Why being the nice guy never got me chosen

If you're the bloke people confide in, the one who helps, listens and never causes any friction, and yet you're never the one they choose, I'd like to show you where that started for me.

I was thirteen. Our house was split-level, and I was downstairs under the pool table, close to the carpet. My parents were upstairs in the kitchen. I wasn't hiding, and I wasn't listening in. I was just there.

Then the voices changed. My mother wasn't arguing anymore. She was explaining why she was leaving. I remember going very still, as if staying quiet might stop what was happening above me.

It didn't. That was the last time we were all in that house together. We'd already left South Africa and moved away from family, and that house was everything I knew.

At thirteen I didn't have the words for any of it. What I did have was a quiet feeling that I was somehow responsible. And from that, some rules settled into me. They weren't thoughts I questioned. They were instincts I followed:

Don't be that man. Don't upset women. Don't become the reason someone leaves.

Those rules followed me into places they didn't belong. I got very good at being easy to be with. I listened carefully, I helped where I could, and I adjusted myself to meet people where they were.

When I eventually read No More Mr Nice Guy by Dr Robert Glover, it didn't feel like new information. It felt like recognition. Underneath all that giving was a quiet expectation: if I was consistent enough and thoughtful enough, and never created any discomfort, I'd be chosen.

I wasn't rejected outright. I was repositioned. Supportive, reliable, easy to have around, but not someone they chose. And I wasn't being honest, either with them or with myself. I'd prioritised being liked over being known.

For over 20 years I struggled to find a partner. Avoiding conflict felt like stability. It isn't. Sometimes it's just fear wearing a calmer face.

It wasn't a new technique. With my mate Tom, a men's group and therapy, I started paying attention to whether I was being honest rather than whether I was being seen as good. When I felt something, I said it. Not to force a response, just to say where I stood.

Sometimes it wasn't returned, and for the first time I could stay with that. I also got clear on what I actually wanted. In Balding Overweight Sex Machine we call this your Five and Five: five must-haves and five deal breakers. Mine were intelligent, a sense of humour, nice to look at, kind and independent. My deal breakers were being critical, lying, being a dream-killer, untreated mental health issues and a victim mentality.

And then the harder question: do I live up to my own list? I'd been waiting to be chosen without looking at what I brought to the table.

I'm now with the love of my life, Sam. That didn't come from becoming harder. It came from becoming honest.

Over the next week, notice the small moments when you choose comfort over honesty: a conversation where you stay quiet, a boundary you avoid, a feeling you play down.

Pick one of those moments and try staying present. Not aggressively, not perfectly. Just honestly.

Then, if you want to go further, write your own Five and Five, and next to each one, an honest note on whether you're living it yourself.

Honesty and connection can exist at the same time. That's what I had to learn, and it changed everything that came after.