They Knew Ghosting Was Not Kind. Here’s Why They Did It Anyway.

Ten people explain why, instead of saying it’s over, they decided to just disappear.

Ghosting — or cutting off contact without explanation — has become such a scourge for modern daters that Esther Perel, a couples therapist, calls it a “manifestation of the decline of empathy in our society.” Ghosters have acquired reputations as selfish villains tossing good relationships away.

But those who disappear on their paramours have their reasons for going silent. Sometimes, they feel guilt and shame, but do it anyway. Here are 10 stories from ghosters, spanning the gamut of age and experience, whose own actions continue to haunt them.

He made things exciting. He picked me up in his red-leather Mercedes. He had his own condo, a flashier lifestyle. My parents didn’t make a ton of money — we ate Miracle Whip on white bread. His parents had a lot of money.

Things shifted for me when he said his dream travel destination was Chernobyl. When you have a safety net that might not exist for others, you can have a $10,000 tour where they give you a hazmat suit. He seemed to have a vigor for life that I would eventually understand comes pretty easily when you are a rich white male. On paper, that seems like someone a lot of women would want. But it piqued my fears of inadequacy.

It wasn’t going to work. Eventually I just stopped replying. I am a people-pleaser — I knew that I could be guilted into more dates. And maybe in the back of my mind, I thought: Oh, he’ll be fine. He and his Mercedes will live happily ever after.

I always told myself I would never, ever ghost somebody. It has been a year now, and I still feel so bad. The person I ghosted is appearing in my dreams.

We found out we both went to all-girls Catholic schools. We were like, OK, we have to meet up. We went to a restaurant, and she talked about her first job, as a nurse during the pandemic. I was a social media manager, and I thought, My God, what I am doing is so dumb compared to that. She can afford to live by herself. I was living with two other girls, and everything I made was going directly to rent. She paid for the meal.

I told her I would text. I wrote out a text like,

But how much do I share? Do I tell her I’m super broke, and that her stable career is intimidating to me? Leaving those things out felt unfairly vague.

And then I would write out:

And I wouldn’t send that. And then,

Four months later, I wrote:

But I never sent it. I didn’t know what I wanted.

We met up four or five times. I did have a really good connection with her. But she started planning out a whole summer of activities. I had been recently in a long-term relationship, and I felt as if I was walking right back into one.

Over text, I expressed that things were moving a little fast. At first she was understanding; then she said, “Come over, I want to see you.” She also wanted to send explicit photos. I declined. She texted again that she wanted to send something.

I didn’t text again after that. I bared my feelings and felt as if they were being ignored. It was kind of like your computer overheating, so I just turned off the computer.

I looked up from my book, and I saw this person looking at me. They had these lovely little freckles all over their face and strawberry blond hair that swooped up to the side, and the most gorgeous smile. It blossomed from there.

They had all the qualities I didn’t. They were laid-back; I am Type A. They were communicative when I shut down. It was the most free I had ever felt in a relationship. We said we loved each other.

But then every time they would leave, I felt a sinking feeling in my chest. I grew up in a small town that’s conservative and Christian. In college, I realized I was queer. I didn’t come out to my parents, and I probably never will, because I don’t think I would have parents anymore if I did. The cognitive dissonance got so loud that I felt the need to end it. I stopped responding or making plans.

I almost wanted them to hate me. If I could ghost and hand them an excuse for not liking me anymore, I wanted to do that.

I have been ghosted many times. I felt depressed, dismissed, betrayed. It’s every sad thing you’d see in a rom-com with some girl played by Kate Hudson. At a certain point, I was like, I’ll just start ghosting guys back. It’s an act of hostility. Ghosting men is my revenge.

I really liked a lot of things about him. He’s very curious — an amazing question-asker. The dates were long, and it was a sweet, earnest connection. But we tried to have sex, and I just didn’t feel a spark.

We had planned a hike. And I just noticed I was dreading it. So I texted to say I would love some space. I said,

To me, space means no talking, but he texted a photo a few days later. I had given him a hat for his birthday — maybe a bad move on my part — and in the photo, he was wearing the hat. It felt like really twisting my guilt. I never responded.

As a clinical psychologist, I ask clients all day to do hard things. I teach them: No one’s going to die from sending this text. But when I sat down to send that text to him, my body was like, I cannot do this. It felt impossible to do myself what I see my clients doing all the time.

I have this job where I’m traveling quite a bit, so I was looking for something more on the casual side. She was looking for something similar. Then I was away for a week, and I had to catch up on a bunch of work.

That’s when things started going downhill, because I wasn’t able to give the attention that I had prior. The longest I left her hanging was maybe a whole day. There were double and triple texts from her. The first one would be, like, Yo, just checking in. The second one would be, Hello? And then I got,

I felt I didn’t show any indication to not trust me. I felt like I was being accused of something. Frankly, I did ghost, out of spite. I think it’s a super immature thing to do. But at the time, it felt good to do it. It felt cathartic.

We bonded over being non-Americans in the United States. We were like, Americans are flaky — they say, “Let’s meet again,” and don’t mean it. As we were parting ways, she was like, I’d like to see you again. I said, “Absolutely!” She texted me a day later: “I really meant it, not just in an American way.”

But I wasn’t quite feeling it, and I didn’t know how to answer. To then be like, Actually, just kidding? It makes you feel like a liar. In this case, I was just one of those stereotypical Americans.

He was just as handsome as his pictures. It was instantly comfortable, and his interest was clear. But I had gotten very proactive with dating, and the dating apps open the door to talking to a lot of people at the same time. I had probably eight other people talking to me. So he was kind of put to the side when I met somebody else.

I want to give people the breakup conversation they deserve, so they’re not left wondering. When only one person was courting me, I had an easier time having that talk, but I found myself dreading the idea of repeating the same draining conversation.

The first time I ever ghosted someone was a week after I turned 63.

He seemed like a great match: nice, employed, still had all his hair. After lunch, we went to his apartment complex and swam in the fancy pool. Then he invited me to stay longer. I told him I needed to go home to take care of my dog. But I went to the restroom to change out of my swimsuit, and when I came out, he said: OK, so we’re going out to dinner.

That’s when it happened. This moment where I was like, This guy is lonely. If I’m with this person, I’m going to be asked to fill a void.

I got in my car, and a Taylor Swift song came on, and I started crying. I was so upset. I guess every time you meet somebody, you hope. But at my age, dating is an exercise in compromise. I’ve constantly been compromising: My husband decided, after 30 years, that he was gay; after my divorce, I dated a married man for three years.

Maybe that’s why I was sad, too. Because I’m not going to compromise anymore. I’ve seen the mistakes that come from trying to make someone into something I want them to be. I knew I wasn’t going to respond to him ever again.

Interviews are edited and condensed from multiple conversations, emails and text messages. In some instances, middle names were used.

Stella Tan is an audio producer for the New York Times podcast “The Daily.” She spoke with more than 50 people about their dating and ghosting experiences for this article.