- During an ordinary water-cooler conversation, Kip's coworker Theresa confided tragic details about her sequence of abusive boyfriends. Kip felt obligated to keep listening and offer comfort. As she confided more, he volunteered stories of his own romantic traumas to help her feel at ease. With all this talk of love, Kip soon realized that Theresa considered their relationship a romance, something he'd never intended. When he told her, as gently as possible, that he wasn't on the market, Theresa did not react well. Kip later learned from a third party that Theresa had been regaling friends with the story of her all-time worst abuser—him.
- Amy was 16 when her 40-year-old soccer coach told her about his depression and anxiety. Amy fell for Coach Greene like Juliet on estrogen, telling him all about her own life, including details about her friends. Their intimacy, while never physical, was so emotionally fraught that Amy's interest in boys her own age evaporated (to this day, she dates much older men). Then a teammate informed her that Coach had not only confided in several other soccer players, the entire cheerleading squad, and a comely female bus driver but had also shared Amy's personal disclosures with others—comments she had never meant for any ears but his. Coach Greene's emotional sluttiness left her feeling both exposed and jilted, an adolescent heartbreak that still stings many years later.
If an emotional slut manages to hook you, consider yourself lucky if you merely devote time and attention to someone who hasn't earned it, or reveal a few embarrassing secrets. There can be more serious fallout: You offer your heart, making the relationship far more important to you than to the emotional slut. There's also a slim but real chance you could fall victim to a predator who's deliberately luring you into a vulnerable position, gathering information that can be used to control or victimize you. Realizing that someone you trusted intimately sees you as someone to be manipulated is like walking full speed into a glass door: shocking, probably humiliating, and possibly quite painful.
How To Avoid Emotional Sluts
Manipulative people often rope others into games of conversational strip poker by relying on implicit courtesy—the equivalent of "I took off my shirt, so the least you can do is peel off your socks." Two words: Don't play.
You need preparation to resist this kind of peer pressure. Resolve right now that the next time someone divulges inappropriate details about her sinus-flushing compulsion or aberrant body hair, you'll resist the impulse to feign polite interest or share something equally intimate. Instead you'll say, "Oh." That's all. Then maintain silence. If possible, walk away.
This simple approach is amazingly difficult, partly because our therapy-soaked, tabloid-reading, reality-TV-watching culture encourages emotional intimacy in many contexts. It's easy to join in the exhibitionism, putting yourself in bad company.
How to Recognize a Descent Into Slatternliness
My primary care physician, a woman I'll call Dr. Pearl, is right out of Grey's Anatomy. Lovely, humane, and concerned not only for her patients' physical health but for their overall well-being, she's almost too good to be true. Sadly, I know she probably braces herself every time I visit her.
You see, before my first get-to-know-you physical with Dr. Pearl, I was instructed not to eat or drink, lest I mess up my blood tests. I also knew I'd be subjected to the most agonizing of all medical tests: the weigh-in. So perhaps I fasted longer than technically necessary, avoiding even water, which is really heavy.
My memory of that appointment is kind of blurry, but I believe that when Dr. Pearl asked me about my stress levels, I began compulsively describing everything that ever happened to me in my entire life. Dehydration and low blood sugar turned me into a disclosure train with no brakes. Somewhere between discussing my dread of developing gas during yoga and my detailed description of my childhood hometown (which, in my defense, was rumored to boast of the world's highest per capita consumption of both chocolate doughnuts and antidepressants), Dr. Pearl politely mentioned that therapy was an excellent place to discuss such issues. Well played, Dr. Pearl.
Hours later, filled with chocolate doughnuts, fluids, and horror at my own behavior, I swore to make something positive come from my shameful exhibitionism. I reviewed the appointment mentally, paying special attention to the moment I knew I'd gone too far (sadly, this was very early in the conversation). In hindsight I realized it was the moment Dr. Pearl had flashed a certain micro-expression, basically the nonverbal equivalent of the word oy.
Next: How to read lips (and eyes, and foreheads)