Why I’m dating again and how I’m approaching it differently
It’s been nearly a year and a half since I last dated anyone. That saga, as some of you may recall, ended in a tearful extended metaphor about fallen trees and a pretty solid sad girl playlist.
So why now? What’s changed?
First of all, what I know now that I didn’t know then is that being single does not mean I am a horrible, broken, hopeless, useless person. This fact, that you, dear reader, may have long been well aware of, has eluded me since I was a child.
Because I, from as young as 10-years-old, ascribed success and goodness to romantic partnership and failure and brokenness to singleness, I took every rejection (and even unrequited crush??) personally as an explicit reinforcement that I was incapable of partnership, that I would never measure up to desirability standards, and that because of who I was (namely, the child of divorced parents), that I was bound to fail at partnerships no matter what I did, condemned to want to be in a healthy romantic relationship but to never actually see the day.
Now I don’t believe that anymore. Informed by a framework presented in Jessi Kneeland’s book Body Neutral and backed by a strong journaling practice, I now have what I need to strip singleness and partnership of the moral weight I was ascribing to them for so long. I don’t think it was actually being single that ever bothered me, it was what I thought being single said about me that brought me so much grief and shame.
Being neutral is taking a step back and not pouring on a label of "good" or "bad," but seeing it as it is, taking your feelings about it as information, and not letting it cause you distress. I wasn't ever objectively looking at my singleness. I saw it as a blemish, something to hide or be ashamed of, something that othered me, something people would see and think something was wrong with me. I saw my singleness as proof that I was broken and I tried desperately to change or conceal it.
But now I see my singleness like I see any other experience I'm having. I'm single (now), I live in Reynoldstown (now), I'm a designer (now). Like none of those things are set in stone forever, but all of those things are true about my life right now today. I’m not a designer because I’m not smart enough to be a surgeon. I don’t live in Reynoldstown because I’m not well-connected enough to live in Midtown. I’m not single because I’m a bad, ugly person born to a husband and wife who couldn’t quite figure it out. And now that I’ve neutralized my view of singleness, I can approach dating without the desperation that comes when you have something (as serious as your self-worth and character) to prove.
Now that my relationship status no longer has to do the impossible work of carrying my self-image, I can take a much more confident, easeful, and patient approach to dating. That’s what led me to do two very random things on a recent weekday afternoon: download Hinge and ask one of my friends to set me up on a blind date.
I hated dating apps because they made me feel bad about myself. Going on a blind date would’ve terrified me for the previously stated rejection issue. But now that my self-image is not affected by the opinion of men I literally do not know, I can focus on honoring myself and my values in everything I do, rather than impressing somebody whose opinion of me should have no impact on my opinion of myself.
So that’s what’s different, friend. I, for the first time in my life, am able to see singleness neutrally, and not as a reflection of something bad about me (and likewise seeing partnership neutrally, and not some gold star that means I’m a good person). And now that I’m able to do that, I can date from a position of security and healing, a thought that would bring joy to 10-year-old Thalia, who uncharacteristically burst into tears at the dining room table in front of her confused and concerned parents, overwhelmed with grief (too heavy for a child) at the tragic realization that “[she] was ugly and nobody would ever like [her].”
I just wish she knew how wrong she was. I just wish I hadn’t spent so much of my life banging my head up against that lie. I wish I hadn’t spent so much time facing this grief alone, hiding its true depth fiercely from even my closest friends. It’s been a long, long time coming. But I think we made it. The work continues, but I pray to never go back.
Second of all, after this work, I was finally able to get a clearer and more honest idea of what I wanted in a partner. It’s not that I never thought of it before (I famously had an elaborate set of “standards” as a college freshman that were much more of a spirited poem than they were actual dating guidance I used).
But what’s different now is that they are, as I said, clearer. I can more easily connect what I’m looking for in a partner to the values I hold in my life. There’s representation of what’s important to me now and what may be important to me later. In my previous dating experiences, I very rarely gave thought to the latter. But it is precisely that — not giving thought to the needs and interests of future Thalia — that so often left me in conundrums I almost certainly could’ve avoided had I been less short-sighted.
Not to say I’ll never make a mistake in dating ever again. Surely I will. I literally just got back out here fr. But what I pray is that I will not make the same mistakes again. What I know is that I have a very different perspective than I did before. What I know is that I don’t have to do what I was doing (chronic crushes, sad girl vibes, woe is meeee) and that I can do something new (more empowered, more clarity, less attached to outcomes).
