Yo-Yo Syndrome: The Art of Changing One’s Mind
As I stare vacantly at the jumble of words on the menu, I ask what everyone else is ordering, hoping that this in turn will help me decide what I would like to eat. Essentially, I’m hoping someone will make the choice for me as I deliberate, internally changing my mind repeatedly before placing my order.
Similarly, deciding to meet a man I’ve connected with on a dating app catapults me into a sea of consternation; should I or shouldn’t I? It’s a question I will ask myself over and over again to the point where I am left exhausted, ready to throw my phone onto a bonfire.
Such shameful indecisiveness has led to a self-diagnosis of ‘yo-yo syndrome’, an expression I have coined to describe the severe condition of unequivocal self-doubt, a disorder whereby you lose all faith in your own opinion entirely. (Not to be confused with yo-yo knickers, that’s something quite different altogether).
It started a few years ago, when, against my better judgement, I decided to fraternise with a man I knew was no good, let’s call him AH for short. He first tried to lure me into his sweaty embrace at a party, but luckily I was aware of his newly born child at home and with full clarity of mind, told him to “Do one”.
He made numerous vain attempts in the subsequent years to contact me, but I remained resolute; I am a respectable woman with integrity after all. Until one day, AH declared that I couldn’t possibly resist his fervent advances any longer; he was now very much single. Of course, the sceptic in me thought this was just a ruse to entrap me, but some undercover detective work corroborated his story; I was out of excuses.
After much principled deliberation, mulling over whether my decision to meet a man who was clearly morally bankrupt was appropriate, I decided (at least in a fleeting moment) that dinner couldn’t hurt. I instantly regretted it and spent days trying to convince myself he was a changed man - everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?
The meeting did take place after much to-ing and fro-ing and with a persistent feeling of trepidation; I knew there was something off about him but curiosity got the better of me. I should also mention that my ego was mostly to blame here, being pursued by a man for four years, as much I hate to admit it, was flattering.
The red flags were there from the start, yet in a blinkered fit of optimism I ignored them, hoping that there really was a genuine reason for his three-week phone abstinence after our first date. Every time he suggested meeting, I would present myself with the motion ‘This house believes that you should NOT see this man again.’ The leader of the opposition was frustratingly persuasive.
I’m embarrassed to admit it took a few dinners before I proved to myself he really wasn’t boyfriend material after all; he was of course as untrustworthy and unscrupulous as I suspected him to be, my very own Daniel Cleaver. What’s more troubling, however, is why I ever questioned my judgement in the first place.
Why did I ignore my gut instinct and allow such a pitiful excuse of a man to prove me right all along? Am I really so incapable of making my own evaluations, or just maybe when it comes to men, I live in eternal hope? While my decision-making skills may have not improved since this sorry encounter, I’m pleased to say my twat-detecting skills are on fire.