Lifestyle

After seven years of swiping, I’m breaking up with online dating


Dating apps felt productive, like sending out multiple job applications during a period of unemployment (Picture: Getty Images)

Dating when you’re lonely is like food shopping when you’re hungry; you’re bound to make unhealthy choices.

Which is why, after hearing the announcement of the second national lockdown back in November, I pondered whether now might be a good time to get off the courtship carousel and take a break from online dating

I’m not one for looking to the universe for guidance, but if an ‘escaped mutant’ virus spreading through the population wasn’t a hint to hang up my Hinge hat, I don’t know what is. 

Now that a third lockdown is upon us, and the universe is being rather belligerent in its messaging, I decided to set my heart to ‘out of office’. After seven years of swiping, it’s time for a dating sabbatical, to take stock of everything I’ve learned in the process. 

Despite technically being single for the majority of my adulthood, I’d never truly been on my own. Dating apps made it easy to find someone with whom I could talk, exchange life stories and build the inevitable castles in the sky, so when one relationship ended, all it took was a match to get me excited about the next. 

While useful for pulling myself out of a funk, it didn’t allow time for me to properly heal.

Although I never entered into a new connection while still being hung up on the last, loneliness definitely pushed me back into the dating pool before I’d taken time to inflate my arm bands, and that lead to bad choices, with incompatible partners. 

I once threw myself in to the arms of a man with diametrically opposed political views, challenging myself to be more open-minded, while unintentionally discarding the values I held so dear. But at least I got a ‘good morning!’ text, right? 

Being truly alone scared me because I feared it would last forever. The biological clock ticked loudly in my head, especially as I witnessed friends get engaged, married and become parents, so dating apps made the sound less deafening. 

They felt productive, like sending out multiple job applications during a period of unemployment, with the prospect of romance and fulfilled destiny forever only one swipe away. 

Call me old-fashioned, but in an age where shaking hands is dangerous, there ought to be a culture of transparency over whether you’re dating more than one person at the same time

It became addictive. Instead of spending solo time doing things I enjoyed, I’d focus instead on finding someone to enjoy them with.

So much of dating is about deception, and that’s a culture I’d like to see addressed. From the relatively harmless heavily filtered profile pic or exaggerated anecdote with the intention to impress, to the downright deceitful ambiguity over how exclusive a connection truly is. I once spent six months with a man (long enough, I presumed, to assume he wasn’t seeing other people), only to witness a Tinder notification light up his screen when we were at dinner. With his parents.

Call me old-fashioned, but in an age where shaking hands is dangerous, there ought to be a culture of transparency over whether you’re dating more than one person at the same time, no matter the timeframe. No judgement if you are, but surely the other people should be party to that information, so that they can make an informed choice about whether to stay, go, or date someone else themselves.

I’ve witnessed too many people – myself included – driven to insanity trying to ascertain whether the person they’re growing attached to, is attaching themselves to others in the same moment.

As women in particular, we have been long taught to mould ourselves into agreeable, unquestioning creatures. While the days of submissive housewife are (hopefully) far behind us, there is still a pressure to act aloof in the pursuit of love, and a fear that by asking too many questions we will become undesirable.

It’s okay to ask if you’re exclusive. If the answer is mutual (either way), then at least you’re on a level playing field and you can move forward without the anxiety of letting someone down, or being let down yourself. 

I’ve made the mistake of not asking early enough, and it led to a more painful outcome. If you find yourself governed by fear of the answer, then they’re probably not your soulmate. 

Being on your own may feel lonely, but it involves far less anxiety than an insecure relationship, no matter how long you’ve been together.

Another lesson I’ve learned is that finding Mr. or Miss Right doesn’t have to be the end game. Of everything I’ve gained from seven years of online dating, a husband isn’t one of them, but I have forged valuable friendships with guys whom I may otherwise never have met.

The beauty of dating through apps is the ability to meet people outside your usual social circles (which happens to be the exact same reason they’re rather dangerous during a pandemic) and it can broaden your horizons. 

I’m good friends with several former dates – from different walks of life – and how we met is inconsequential. Just because it didn’t work romantically, and provided no one was too badly hurt in the process, doesn’t mean you have to lose a connection with that person forever.

Another thing I’ve learned -the hard way – are the perils of becoming a ‘therapist’. The dating pool is filled with people using apps as a gateway to free counselling, especially if they’re not over an ex. One recalls a particular date with a man who teared up while recollecting the luxury holiday he spent alone, after his ex dumped him at the airport.

Talking about former relationships is an essential part of getting to know a person and understanding their past, but if they’re still living in it, either run, or charge them by the hour. Relationships aren’t rehabilitation centres.

Meeting someone new feels like a fresh start. We all alter ourselves slightly when we date someone new, but if you don’t take time to reset in-between, you risk becoming an amalgamation of all the past versions of yourself while forgetting who is truly at your core. I found myself forgetting whether I actually enjoyed certain activities, or whether they were part of a relationship-compromise.

How timely, then, for a six-week period of isolation to come along and force me to get to know myself again. To not only focus on who I am, but take time to reflect on what I’ve learnt from dating, and the attributes I’m looking for in a partner.

The past 12 months have been hard on all of us. As saccharine as it may be to search for silver linings in the midst of a pandemic, it’s given some of us the opportunity to take an interval from normal life and rediscover who we are. Even if what we discover is that we were far happier when the pubs were open.

Learning to be comfortable on my own is one of the things I feared most but facing it with the rest of the population feels less…lonely. 

For now, the only dating scene I will be involving myself in is the fictional world of Bridgerton, as I take time to prepare myself to be unleashed back into society.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing rosy.edwards@metro.co.uk

Share your views in the comments below.


MORE : Bridgerton star Regé-Jean Page compares sizzling romance to ‘aggressive’ dating on Tinder


MORE : Tinder reveals only active profiles can show up as potential matches


MORE : How virtual love with chatbots is filling the romance void for lonely singles





READ SOURCE

Leave a Reply

This website uses cookies. By continuing to use this site, you accept our use of cookies.