Gilda

"Every man I knew went to bed with Gilda and woke up with me." – Rita Hayworth

Growing up, I never really dated boys my own age. They just weren’t interested in me, even through college. But older men? They circled like sharks the moment I could speak.

I was always told how “mature” I was, how intelligent, how articulate. In reality, I was being groomed and isolated. By the time I was old enough to understand, the damage had already been done.

Now, four years post-divorce, as a single mother, I find myself in an unfamiliar, but empowering, place.

Today, I know myself better than ever. I understand who I am. I know what I want. I recognize my flaws, my desires. I’m open, grounded, honest. Apprehensive, but hopeful. Confident in a way I never knew possible, while still honoring my femininity. Above all, I am strong. I’ve been on my own my entire life and learned that no one will ever take care of me… but me.

I’ve met some amazing men in the past few years. Many successful, educated, secure. And no, I will never apologize for having high standards.

My short-lived relationships usually start the same way: he reaches out, we connect, we talk. He’s intrigued by texts (I’m a writer, I have a way with words). We go out. He becomes smitten.

This part is easy. I’m a journalist; I love conversation. It’s genuine. I’m curious, and people naturally open up to someone who listens. I don’t stay too long on dates—I have kids, and I keep that part of my life private at first, so it creates an air of mystery. None of this is calculated. It just is.

I’ve learned to warn men early: “Don’t put me on a pedestal. Don’t fall in love with a fantasy.” But they never listen.

Then it happens.

At some point, usually a few weeks in, I say or do something that challenges them. Not out of cruelty, just truth. I don’t let men bash their exes or complain about paying alimony (always the girl's girl). I hold space, but I also hold the line. I expect emotional maturity.

And suddenly, I’m no longer the fantasy.

No longer “Gilda.”

I’ve been told I’m too intimidating. That I should support a man “no matter his flaws.” That I’m too ethical.

But here’s the thing: I’m finally the best version of myself. More ready for love than I’ve ever been. More capable of being a great partner. And I’m showing up fully, authentically, and getting rejected for it.

Would it be easier to just stay quiet? Be softer? Bite my tongue?

Sure.

But then I’d just be settling again, playing a role to keep a man comfortable.

I don't want to be Gilda.
I want to be me.
And I want someone who wants that woman.