That's the thing that's so messed up about dating, is that you

In the ever-shifting labyrinth of love, where hearts meet and part, the comedian Taylor Tomlinson speaks with the honesty of one who has walked through both laughter and heartbreak: “That’s the thing that’s so messed up about dating, is that you start hearing all these stories about how nuts their ex-girlfriend or -boyfriend or whoever was, and the longer that you date the more relatable those stories become — the more you realize it’s just their account, and it’s not necessarily what actually transpired.” Though her words are clothed in humor, they shine with ancient wisdom — for she is speaking not only of dating, but of perception, truth, and the nature of human storytelling itself.

At the heart of Tomlinson’s insight lies a simple but profound truth: that every human being carries their own version of the past, a story shaped as much by pain as by memory. When people speak of their former loves, they seldom tell the tale as it truly was; they tell it as they felt it, or as they wish it to be remembered. Every heartbreak becomes a myth, each retelling a small act of self-preservation. But as one grows wiser in love, as Tomlinson notes, we begin to see through these myths — we realize that the villain in one story may have been the hero in another, and that every ending is written by two trembling hands, not one.

This truth is as old as humanity. The ancient poets, too, knew the distortion of memory. When Helen of Troy was blamed for the war that burned a thousand ships, was she truly the destroyer of men, or merely a woman caught between gods and prideful kings? The poets could not agree — for every story has two sides, and each teller believes their own. In the same way, Tomlinson’s modern reflection carries the same eternal message: beware the single narrative, for it is but one flame among many that light the truth. Love, like history, is never written by one hand alone.

As the years pass, and the listener of many love stories becomes a participant in their own, empathy begins to blossom where judgment once stood. When we first hear of someone’s “crazy ex,” we take sides, seeing one as the victim, the other as the cause of pain. But with time — and with our own mistakes — we come to understand that relationships are mirrors, not battlefields. They reflect not only who our partners are, but who we are in their presence. And so, Tomlinson’s humor hides a bittersweet awakening: that every story we hear about others may one day become our own, reshaped by memory and emotion until we, too, are the narrator of our own partial truth.

The wisdom of her words extends beyond love; it touches the human condition itself. All people are unreliable narrators of their lives. Our minds edit the truth to protect our hearts. We remember our intentions more than our actions, our pain more than our flaws. Thus, when Tomlinson says that these stories become “relatable,” she is reminding us that the more we live, the more we see ourselves not as innocent witnesses, but as participants in the imperfection of being human. To love is to misunderstand and to be misunderstood — yet still to try again.

History offers us another lesson in this truth. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, wrote often about perception — how the same event, seen through different eyes, becomes a different world. “Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact,” he said. And so it is with love. When one lover tells a tale of betrayal, the other may tell a tale of loneliness. Both are true — and both are incomplete. To see this is not cynicism, but wisdom: the understanding that truth is shared, not possessed.

So, dear listener, take this teaching to heart: do not judge another’s story until you have lived enough to see your own with clarity. When you hear of the “crazy ex” or the “toxic partner,” listen with compassion, but keep an open mind. Remember that in love, as in life, truth is never one-sided. Strive to know yourself as deeply as you seek to know others. When conflict comes, speak gently, for one day your words may be the story someone else tells about you.

And when the world of relationships grows confusing, as it always does, let Tomlinson’s wisdom guide you: see the humor in humanity’s contradictions, the grace in imperfection, and the shared frailty in every heart. For laughter, born of understanding, is the highest form of forgiveness — and to forgive is to be free.