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This round on the dating apps was an experience I was not expecting.
I’ve been here before, like so many others. On them. Off them. You see some of the same people, a few exes even, but you roll with it. Rinse, repeat.
But this time it was different.
This time, I was triggered to a degree that I couldn’t even begin to understand.
I’ve always struggled with dating. I’m one of the chronically single. I’ve had plenty of experiences, but none very long term. I’m not going to pretend I’m perfect, far from it, but my relationships tend to end with a whimper rather than the giant red flags I hear about from others. Lots of conversations about no spark and “let’s just be friends.”
Conversely, my friends press me, wondering why I’m still single. At this point, I mostly shrug. I don’t know. Of course I’m the common denominator, but it really does take two.
My dating app history has followed a pattern: connect, vibe, date…then this odd sense of pressure creeps in.
It starts to feel forced. Sometimes it fizzles because it moved too fast. But when I’ve tried to take it slow, I get put in the friend category. It’s a pattern, and it’s exhausting. But we all have our own patterns, so mine isn’t better or worse than anyone else’s. A lot of it is my own discomfort or inability to exist in the space of the unknown.
Like right now. And it’s killing me.
Lately, I’ve been having deep conversations with a few close friends. This recent match seemed promising at first, but before long I found myself emotionally spiraling. And it was frustrating and baffling, because I didn’t know why. Triggers I thought I had resolved came rushing back. Things like self-love, fear of abandonment, not mattering, not belonging. All of it hit me like I was six years old again.
I still don’t fully understand it, but those conversations brought up something worth looking at. It feels like those of us navigating the dating app world are having similar experiences. We say we’re looking for connection, and maybe on the surface we are. But we’re also incredibly busy, and most of us aren’t truly making connection a priority.
More than that, there are unhealed parts of ourselves we’ve never stopped to confront. The mirrors we don’t want to look into.
We’ve all had that moment where we meet someone we’re excited about, and then, for one reason or another, it fades. My female friends tell me about men who say they’re special, who seem invested, and then disappear the next day. For me, it’s matching with someone who says they’re interested but can barely carve out an hour between back-to-back obligations. If we finally meet, syncing up again feels like a miracle. The momentum disappears before anything even has a chance to grow.
It kind of feels like this is happening to all of us, yet we’re also not truly choosing each other either.
In the U.S., and I think partly due to social media, dating now seems to follow a specific playbook. There’s a checklist. If someone doesn’t meet all the criteria right away, they’re gone. We’ve created rules around value, timelines, exclusivity, and dating rosters. Some of these rules came from personal pain, but over time they’ve solidified into expectations that apply to everyone. And instead of bringing clarity, they seem to be making us lonelier than ever.
I think these rules give us a sense of control or empowerment, but often they’re just covering fear. Fear of being hurt again. Fear of being abandoned. Fear of being used. And while I would never say those fears aren’t valid, I have to ask: if we remove vulnerability from the equation, what is the point of seeking love at all?
I know I can go deep with people. I’ve expressed thoughts that have made strangers open up. Sometimes they’ve thanked me and said it shifted something for them. With my friends, we don’t hold back. We talk about fears, dreams, insecurities. But on a date? It becomes small talk. Guarded. A silent effort not to seem too eager. And that’s not who any of us really are.
There’s something else I’ve noticed. Everyone is going through something. But dating culture seems to demand that we show up polished. We’re told to present like we’re already whole, already thriving, already unbothered. But we’re here, aren’t we? That alone says we’re still looking.
And if I’m honest, I’m not being fully vulnerable either. I carry the story that I’ve always been “too much.” In this particular case, I’m realizing how when I like someone, instead of feeling excited or inspired, I get overwhelmed by self-doubt and insecurity. I feel the need to hide the most authentic parts of myself. I carry this fear, rooted in early experiences, that people will reject me simply because I care. That maybe I’m not right for this world. That maybe I wasn’t built for it. So I start trying to play it cool, trying not to be too much, trying not to be me. Because the version of me that is all in has been through too much.
But when I slow down, I remember that most of us are carrying some version of that same fear.
Dating apps don’t give many of us the space to build slowly. They push us toward decisions before we’re ready. If there’s no immediate spark, we move on. But in real life, feelings often take time. Sometimes it takes weeks or months to realize a connection is even there. Yet we’re expected to decide quickly, while the other person is living their life and dating other people. And so I wonder, am I just a distraction? Or are we all distracting ourselves from something deeper?
And maybe that’s the real fear. That we’re not actually looking for something real. Maybe we’re just trying not to feel alone.
What I know is that I’ve contributed to this chaos just as much as anyone else. I’ve pulled away. I’ve been hurt. I’ve hurt others. Some of us act like villains. Some of us feel like victims. Most of us are both. I know I’ve been both, without question.
I’ve told myself that if I want big love, I have to be willing to let my heart be broken. But these triggers are showing me there’s still healing left to do. And while I would rather grow through building something than through loss, I also know I’m not always strong enough to handle the emotional fallout. I still fight the urge to retreat. I want to be brave enough to stay, but that courage isn’t always available.
So maybe, before we dive back into the swipes and the scrolling, we should all take a moment to ask: what do we really want? What are we really afraid of? The real you is present whether you cover it with a smile, accolades, aloofness, or silence.
Maybe that’s where the real work begins.
Because like it or not, to some degree we all have wounds and pain and experiences that we hide, then go back into the world and interact as if we were always whole. But the pain doesn’t stay hidden. It ends up guiding us, whether we want it to or not.
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