awkwardness in the world…

Money-hungry but afraid to show it

Dear Hungry,

I got around this by writing down a menu of services, which includes the corresponding rates for each service. It also mentions that I can customize the quote depending on the job, and gives a couple of examples.

I did that primarily so that I wouldn’t have to write it out every time; it’s just easier to tell a prospective client, “I’d love to discuss the job — let me send you my fact sheet, and then we can talk about your needs and budget within that framework.” That way, I don’t forget to mention anything, and the price list is right there.

With that said, sometimes you have to discuss a job for a little while to get a sense of what you’d charge. I don’t know what you do, so I can’t speak to that, but sometimes what a client wants is actually a less expensive option than he’d assumed, so I need to get a sense of that. My real-estate lawyer had to talk to me for an hour before she could 1) figure out which part of the job she’d be charging a flat rate for, and then 2) bid the rest. It sounds like you’re worried that you left the money part too long and that that came off shady, but you can’t really price the work until you know what it is.

But I’ve also developed a callus about talking about money, because I’ve run one business or another for over a decade now and I’ve had no choice, and the good news is, it does get easier. Your work costs money; either the prospective client wants to spend that money or she doesn’t; if she doesn’t, it’s nothing personal for either of you, good luck to her, next case.

I think you did fine; hearing the phrase “$100 an hour” does cause discomfort in some people that is…not social discomfort (heh), so I wouldn’t worry too much about that. In the future, try to find an end point for the pricing/consultation part of the conversation, and segue over to, “It sounds like you need X; for that, I charge Y.” Don’t ask if it’s in their budget; if it isn’t, they’ll tell you. Don’t worry about what they do or don’t assume re: negotiating; if they want to negotiate, they will say so, and if they don’t say so, you shouldn’t offer — or negotiate at all, if the rate isn’t negotiable. A simple “I’m sorry, the rate is standard/fixed” should do it.

Resisting the urge to apologize for charging for your work, or to fill the silence that greets the bid, is the hardest thing you have to learn when you work for yourself, but like I said, it gets easier. Just keep reminding yourself that prospective clients understand the nature of the transaction. It’s not impolite; it’s part of the deal.

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