I Dated a Huberman Type, Here’s My Story

A pile of dishes fill the sink, the remnants of pie crust litter the dining table. He’s nursing what has to be his third or fourth Old Fashion of the evening. I could sense his mood start to shift as the guests said their good byes, but I’m still in the dark as to why he’s so upset. Namely, with me.

He’s instigated a version of the silent treatment. He’ll respond to me, but only in one to two stilted words.

Can we talk? I ask.

Not tonight he says.

His way of wielding control, leaving me to toss and turn all night, worrying about what I did “wrong” and how I was going to fix it.

(The relationship would completely collapse in on itself a few months later when I finally came to the realization I wasn’t doing anything wrong and no longer needed his approval.)

I thought it’d been a lovely night. He’d insisted we host Thanksgiving in our new Clinton Hill apartment, and while I feared how my mother would handle going against tradition (of her hosting), she showed up, quite literally, with bells on. In the form of two picture perfect pumpkin pies and a case of Chote du Rhone.

We’d invited our old family friends who lived in Manhattan. Our recently purchased cherry oak stained dining table had just arrived. We cooked up a local bird from the Greene Grape, a Brooklyn food institution of sorts. My brother made green bean casserole and buttermilk whipped mashed potatoes. We played several rounds of Cards Against Humanity that had us nearly peeing our pants. Everyone left lightly (or not so lightly) buzzed and happy.

And yet, he was pissed. I’d later realize this wasn’t about me — it wasn’t really that I’d left him hanging in the kitchen (his claim at the time). It wasn’t that he’d had to do all the heavy lifting of preparation. It was other people’s, mine included, joy. Here were six people, gathered in his home, having a wonderful holiday. It mirrored back to him the deep rage and misery that lived within him, and the main emotion he, himself couldn’t access.

The next morning was a continuation of the night before. He barely said a word to me, or offered any sort of explanation. We were slated to have brunch with my family, but he decided he couldn’t go (an additional way of punishing me). I went alone, the whole time anxious over what lay ahead at home. More silence? An explosion?

It devolved into what it frequently did: A long walk. The practice sounds nice, but such outings were always about us carefully examining my “bad behavior” — a way I’d been dismissive, a way I hadn’t considered his needs, a way I’d expected too much— and me apologizing profusely for it. I never really knew what I was saying by the end. My words a jumble, I felt gutted and raw, unsure what I was even apologizing for, more so searching for an exit from his web of supposed hurt.

—————

When the Huberman piece landed last week, a lot of it left a lump in my throat. But most of all, it was the veneer of kindness and emotional maturity he put forth to these women. In response to one of his girlfriends discovering a reference to cheating in his journal, he replied:

“I hear you are saying you are angry and hurt, I will hear you as much as long as needed for us.”

Unless you’ve experienced such performative care or vulnerability, it might land as genuine. It might land as someone who is actually listening to you. Who does want to get to the bottom of what you’re feeling. I certainly did on those walks.

————

There were other walks with my ex. They were less directly focused on a wrongdoing of mine, but tended to always end up there. He made clear he wanted to do our relationship right. And part of doing it right was to really examine all the nooks and crannies of our respective pasts. His intent seemed good. Frankly, it was exactly what I wanted in a partner — to be forthcoming about our shit and work through it. But I never felt lighter or more connected, following these conversations. Instead, I felt filled with shame. Suddenly past relationships of mine that I viewed with reverence and tenderness, became a bad thing. Either a source of something I’d “hidden” from him, or some aspect I’d never considered that he now flipped around as problematic or shameful. I felt insane.

Even as I write this, it’s hard to find the words. Not because the pain is still there, but because I quite literally can’t surface the memories as to what was actually wrong with these relationships. Or how he rationalized the newfound problems he’d surfaced. This, of course, carries the tolken scent of a narcissist. Someone who has the ability to expertly turn your own reality upside down and leave you questioning what you know to be true.

You’re slippery he once said to me. At the time I took it to heart. I took it in as something I really needed to work on. Now I’m disgusted by the ease at which I questioned my own opinion of myself and slotted in his.

——————

I’ve spoken about this crash and burn of a relationship before. In podcasts, in blog posts. But there’s a particular facet — also stirred by the Huberman debacle — that I never touched on. Academic elitism paired with professional prowess.

For years I merely thought it was curious that my ex had earned his Phd from Harvard, had multiple book deals with Penguin, had been reviewed and lauded by the likes of Michael Pollan, the New York Times Book Review, the Wall Street Journal etc but also happened to be a narcissistic prick. Just because someone is smart and successful doesn’t mean they’ll be a thoughtful human, but we do tend to assume the two go together.

