And the evidence is more than anecdotal—according to a Forbes Health survey this year, 78 percent of respondents reported experiencing dating fatigue “sometimes, often, or always.” That’s a pretty large number of burnt-out people when you consider that around 60 million people in the United States are using or have used online dating services. 

As a 42-year-old woman, this feeling has resonated with me for some time. Single millennials are essentially aging out of the “fun zone” of dating and are now carrying more relationship baggage than in our 20s—me included.

But tonight was about holding onto hope and not letting the numbers affect my evening. My outfit was a little black number that was equal parts baby doll and ’90s slip dress. I paired it with frilly ankle socks and mules. I felt cute. 

It has been three-and-a-half years since I’ve dated anyone, let alone felt attracted to someone. In that time, I’ve worked on myself and my career to become a more confident person and a better partner for someone someday. I was finally feeling ready to get back into the dating world, and the 10 and 10 Club seemed like the easiest way to get my feet wet.

When I arrived, I was greeted with an excellent soundtrack, a cheeseboard, and some social lubrication (thank god for Champagne) and started mingling for the first 30 minutes. During the night, we coursed through each of the three tables to ensure that everyone had the chance to meet. At these tables, we could ask each other questions from a printed list or play games such as flip cup. 

The questions varied from mirthful to deep. My group chose to ask questions—our red Solo cup skills were pretty feeble, but our vulnerability game was on point. Well, everyone’s but mine.

I play things close to the chest. I’ve never been in a committed relationship, though I’ve experienced plenty of situationships and have been intimate with men I’ve found attractive along the way. So, when talk of “deal breakers” and “most romantic gestures” enters conversations, I tend to clam up. I feel like I have nothing to offer and don’t want to run the risk of looking stupid or inexperienced. 

To a prospective suitor who wants something serious, I must look like a walking red flag. Why hasn’t anyone chosen her? What’s really wrong with her?

Despite my best efforts at sharing bits of myself and answering questions like What’s your worst injury? (falling off a bike in Germany hours into a hook-up vacation) and What would you change about society? (continue the trend of honoring mental health awareness), I didn’t make any connections with any of the men. 

To be fair, no one was my type, so I didn’t engage with as much enthusiasm as I should have. In general, the crowd was attractive and well-adjusted, with interesting careers, insights, and the ability to crack jokes. This is not always the case with these types of mixers, so it was a nice surprise. By the end of the evening, some couples were even pairing off for deeper chats.

Before we parted ways, all participants received an envelope with notes from members of the group—anyone of the same sex interested in fostering a friendship or from the opposite sex looking for your digits. I got one. From the host of the event. I couldn’t help but feel like the chaperone was taking pity on the girl who didn’t get asked to dance. It’s uncomfortable enough trying to put yourself outside of a very cozy comfort zone only to be mocked by a lack of interest literally on paper. To be fair, other women and men got notes. Just not me. Perhaps the note passing is a humble lesson in, “You get what you put into it.”

But I forged on with my night and met up with some friends at a local karaoke bar. I approached a woman who sang Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.” She was petite and friendly. She mentioned going somewhere else.

“Do you want to come?” she asked.

“Sure!” I replied, fortified by male rejection and a very strong Jell-O shot.

My friends tapered off. She and I walked alone to the next bar. We chatted about her tattoos and who we knew in the neighborhood. She drank a Dirty Shirley with two cherries. 

We swayed on the dance floor to late-’70s no-wave bands. She inched closer, our hips attached, and she made her move. She kissed me, and I kissed her back. I knew people at the bar but couldn’t be bothered to care about them seeing. Kissing her felt nice and consequence-free—a low-stakes way to satisfy a long-standing curiosity. After the music died down and the lights came up, we moved it to my car for another make-out session, but that’s as far as it went. We exchanged Instagrams and I let her know that I got home safe. We haven’t talked to each other since. 

I don’t take that as rejection. We had what we had. 

What that night taught me is that maybe I’m not ready for something serious. And, quite frankly, that scares me. I denied a group of 10 eligible men who want a relationship for a random, cute woman with whom I know I have no future. Have I been unwittingly indoctrinated by my situationships to only be comfortable with a casual, surface-level hang? I know that, deep down, I want a serious relationship with a male partner. 

Ultimately, though, I’m scared of being singular—not single. I’m scared that I don’t have enough to offer another person, that I’m vapid and uninteresting and the one person who is undateable and unloveable. 

I’m afraid of being judged for who I am. Despite the many charming details of my personality, I’m afraid that no one will love my shadow qualities, from mental health issues to sloppiness and fiscal irresponsibility. I’m a 42-year-old relationship virgin without an Amex, who, more often than not, buys new underwear instead of doing laundry and still fantasizes about starting a band. 

