If you’ve ever had someone just “disappear,” for no apparent reason, then you’ve experienced “fear of intimacy.” I’m referring to emotional intimacy. Psychologists state, “when individuals are faced with the fear of intimacy, stemming from an awareness of the risks involved, they may impair the relationship by avoiding taking these risks.” That’s a fancy way of saying that they leave. Although the term “fear of intimacy” is new, the phenomenon is not. My friend Stephanie calls it the “freak out dance,” Evelyn refers to frightened men as “borderline personalities,” and Judy just says that they’re “lost.” I see it as an extreme form of ambivalence.

When I met Adam through JDate, he was (too) recently widowed. Although claiming to want another “long-term relationship,” this is how it played out. On Monday, we had a great conversation, but he ended it by saying that he needed “more alone time.” On Tuesday, he said that he was looking forward being with me and asked me out for Saturday. On Wednesday, he told me that he was “dealing with a lot right now” and needed to “work some things out.” On Thursday, he said that he wanted to see me Friday and Saturday. We had a great time on Friday, but on Saturday, he said, “How would you feel if things didn’t work out between us?”

If Benjamin’s JDate profile was to be believed, he personified everything I love about New York Jewish men—warm, funny, and very Jewish! Okay, he was 42 and never married, but based on his “Ideal Relationship,” he seemed ready. I also was ready to go the distance—all 3,000 miles. He wrote:

I run to the drugstore at 2:00 a.m. to buy tissues when she is sick. We drink out of the same soda bottle and double dip in the ice cream container. We dine on Yonah Schimmel’s knishes and have cheesecake in the fridge and a brisket in the oven. We light Shabbos candles on Friday night and each other’s fire on Saturday. We give to the UJA. We have children who win the Nobel Prize and the Stanley Cup. We kvell over our grandkids and brag to everyone how smart and talented they are.

For four months, we talked on the phone for at least an hour a day. He never ran out of ways to keep me laughing. But, between all the humor, I learned that he had moved back to his childhood home to take care of his mother and worked long hours as a hospital radiologist. He sent me a ticket to visit him in New York.

He was late to the airport and told me that he would be working every day until my departure. However, he had my itinerary planned, so I wouldn’t miss a minute of all that New York had to offer, and he added that we could get together each night after he finished work. I saw more of New York than I saw of Benjamin.

Cliff’s MO was the “preemptive strike.” He contacted me through JDate and, the morning after our conversation, sent me an e-mail, filled with mixed messages. He wrote, “I am pretty sure [not “positive”] that we don’t have enough in common . . . however, I find you to be “an incredible lady, very intelligent, and very attractive.” He added, “It’s too bad that we don’t have a bit more [now it’s just “a bit”] in common.” Between the lines, he seemed interested.

A month later, I tested my hypothesis and e-mailed him. “Perhaps we just had a ‘bad connection’. Would you like to give it another try?” He wrote back, “I thought you were terrific . . . incredibly intelligent . . . and very attractive. However, I got the impression that you have more sophisticated tastes . . . Knowing that, if you would like to give it another try, that would be great. If not, I would understand.” He signed off, “I am hoping you say yes!” Hadn’t I already?

We made plans to get together. But, a little later, he sent me an e-mail. “I remembered something else . . . ” and recounted another “difference.” “If that’s a problem, I understand. If you would rather pass on me, maybe just don’t respond . . . I hate rejection. I do hope to hear from you again.”

I wrote back, “I won’t deny our ‘differences’, but, from what I know about you, I like you.” But it was too late. He wrote, “What you said was sweet, but . . . I would feel inadequate. This is . . . my insecurity. I hate rejection.” Who was rejecting whom?

Now I’m developing a fear of intimacy.