Divorce rearranged more than my relationship status. It changed what I think love is, what I am willing to excuse, and how easily a person can disappear inside a relationship while still technically being there.

For a long time, I thought being good at love meant being adaptable and able to compromise. I could make myself smaller without calling it shrinking. I could call over-functioning being supportive. I could easily fill the gap where their lack of curiosity about me should shine and not even notice. Give me almost any incompatibility, and I could find a compassionate reason it shouldn’t count. I could twist any red flag into a PR talking point.

I was very good at making things work, and even better at enduring things that I shouldn’t. That has been one of the harder lessons of healing after divorce: the goal is not to become so wise, self-aware, and emotionally capable that I can tolerate anything. The goal is to know myself well enough to love deeply, choose clearly, and let go when I need to.

I am still learning what that looks like.

Attraction is not compatibility. Chemistry is not character. Intention is not capacity. Someone can genuinely care about me and still not have the ability to show up in the ways a relationship requires. I am learning to watch what people do, not just what they say they want to do. Do their actions match their words? Do they make room for me in practice, not just in theory? Can they follow through when life gets inconvenient?

And when we inevitably hurt each other – because even good relationships rupture – can we repair? Can we name what happened without turning it into a trial? Can we hear each other without immediately becoming defensive? Can we apologize, adjust, and do something differently next time?

I no longer need someone who never gets it wrong. I need someone who knows what to do after they do. Someone’s pain can explain their behavior without excusing it. Being loved is not the same thing as being considered. Wanting a relationship is not the same thing as having the capacity to sustain one.

And I can care deeply about someone and still decide they are not right for me.

Because once you have survived divorce, rebuilt a life, developed some boundaries, and assembled a reasonably functional sense of self, there is really only one responsible next step:

Determining which cryptids are emotionally available enough to date.

If I am going to entertain mysterious creatures with questionable histories, erratic communication, unresolved trauma, and unclear intentions, I may as well admit I have some relevant experience.

The difference is that now I have standards. I have, after all, dated my share of monsters. The healing is that I can finally recognize one before I start explaining its behavior to my friends.

So, as a divorced woman with stronger boundaries, a suspiciously high tolerance for weirdness, and considerably less interest in turning someone’s potential into a renovation project, I present:

The definitive ranking of cryptids by romantic compatibility.

The question is no longer whether I’d fuck it. The question is whether it has the capacity to show up, whether its actions match its words, whether it can repair after a rupture, plan a date, and avoid becoming my next healing journey.

5. The Jersey Devil

The Jersey Devil is what happens when red flags grow wings. Intense. Chaotic. Complicated backstory. Several exes who are somehow all “crazy.” You know the type. Nothing is ever their fault.

I used to think understanding someone’s wounds meant I should stay patient with the damage they caused. Now I know better. Pain can explain behavior. It does not make me responsible for surviving it.

Relationship potential: 2/10. The two points are for wings.

4. The Loch Ness Monster

Nessie is mysterious, elegant, and apparently never around when you actually need her. A glimpse here. A ripple there. Maybe a blurry photo if conditions are perfect. That is not a support system.

I have learned that partnership is not about who is charming when things are easy. It is about who shows up when life gets ugly. Can I call you when I am scared? Will you sit beside me through grief, illness, bad news, and the kind of days that are not remotely romantic?

Love is not just being adored in the good moments. It is being accompanied through the hard ones. Nessie, babe, if I have to launch a sonar expedition every time I need emotional support, this is not going to work.

Relationship potential: 4/10.

3. The Snallygaster

The Snallygaster is a Maryland local with wings, claws, tentacles, and – according to some of the earliest stories – a taste for sucking the blood of its victims. Which raises an important dating question: Sexy vampire or life-sucking leech?

The line can be thinner than you’d think. I have already done the kind of love where I pour and pour until I look around and realize I’m running on empty. I don’t want that again. I want a partner who adds life to mine – not someone whose needs, crises, and emotional appetite slowly empty my veins.

I can support you without sustaining you. I can love you without becoming your blood transfusion. So, Snallygaster, the tentacles are intriguing. The draining my life force is a dealbreaker.

Relationship potential: 5/10.

2. Bigfoot

Bigfoot checks several boxes. Outdoorsy. Independent. Well-traveled. Low social-media presence. Comfortable with body hair. Unfortunately, this man will not communicate. Footprints. Grainy footage. Strange noises in the woods. Sir. At some point, this is breadcrumbing.

I am no longer interested in decoding people. I ask what they want, then I watch what they do.

And when something goes wrong, I want repair. Not perfection. Repair. Can you acknowledge the hurt, apologize, adjust, and do better next time?

Bigfoot, call me when you are ready to use your big mouth words.

Relationship potential: 8/10.

1. Mothman

There was never another winner. I am from West Virginia, and we have rules.

Mothman is tall, winged, mysterious, red-eyed, and – if the Point Pleasant statue is admissible evidence – possessed of an absolutely perfect ass. Iykyk. So yes, physical attraction is covered.

But more importantly, Mothman may actually be a proactive communicator who feels at home on a double date. Depending on which version of the legend you believe, he appears before disaster strikes. That means he is perceptive. He is warning you. You just have to listen. And frankly, I appreciate a partner who sees a problem developing and brings it up before the bridge collapses.

I am not looking for perfect anymore. I am looking for consistency. Capacity. Repair. Actions that match words. Someone who can say, “Something feels off,” before we are both standing in the wreckage.

So Mothman, if you are reading this: Keep the communication proactive. Keep showing up. Keep doing whatever squats produced that statue. But if we have a rupture, flying off into the woods does not count as repair.

I have dated monsters before. The difference is that now I know how to recognize one. And frankly, I prefer mine communicative, self-aware, and built like a municipal thirst trap.

Relationship potential: 10/10.

Obviously.