“Ghosting is cruel because it denies a person the chance to process, to ask questions, or to get closure. It’s emotional abandonment, masquerading as protection.” ~Dr. Jennice Vilhauer
I never set out to ghost anyone.
In fact, I used to hate ghosting with the burning fury of a thousand unread dating app notifications. I told myself I’d never be that person—the one who disappears mid-conversation, fails to reply after a good date (or sends a very bland thank you message), or silently vanishes like a breadcrumb trail to nowhere.
And yet… here I am. Writing a post about how I’ve ghosted people.
Not because I’m proud of it. Not because I think it’s defensible. But because I’ve come to understand why I’ve done it—and what that says about dating culture, emotional patterns, and my own very human flaws.
So, if you’ve ever been ghosted and wondered what was going through the other person’s head—or if you’ve ghosted and don’t quite understand your own behavior—this is for you.
Because behind every silence is a story.
A Pattern Primed by the Past
Let’s start with this: I didn’t begin my dating journey with cynicism. I started like many people— hopeful, curious, wide-eyed.
But after a few rounds of being ghosted myself, misled, or strung along by people who said all the right things but meant none of them, my hope began to erode. Slowly, subtly, like a stone smoothed down by constant friction.
Over time, the pattern looked like this:
- Match with someone promising.
- Exchange funny, thoughtful messages.
- Maybe go on a date or two.
- Then, suddenly… nothing. Silence. A flatline.
It wasn’t always dramatic. Sometimes the conversations just faded. Other times, it was abrupt. I’d be mid-conversation and—boom—gone. No explanation, no closure. Just another digital ghost in the machine.
And while I knew intellectually that this was “part of online dating,” it still landed. It primed me to expect disappointment. To approach each new match not with optimism, but with quiet dread.
Eventually, I started thinking:
What’s the point? They’ll probably flake anyway.
Ghosting as a Defense Mechanism
So, where does my ghosting come in?
At first, it was subtle. Maybe I’d take a little longer to reply. Or I’d go silent on someone who seemed nice but who I didn’t feel an immediate spark with.
I’d tell myself:
- “I don’t owe them anything.”
- “They probably don’t care.”
- “It’s better to fade than force it.”
But the truth is, my ghosting wasn’t about them. It was about me.
It was a reflection of my fear of disappointing someone, my lack of emotional bandwidth to explain myself, and my protective instinct kicking in when I sensed something familiar—and not in a good way.
I had been ghosted so many times that I began to preemptively disengage before anyone could do it to me.
If you leave first, at least you’re not the one being left.
It’s a faulty logic, but when you’ve been conditioned by repeated negative experiences, you start to default to protection over connection. And ghosting—silent and sudden—is the ultimate form of emotional self-preservation.
Cynicism in the Profile Scroll
Online dating is like a mental rollercoaster of judgments, hope, disappointment, and the occasional serotonin spike when someone has a dog and knows how to use punctuation.
But over time, I noticed something about how I was engaging with profiles:
I wasn’t curious—I was critical. I wasn’t open—I was braced for disappointment. I’d read bios looking for reasons to notengage, rather than to connect.
Somewhere along the line, dating apps stopped being exciting and started feeling like a parade of micro-rejections—even when I was the one doing the rejecting.
I became a dating cynic in a world that rewards detachment. I looked at profiles and thought:
“This guy probably lives with his ex and/or is married.”
“He looks like a player and lacks authenticity—even though I was going on very little evidence.”
“He’ll definitely tell me he’s ‘not looking for anything serious’ but still want attention and the accompanying ego boost.”
And even if someone seemed genuinely kind, I’d think: What’s the catch?
That mindset doesn’t just hurt others. It corrodes your ability to be present, vulnerable, or sincere.
Ghosting as Avoidance, Not Malice
Here’s what I’ve realized through self-reflection and a few too many red wines while watching reruns of “Love at First Sight”: ghosting is not about cruelty. It’s about avoidance.
