First, let’s establish a baseline. My stalker, whom we’ll call “Dave,” was pathetic. Not frightening in a clever, You -on-Netflix kind of way. Dave was the kind of stalker who used his mother’s Netflix account to message me on LinkedIn. He left wilted grocery-store daisies on my car—the $5.99 kind with the plastic wrap still on. He would “coincidentally” show up at my coffee shop, sit six tables away, and stare at his phone while clearly taking photos of me on silent mode.
Why do we fall for the "Dark Protector" trope? It’s because, in moments of extreme vulnerability, we are desperate to outsource our safety. We want to believe in a knight in shining armor so badly that we don't look closely at the blood on his sword. the admirer who fought off my stalker was an even worse hot
When you are being stalked, your nervous system is in overdrive. You are hypervigilant, exhausted, and desperate for safety. Enter the admirer who seems to offer three things: First, let’s establish a baseline