Dear Nice Guy,

I don’t know you yet but I’m so ready to date you. Seriously, I am. For a long time, I dated bad boys. Yes, I was that girl you blame for always coming in last. I guess I dated bad boys because, somehow, I liked their unavailability, sexy sideways glances, and late-night calls. I fed off the chase and mystery they provided me. I saw them as a challenge that I always happily accepted. Let me tell you, I’ve dated so many jerks throughout the years. A lot of times, I ended up being disappointed with how it ended with them, and wondered why I always had such blind optimism about these guys I clearly knew were jerks to begin with. But to be honest, I don’t regret any of it now.

I learned a lot from each and every one of those bad boys. I learned something from every un-answered text, from every “I’m just not looking for a relationship” talk, and from every lame excuse as to why he just couldn’t make to my house party until after 1 am. I guess I never let the jerks get to me. I realized it was never me; it was always them. I was born with an abundance of self-confidence. Maybe that’s why I was never too bothered by each guy who was a jerk to me. Maybe it was because I was smart enough to realize I never actually wanted to end up with a jerk. It was always you I wanted, Nice Guy.

With all that being said, I’m ready to date a Nice Guy. I’ve learned all the lessons I need to learn from bad boys. I now have the ability to distinguish between when to give up on a relationship and when to fight harder. I know all the excuses and lies and can see when it’s right to say a big ‘f*ck you’ or an ‘okay, I’ll let you make it up to me.’ I know what it’s like get all dressed up for a night out only to sit in your room watching Netflix, crying and staring at your phone because the person you had plans with never showed. And that a “got too drunk sorry” text is not a sufficient excuse or apology. I know all these things. My mom always said that the problem with people who end up unhappy is that they don’t know how to walk away from something that has already served it purpose. Well, I can see now that bad boys have served all the purpose they possibly could in my life and that it’s time for me to learn a new lesson. I want to learn from you, Nice Guy.

It’s time for me to learn what its like to have someone to fall back on when I feel weak. It’s time for me to understand what its like to open up to someone without the fear that I’ll be emotionally shamed or that it will scare them away. It’s time for me to understand why people write love songs or tear up at the end of the notebook. I want to know what it’s like to be desired for more than my body, for someone to look at me with passionate eyes, slowly but surely falling in love with my mind, body and soul.

I want to know what it’s like to have someone who will always show up, who will always make time for me and who will always respect me. I want to know what it’s like to be able to count on someone, and know that even though love is never safe, I will be safely hurt by them. Mostly, I know I can learn all these things from you, Nice Guy.

I don’t want anyone thinking I hate bad boys. I don’t hate them; I’m just done with them. I have to thank bad boys for a lot actually. Bad boys have taught me how to depend on myself. How to pick up my broken pieces. They’ve allowed me to secure the perfect break-up remedy. Booze, friends, rebounds, cry, workout, acceptance, find new bad boy, repeat.

I understand myself so much better because of these bad boys. I know what I’m like at my worst. But I’m ready to know what I’m like at my best.

I promise you this, Nice Guy: I don’t know you yet, but I will be a nice girl to you in return. I will show you what you’re like at you’re best. I will treat you with the respect you deserve and will always answer your call when you need me. I will show you what all those bitchy girls couldn’t.

So, I guess all there is left to say is…

I’m ready whenever you are.

If you would like to respond to this article, please do so through our submissions form.