The second there was mention of a Stanford lab (Huberman’s lab) that was potentially a false entity, I thought back to this jarring dichotomy within my ex: Someone who, from the outside looking in, appeared so astute and thoughtful. A mind you’d want to get behind (just like Huberman). But internally, whose personal life was a shamble of at best, flakey interactions, and at worst, manipulative, deceitful relationships. Again, it’s not to say, “Well you went to Stanford or Harvard, you damn well better be a moral person.” Rather, it’s the morality and general goodness these men exude in conjunction with their intelligence.

To my knowledge, my ex wasn’t seeing other women (Though, after this article, it has me thinking twice.), but he was holding a sizable lie. My ex had a son with his ex-wife. We decided to date for a while before I met his son, to see if things got serious enough to warrant influencing the day to day of a child’s life. Namely, his time spent with his Dad. As a child of divorce, this was exceptionally important to me.

Five months after we’d started dating and had plans to move in together, we decided it was time. I made clear to my ex I wanted him to discuss this with his ex-spouse. I wanted to her to feel at ease. I offered to meet with her in person, if that would help. His son was going to be spending every weekend with us. It felt like an important thing to offer — a way to ensure we were all on the same page for the sake of the child.

What did she say? I asked on the heels of their visit. He’d gone to drop off his son and have a conversation with her.

It went well he said.

How does she feel about this? Should I meet her? I asked.

No no he said, already on to gathering a snack in the kitchen. She understands it’s natural for us to both see other people and has no issue with it.

I stood there silently. I mean, I didn’t want to push, but something felt so off.

Six months later, on what would be the same night we’d break up, I met his wife. She’d tracked down my Instagram and discovered I was giving a talk at a public event. My ex, had apparently refused to let her meet me, so she took matters into her own hands.

I’ll never forget her standing before me and saying I just wanted to meet the person who was spending time with my son.

Later that evening, when I confronted my ex about the encounter, he was adamant he hadn’t lied to me and hadn’t lied to her. Furthermore, he made clear that this little snafu didn’t negate any of my bad behavior across the relationship.

It’s tough because even in these moments, even as I write this to you, I find myself wanting to jump in and say, “Well here’s how I contributed to the problem!” Almost as if to ensure you believe the prior claims I’m making, so the narrative doesn’t appear too one sided.

But if the tables were turned? They were in Huberman’s case, and he denied every accusation of blame. Nothing was his fault, all accounts from these women were lies.

I have zero doubt my ex would do the same.

——————

A week’s gone by and the dust seems to have settled, for Huberman at least. Occasionally I’ll venture over to his Instagram to peruse the comments section. It never delivers the satisfaction I’m searching for. Satisfaction would look like admittance. Acknowledgement of the hurtful nature of his behavior and the role he played. Some basic level of remorse.

But he could never. Because, I believe, one of the very things that holds not just his sense of self, but the larger infrastructure of his professional endeavors and achievements together is this ability to wall up in this manner. This ability to maintain an impenetrably positive and stoic view of himself. He genuinely believes he’s doing nothing but good in the world, and I suppose in some ways, he is. But it’s arguably immensely unfair (not to mention, maddening), that as a man, he just gets to….carry on.

Elise Loehnen has spoken and written extensively about women’s obligation to be good. She’s also spoken and written about the shake up with Huberman. This line from an Instagram caption sums up beautifully the fiery rage I, and so any others, feel: “Men are immune to assaults on their morality so long as we perceive them as powerful.”

I found my ex to be wildly powerful, and debilitatingly sexy because of it. I was completely enamored with his intelligence and wit, the way he confidently moved through the world — whether he was mixing up a cocktail or working on his book. For the first few months, at least, I felt honored to even be let into his world. Being chosen by him felt significant.

I wonder if these women felt chosen by Huberman. I wonder if it the led them to abandon their better judgement and make excuses for his behavior. I know for myself, it wasn’t just my ex’s behavior at play — it was the little, performative, girl inside of me, who so deeply wanted to be patted on the head, and not just told she was pretty and good, but told she was excellent. Told what she was doing and creating in the world was different. I wonder if he did that for these women.

Maybe some day things will change, in the realm of men and power and women and goodness. But for now, I suppose our only opportunity for change — at least in my case — is the source of our admiration and approval. I was so hungry for that when I fell into the arms of my Harvard Phd toting ex. I’m much less so these days. And while the advent of Huberman’s fall stirred up old feelings and anger and regret, it reminded me, too, of my exes and frankly what I believe Huberman suffers from, too: An inability to feel the full spectrum, the full complexity of emotions, namely, joy. And with that, life.

Because let’s be honest, this Andrew Huberman will undoubtedly continue to have a great career. But a fulfilling, rich and nourishing partnership and love? Doubtful.