Dating : How I learned dating is no substitute for therapy

I haven’t had many relationships, but I’ve had a ton of failed, potential relationships. You know how it goes — you meet someone, establish a connection, develop feelings, and then have a disagreement or miscommunication. It feels too early to fight for, so you count your losses and keep it moving. But it’s not that cut and dry for me. I need satisfaction.

I need closure, no matter how serious the relationship was or wasn’t. I need grievances aired, my side of the case heard. I need to establish that I was right and they were wrong. It’s cliched, I am cool with hearing, “it’s not you, it’s me”. That might not work for the broken-hearted, but it’s enough to heal my bruised ego. Sure, I’ll wallow in pity for a while, convincing myself that there was love lost. Except, I’m not losing love, I am losing pride. And pride is the foundation of my self-worth, not self-love.

It also feels cliched to say that you cannot love anyone else if you cannot love yourself. But it’s straight facts! Self-love should not be attached to worldly pursuits or physical attachments to others. Once those things are gone, you are left feeling empty. I am not condemning anyone for wanting things, but there must be some balance. Philosophically speaking, I equate that kind of balance to the number nine (five for self-care, four for externalities). First and foremost, your focus should be on your happiness and be deliberate about meeting your individual needs.

However, my focus has been finding a partner and making achievements. Those things defined my happiness. All was right with the world when I had any romantic or professional success. I felt a false sense of contentment from having one of the other. Lately, I have not felt like I have had enough of either. They became my biggest priority. And finding a suitable mate was easier for me to find than a fulfilling livelihood. So, I put all my eggs in that basket, despite not being mentally prepared.

I only approached women that showed some level of interest. Otherwise, I was not strong enough to put myself out there and be rejected. Even then, I would hide behind my sarcasm and self-effacing humor to downplay my desperation. Deep down, I knew that I would devote myself to anyone who I deemed attractive enough, gave me the attention that I needed, and would not judge my shortcomings harshly. Those are basic needs for most relationships, but they were my only requirements. I would ignore any other red flags because their romantic interest made me feel better about myself and neglect the source of my unhappiness.

My unhappiness only accelerated how hard I would fall for someone. Naturally, the pandemic increased my feelings of isolation and loneliness. The combination is what I like to refer to as “COVID thirst”. This year alone, I’d met 5–6 women who I thought could have been the one. I never physically met half of them, and I only went on a few dates with the rest. I never told anyone because I was comfortable living in the fairytale world.

I do not believe that you should share every aspect of your relationship with friends and family. They cannot adequately judge hearing one side of the story. However, you do need a “sounding board” to gain more perspective. I rarely felt like I had the ear of an objective person that I could trust. So, I never confided in anyone about the nature of my relationships or anxiety.

I hid how fragile my emotions and health were, but they became apparent when my relationship started to falter. In one instance, it felt like my world was ending, I told her as much. She stressed over some money she owed her ex. I offered to give her the money to get him off her back. I did not think we had a future together, I would like to think it was out of my altruistic nature, but I just wanted access to her. I gave this woman $500 on a Tuesday night, we reconciled on Wednesday morning, and I walked away on Thursday because things were not as good as they had been. And I was okay with it because I left on my terms. My only regret was the money I lost.

I promised myself that I would change the way I approached relationships instead of fixing my anxiety and depression. I intended to cast a wider net and leave my options open. I signed up for dating sites, I had a lot of matches. I do not claim to have any ‘game’, but I am good at finding common ground and making conversation when motivated. I have never been good at juggling women, but I managed to do so for a while. I was more discerning than I had been. Each woman I met checked off more boxes than the next. Once I found someone that gave me any semblance of happiness, I let the others fall to the wayside.

Long story short, things did not work out between us. I took it especially hard and the dark thoughts came back with a vengeance. I questioned whether I was even capable of truly being happy again. I never developed a support system, I treated the women I dated as my primary support system, and it wasn’t fair to them. I was alone with nothing but my depression and anxiety to keep me company. I had to begin healing or slip further into a manic spiral. And no one could help me if I was not honest about what was happening with me.

Finally, I opened up to a friend and came clean about all the embarrassing details that I kept to myself. She did not criticize, patronize or gaslight me, she listened and let me know that my feelings were valid. Imagine that — talking to friends and family was helpful. Who would’ve known? At this point, therapy is critical and dating isn’t even a consideration.