Maybe I’ve been single for so long that the idea of committing to another person is what scares me even more. What really frightens me is that maybe I’ll lose my independence and the identity I’ve cultivated while learning about myself as a single person. I don’t want to have to calm my quirks for someone else, because I fiercely love those parts of myself. 

For anyone else in this position, maybe acknowledging that is the first step to understanding where to go from here. After all, calling out those fears may mean we’re finally ready to address them. As for today, do I see myself dating women in the future? No, I don’t. Did I have fun? Why, yes, I did. 

If you’re new to Unhinged, catch up on all the dating chats you’ve missed here and follow along at @monicles and @sandiegomag on Instagram to know when a new article drops each week.

Sign-up now for the Unhinged newsletter for exclusive content, Q&As with Nicolle, and subscriber-only meet-ups!

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Today, she’s in her 30s and, though she has had sexual experiences, she has never had a boyfriend, a fact that she’s shy about sharing. Her lack of chances to experiment with dating as a teen isn’t the only reason for her single status, she tells me, but she can’t help but think it’s continued to play a role.

Felicity wants to be in a relationship and, eventually, get married and start a family. It weighs heavily on her mind that, each year, she’s drawing closer to an age when conceiving children is more difficult. She’s not alone, either. 

Last year, data from the US Census Bureau showed that nearly 47 percent of the US population (or just over 117 million people) is currently single. And, according to a 2020 study by the Pew Research Center, 35 percent of the country’s unmarried adults have never been in a committed romantic relationship. 

On TikTok, women come together under the hashtag #neverhadaboyfriend, sharing their stories of single life in their late 20s, 30s, and 40s.

“There is this feeling of being undesirable and unworthy for a relationship, especially if you don’t have a relationship in your formative years like high school and even college,” says 26-year-old creator @nicole.farina. “It is this feeling that you can’t really shake.”

She goes on to say that she has trouble being vulnerable with men because, in the past, when she’s opened up about her feelings, they haven’t been reciprocated—making her feel like something is wrong with her. At time of publication, her video has garnered nearly 4,000 comments and more than 415,000 likes and has been shared 73,000 times.

It hit a nerve, and Felicity can relate. 

“There was a guy who was interested in my [college] roommate and I was interested in him, and I knew my roommate was not interested in him. We developed a friendship and I wished it could be something more,” Felicity says. “I got drunk one night and told him.” He let her know he didn’t feel the same.

For anyone who has ever dated, rejection is a normal part of the game. It’s never easy, but hearing “You’re a great person, but I think we’re better as friends” or “You’ll find someone amazing; it’s just not me” time and time again can do a real number on you mentally. 

“The one thing that comes up across the board is the insecurity around it. They’re uncomfortable sharing it. The underlying thing that comes through is shame around that,” says San Diego matchmaker Sophy Singer of Sophy Love, who has worked with many clients who have never been in a committed relationship. “They feel broken, like, What’s wrong with me? Why haven’t I been able to do this?”

And society doesn’t make it any easier on them. 

Writing for Psychology Today, Bella DePaulo, PhD, explores the stigma faced by “relationship virgins,” people who have never had a romantic relationship. Her research found that people tend to view them as lonelier than others, less happy, and less well-adjusted.

Admittedly, when I’ve gone out with people in the past, hearing that I’d be a guy’s first-ever girlfriend has made me question whether he was ready to date or not. Without realizing it, I’ve probably fed into the lie that more experience equals a better partner. 

But when I stop to think about Felicity, I’m immediately aware of my error. She’s quick-witted, attractive, smart, and fun to be around. I get the sense that, while inexperienced, she’d make for a pretty great partner. She just hasn’t had a chance to showcase those qualities—and maybe that’s okay.

“The positive [of being a ‘relationship virgin’] is that you probably haven’t been wounded over [past relationships],” Singer says. “I think when people get to this point, they have generally kept themselves social and happy and fulfilled in other ways. What’s so cool is that now this is their next chapter of growth. It’s almost like coming to a blank canvas.”

“Baggage” is a term that’s come up a lot in my chats with San Diego singles over the last six months. It’s no secret that the older we are, the more likely we are to have learned bad dating habits or gone through traumatic experiences with ex-partners. And our past affects how we date. 

In that sense, coming into a relationship without experience can be a boon. Moreover, people who have remained single into adulthood have had ample time to figure out who they are without the influence of a partner. 

“I could make decisions for my future—like going across the country for grad school [and] traveling—without feeling held back,” Felicity says of being single throughout her 20s. “Relationship virgins” often have rich social lives, fun hobbies, a healthy sense of independence—all qualities many of us look for in a partner.

