The First Date… smitten, or love bombed? | by Veritas | Aug, 2025

What does a 30-something divorcee wear on her first date in 7 years — Louboutin heels, Chanel handbag and her heart on her sleeve — a stylish but tragic combination.

I arrived at the bar full of nerves but determined to see this through. I had low expectations of how it would go, having heard endless stories of the grim dating world from single friends.

DH and I had parted ways with a promise to meet when we were back in London. That was 4 months ago. This felt more like “getting back on the horse” than a real shot at romance.

Boy, was I wrong?! What was it about this man that had me verbal vomiting my life’s ups and downs, my ambitions and innermost fears? How could somebody be equal parts charming and vulnerable?

It was an intoxicating combination — especially for me, coming out of an abusive relationship, I was desperate to be seen, accepted as I am — no, celebrated for being who I was.

That’s exactly what DH did, he made me feel validated, he championed me for being a strong woman and putting my needs first. He made me feel beautiful and wanted, things I hadn’t felt in a really, really, really long time.

Our first date was quickly followed by a second and third date, DH was like a drug that I couldn’t get enough of. Dinners, drinks, theatre, holding hands walking the streets, kisses in public places — I wasn’t being treated like a shameful secret, I was being paraded as a prized possession. DH was proud of being with me and I was basking in that glory.

I came across a photo from those early days and without my rose-tinted glasses, I can see that I was objectively attractive and DH really wasn’t! He was awkwardly skinny with sharp features, bad skin and bad teeth. His charm and confidence together with the stories of his dating prowess, knitted together to project an image of a trophy husband, one I felt grateful to be with. The reality is that he was reaching, not me.

Looking back, I can’t believe how quickly I started trusting everything he was telling me, even when things didn’t make rational sense.

I remember on an early date that he pulled out a wad of cash to pay for something but the vendor didn’t accept cash. DH had no cards, so I picked up the bill. I didn’t mind paying — Destiny’s Child had drilled being an Independent Woman into me — but I found it strange that a 20-something professional, in a primarily cashless city, didn’t use cards. He explained that he had gotten into some debt a few years ago and felt it best to manage his finances only using cash.

It felt like a reasonable explanation at the time and I was too polite and naïve to question what kinds of things require people to keep cash.

DH shared a lot of stories about his childhood early on, painting a picture of poverty, of being singled out by his step-father, of being told he wouldn’t amount to anything and proving his family wrong by exceling in his career and landed a job in the big smoke. A real rag to riches story of a heroic victim.

He believed his mother was jealous of his successes — something I found hard to accept about any parent, surely they want their child to do better than themselves — apparently not, according to DH, he was living the life his mother wanted and she was bitter about it.

As much as these stories made me feel uncomfortable, they made me feel sorry for DH more, which of course was exactly what he wanted — what he needed.

He doubled down on being a victim through stories about his past relationships, apparently all of his exes had cheated on him. The first was caught in the act by him, months after he had proposed to her in New York, during a family holiday, with a Tiffany engagement ring. There are a few things that ring alarm bells here, a family holiday to NYC doesn’t fit with a family living in poverty, does it?

That proposal was just the first of three he’d made before getting down on one knee for me. Each one allegedly ended due to infidelity on their parts.

A wiser person would have called bullshit on this, are we really to believe that every single one of his relationships ended with them cheating on him? The likelihood is that he did catch one of them cheating and realised quickly that it was the perfect story to harness empathy from future marks. It had the added benefit of them not questioning his actions and whereabouts because a victim of cheating, surely wouldn’t cheat on someone else, would they?

Clearly, I wasn’t the wise one in this story. I wondered what the chances of that happening were and concluded that this poor man really had been taken advantage of and I would ensure that he never felt insecure with me.

Looking back, I wasn’t falling in love — I was falling into a role he’d already written for me.

He had me hook, line and sinker and I was about to go deeper…smitten, probably. Love-bombed, definitely.

Next time — Devaluation and Discard: the classic Narcissist follow-up to love-bombing, and the part no one warns you about.

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