Unlocking Emotional Intelligence: The Impact of My Sugar Relationship

My sugar baby, Izzy, and I are quite different in terms of what she calls “emotional intelligence.” According to her, the difference was that I didn’t have any. At least, that’s what she said on our very first date. To which, I responded that I didn’t care about not having something that sounded made-up.

She didn’t take that too well, I could tell (which, of course, shows that I had at least some emotional intelligence, right?) But instead of getting angry, she smiled.

“I’m going to guess,” she said, “That you’re not the most popular guy at work.”

I shrugged and told her that my line of work wasn’t a popularity contest. It’s not like you can worry about things like that being an FAA inspector.

“Okay,” she continued. “How about your family? Brothers? Sisters?”

I told her that it wasn’t really any of her business, but no, we didn’t have a very close-knit family. I left it at that, choosing not to divulge that in fact, none of us could stand to be in a room together. It usually devolved into a spat of bickering.

“Lots of people don’t have good relationships with their families,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I’m an emotional moron, or whatever you said.”

She looked down at her plate and her face softened. She said, “Good point. I definitely struggle with some of my family members. How about your relationship with your daughter?”

Now, this was a step too far for me. Even though I was never secretive about having an adult daughter, I had never, in all my years of being a sugar daddy, had this kind of conversation on a first date.

“What about it?” I challenged.

“Well, does she open up to you? Does she come to you for advice?”

I hadn’t talked to my daughter in a month. And the last thing she had said to me was, “This is why I don’t come to you with my problems. You have zero empathy!”

Empathy. Another made-up phenomenon.

“I think this date is over,” I said and waved down the waiter.

She still didn’t lose her composure, which was at once infuriating and pretty impressive.

“Okay,” she said neutrally. “I clearly overstepped. I apologize. I’m sure you’re a great dad and are able to be there for her when she needs you. I can order my own car home, don’t worry about it.”

I left enough money on the table to cover the bill and then left before she had even gotten her coat from coat check.

So yeah, I guess, looking back: not a whole lot of emotional intelligence.

And the thing is, I wanted to put that first date behind me for good, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Izzy had said. Every unanswered text from my daughter or call that went straight to voicemail reminded me that Izzy had cut right through to the core. She had me all figured out.

Finally, I asked a buddy of mine who also has a daughter what he thought I was doing wrong. I told him how we had ended our last fight. When he asked me what the fight had even been about, I couldn’t remember.

My buddy shook his head and said, “Maybe that’s the problem. She didn’t want you to fix whatever she was going through; she probably just wanted you to listen. Make her feel like she wasn’t being crazy, even if she was, objectively.”

“That’s empathy?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Where did you learn that?” I asked him.

“20 years of marriage and too many times my daughter telling me to go to hell. I guess I just learned.”

I asked Izzy for another date. She said no. So, I asked if I could just talk to her on the phone, to apologize. Within minutes, she was video calling me.

“I think it’s better to have these kinds of conversations face-to-face, at least,” she said by way of explaining the video call over voice call. I think she knew that eye contact is tough for me.

I don’t remember exactly what I said to her. Something along the lines of, yes, I could admit that I was a jerk at times. I didn’t like to talk about emotions. I could be defensive about certain things, especially my daughter.

Then I admitted that I hadn’t been able to reach my daughter in a while, and I knew it was because of what Izzy had said, the thing about emotional intelligence.

“It’s something that I’d like to work on,” I told her.

That seemed to change Izzy’s mind about having a second date. But she was clear. The minute that I was rude to her or belittled her, she would be out. She also made it clear that if I ever stormed out like that again without making sure that she got home okay, I would never see her again.

“I don’t give second chances often,” she told me. And I believed her.

Over the next few months, my weekly or biweekly dates with Izzy were some of the most frustrating and uncomfortable conversations of my life. In fact, she suggested that we start having our dates in less crowded places so that I could open up more.

I think she also wanted some privacy so that she could be more honest with her critiques of me, which were many and harsh. When I didn’t want to talk about something, she called me sensitive. When I told her that she was talking nonsense, she called me close-minded.

Once, when I was feeling particularly annoyed by her (not surprisingly, we had started talking about my relationship with my daughter), I think I said something especially ugly, like, “Well it’s not like you would ever understand what it’s like to be a parent because no man is ever going to be patient enough to put up with you long-term.”

I knew it was way too far as soon as it came out of my mouth.

“You know,” she said, as she was getting her stuff and moving towards the door. “When I used to work in a restaurant and a customer would complain, my manager would never fight them. She would thank them for their feedback. And then, they would leave, and I would try to get her to talk badly about them, and she still wouldn’t. She told me that the customers who complained were the ones who kept restaurants alive. The ones who had complaints but didn’t say anything and then never came back were the customers who shut down businesses. And 95% of the people you meet in this life will be the quiet ones who just leave and never come back.”

Izzy left, and she stopped answering my messages. I continued depositing money into her account as if we were still seeing each other. For months, I did that.

In the meantime, I wrote a letter to my daughter. I apologized for being emotionally unintelligent and for invalidating her feelings. I apologized for making assumptions and trying to give advice when she didn’t ask for it. I asked, without a guilt-trip or pressure, if she would be willing to go out for lunch sometime. And to my surprise, she said yes.

And the lunch went so well (I mean, I wished that Izzy could see me; I was really on my best behavior, asking follow-up questions, nodding in understanding, being non-judgmental, etc.) that we agreed to meet again two weeks later. And then two weeks after that.

After about five months, my daughter took a selfie with me and then sent it to my phone. Without thinking too much, I forwarded the picture to Izzy and said, “This is my daughter, who is talking to me again because of you. Thank you.”

I got a reply a few hours later that said, “I’m glad you were able to patch things up with her. Let me know if you’d like to grab drinks sometime.”

And that’s how, by some miracle (or more accurately, Izzy’s incredibly good people skills), a sugar baby convinced me that emotional intelligence is a real thing and that if I wanted a relationship with the important people in my life, I’d better get with the program!