And as Dr. DePaulo points out in her article, the word “[relationship] encompasses friendships, family ties, bonds with neighbors and mentors, camaraderie with teammates, and more, in addition to romantic links. If you have had any of those kinds of relationships, you are not a ‘relationship virgin.’”

Whether a person has had multiple serious partnerships or zero, observing their connections with their friends, family, even coworkers will typically teach you more about how they interact with other humans than stories about their exes ever will.

For her part, Felicity remains hopeful. As we wrap up our chat, she shares the qualities she’s looking for in a man. 

“Someone that I can laugh with, someone who is a little bit more extroverted. Someone who is educated, and cultured” she says. “I like sports, too. So someone who is going to just watch football on Sundays with me.” 

Men, if you’re not reading “catch” from that last line, we need to talk. 

If you’re new to Unhinged, catch up on all the dating chats you’ve missed here and follow along at @monicles and @sandiegomag on Instagram to know when a new article drops each week.

Sign-up now for the Unhinged newsletter for exclusive content, Q&As with Nicolle, and subscriber-only meet-ups!

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The post Unhinged, A Dating Series: I’ve Never Been in a Relationship appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

It had been the better part of a year since my bed had had another body in it. And nearly four years since it had anyone but his body in it. It’s a funny sort of feeling when you sleep with someone new after years of waking up next to someone so familiar. 

When I eventually slept with Ryan (not his real name), I texted my best friend immediately. It was a little before midnight, and everything inside of me was screaming. There was this overwhelming sense of confusion—I liked him, but I felt like I knew absolutely nothing about him. A flood of memories of my ex swept through my mind, and I found myself comparing all that was familiar about him to all the information I lacked about Ryan. 

Does Ryan sleep with a fan on or, worse, socks? Does he prefer pancakes or eggs and bacon for breakfast? I didn’t know the curves of his face. I was questioning everything about the person lying next to me. There was once love in that bed, and yet there he was, this stranger taking up space. 

When my friend texted me back, she reminded me that these types of emotions are normal the first time you step back into the dating world. The thing is, I wasn’t missing my ex, not really. The memories were just a byproduct of what I was actually experiencing: the feeling of being smacked upside the face with all the firsts of starting over that I’d need to go through.

All of the “What do you do for a living?” questions, the anxiety of waiting to see if they’ll text you back, the wondering if my messy parts will be too much, and the highs and lows of understanding how another human views the world. 

I couldn’t look at Ryan, or anyone else for that matter, and guess everything he was thinking. He didn’t know about my family dynamics or what type of pizza I liked. These things would have to be earned through hours of time together, months of phone conversations, and many nights in the same bed 

But it’s exhausting. I’m tired. 

I’ve been dating since I was 16 and have loved four men in that time. In between, there have been dates, months-long relationships, situationships, and names that exist only in my Notes app, but none of them have changed my last name.

Twenty-four years of searching had led me to this moment—a brand-new starting line. I’m guessing that, like me, many of us at this age are frustrated with dating because it feels like the finish line keeps moving further and further away. And we can’t do anything about it.

I get it. I’m with you. Like I’ve said plenty of times, I don’t have the answers. But I’m holding onto hope that there were reasons why nothing ever worked out previously. And maybe the finish line isn’t moving—instead, our distance is getting shorter.

Over the next few weeks, Ryan and I talked almost daily. He was good about texting, just not about making plans. One night, he asked if he could come by after work. It was a Friday at 8:30 p.m. Other than asking me to lunch when he was already in my neighborhood once, he hadn’t made any other attempts to hang out. 

Admittedly, I felt lukewarm about our connection, but since I’d been intimate with him, I felt like I should try and give it a fair shot. I texted him letting him know that I didn’t want to be just another hookup, and, if wanted to see me, he’d need to start being more intentional with hanging out.

He agreed and said he’d be sure to plan something for us to do. When he left my house the next morning, I didn’t hear from him again until Sunday, when he let me know he couldn’t put that much effort into dating. 

I’ve barely thought about him since that text. Part of me knew the whole time that it wasn’t going to be anything significant. Connor (not his real name) and I also had our second date. We had a nice evening getting to know each other, but we both felt there wasn’t a romantic connection.

So, here I am again, toes on the line. I don’t know if it’s going to be a sprint or a marathon—all I can do is keep running.

If you’re new to Unhinged, catch up on all the dating chats you’ve missed here and follow along at @monicles and @sandiegomag on Instagram to know when a new article drops each week.

Sign-up now for the Unhinged newsletter launching this month. Get exclusive content, Q&As with Nicolle, and subscriber-only meet-ups!

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The post Unhinged, A Dating Series: Contact Sports appeared first on San Diego Magazine.