Ghosting feels easier than:
- Crafting a rejection message
- Sitting in the discomfort of someone else’s disappointment
- Risking an awkward reply, or worse, an argument
It’s quick. It’s clean. It’s also emotionally lazy.
But when your emotional reserves are running low—especially from repeated rejection, indifference, or burnout—ghosting can feel like the only viable exit strategy.
That doesn’t make it right. But it makes it understandable.
And often, people ghost not because they don’t care but because they’re overwhelmed by the possibility of caring and not knowing what to do with it.
The Cycle of Ghosting
When ghosting becomes the norm, we all lose. It creates a culture where:
- We dehumanize the people we talk to.
- We second-guess our self-worth.
- We become afraid of emotional exposure.
- We settle into half-hearted connections because we don’t expect real ones to last.
It breeds mutual distrust, and that, ironically, makes ghosting more likely.
I started to see it like a self-perpetuating loop:
Get ghosted → become jaded → ghost others → deepen the culture of avoidance.
And yet, I also realized something else: If I wanted to break the loop, someone had to go first.
What I’ve Learned (That Might Help You Too)
Here’s what’s shifted for me over time:
1. Avoidance doesn’t spare feelings. It just delays discomfort.
Telling someone you’re not feeling a connection is awkward. But not telling them leaves them confused, maybe even hurt. And it leaves you carrying emotional clutter.
2. Emotional boundaries are not the same as emotional withdrawal.
It’s okay to not continue a conversation. It’s okay to end things after a date. But doing so with clarity and kindness (even a single line) is far more respectful than silence.
3. Ghosting devalues human connection, even in small ways.
When you ghost someone, you’re subtly reinforcing the idea that people are disposable. And in doing so, you chip away at your own sense of connection.
4. Cynicism protects, but it also prevents.
Expecting the worst can be a shield, but it also blocks the good. Staying open, curious, and kind—even after heartbreak—is the bravest thing you can do.
What I Try to Do Now
These days, I approach online dating differently. Not perfectly. But more intentionally.
If I’m not interested, I’ll say something like:
“Thanks for the chat. I don’t think this is a match, but I wish you well!”
Simple. Kind. Closure. Done.
And if I’m feeling overwhelmed and don’t have the bandwidth to connect, I pause. I take a break. I don’t keep conversations going just for the dopamine or out of obligation.
Because being honest and respectful, even online, feels a lot better than the lingering guilt of another message left unanswered.
Final Thoughts: Honesty and Authenticity Over Evasion, Always
Ghosting may be common, but it’s not benign. And while I’ve done it (more than once), I’ve also learned that it’s often a reflection of internal burnout, fear, or cynicism—not cruelty.
But we can do better. We can date better.
Not by being perfect, but by being aware. By choosing clarity over comfort. By remembering that every profile we swipe on is a real person with hopes, fears, and a heart that deserves kindness. Ultimately, we are looking for love, appreciation and a sense of connection.
So, to everyone I’ve ghosted, I’m sorry. Not just for the silence, but for assuming you wouldn’t care. For using detachment as protection. For forgetting the humanity behind the screen.
And to anyone struggling with the messy world of online dating: you’re not alone. And you’re not broken. You’re just trying to find something real in a world that often rewards pretending and external validation.
Keep showing up. Keep being honest. Keep being you.
Even when it’s awkward.
Even when it’s scary.
Especially then.
About Mandy Kloppers
Mandy is a cognitive-behavioral therapist who offers counselling to clients worldwide via Zoom. She believes in spreading kindness: “Being a therapist doesn’t mean that life is perfect—we are all in ‘this soup’ together” as the Psychologist Carl Jung famously once said. She also writes a daily mental health blog featuring advice and information on anxiety, depression, mental health, personal development, and relationships. If you would like counseling, contact her via her website: www.thoughtsonlifeandlove.com
