I want to date. 

There–it’s out in the open. 

And I immediately want to book a ticket to Timbuktu and pretend I never admitted that out loud. 

The truth is I’m a young adult and dating feels…terrifying. 

Not in the “Someone might murder me” kind of way (though honestly, have you seen the world we live in?) but in the quiet, stuck in a panic induced loop, someone actually looks me in the eye and admits they like me. What am I supposed to do to be a real person around them? 

Here’s a fun fact: 

All my friends think I don’t form emotional attachments. 

They’ll swear that I’m some kind of cold hearted creature that can’t be bothered with getting invested in anything or anyone. 

Meanwhile, I’m crying over fictional characters and become unable to function if I’m faced with a heartfelt compliment. So imagine the irony I’m faced with daily. 

Dating for me, isn’t just “Taking a Leap of faith.”  It’s like trying to market a product I haven’t fully studied– me. 

Because If I look in the mirror long enough the illusion of me shatters, leaving the truth to bleed. 

Fear. 

I’m scared of real connections. 

I’m scared of opening up.

I’m scared that I don’t understand myself enough to give someone a stable version they deserve. 

I’ve downloaded dating apps, almost created an account, then deleted them off my phone and said I’ll try something different later. 

Spolier: Later never comes. 

And it’s not because I don’t want anything to do with love– I do.

Sometimes my chest aches for just a glimmer of being able to say this is my person. 

I just can’t seem to reach for it with steady hands.

Two Sides of The Same Coin

“I want love.. I just don’t want anyone witnessing me trying for it.” 

I think somehow as I matured, I created this character version of myself. It wasn’t on purpose– more of a subconscious tick. 

There’s the “me” the world sees: A calm, unbothered detached mystery like I’m auditioning for “Aloof girl who beats to her own drum.” 

Then there’s the real me: A chronically confused person who has embraced the “smile and wave” advice from the trio of penguins from the penguins of Madagascar movies.

It’s strange trying to build confidence when your foundation is shaky. 

I talk about a good game of independence like it’s second nature but honestly, relying on people felt even more shaky–unpredictable even. 

For me, it feels like giving someone backstage passes to the parts of me I don’t know. 

And that tickles into my dating life–well lack of dating life more than I ever admit. 

I worry my own personality fails an invisible checklist:

Am I being too much?

Am I being too talkative? 

Am I boring? Rude? 

Do I know who I am?

Because frankly, I don’t. At least, not enough to feel confident. 

Sometimes it feels like I’d be better at dating if there was a way to meet someone without actually seeing each other face to face–ever. 

Like…can we just fall in love with letters  and never engage outside of that? Yes? Maybe? No? 

It’s hard trying to show up authentically when my own blueprint is written in latin. Even harder when my automatic response to dating is this unshakable character, only to realize I’m softener than a stick of butter–and just as slippery. 

I think that’s partly what scares me about dating: What if someone sees the real me–the soft, faux bravado of “barley keeping my head above water” me and decides she’s not worth the effort? 

Or worse… What if they actually decide they want to put in the effort and now I have to figure out how to embrace that kind of love? 

A Rigged Game Called Dating

 “I want connection… but not enough to fill out a profile that asks me to be interesting on command.”

Can I start by saying, whoever created dating apps has never experienced anything embarrassing in their entire existence. 

Because–how–HOW– am I expected to summarize my personality in a quick prompt when I can’t even summarize what I had for breakfast? 

What if I unintentionally put myself on some kind of superior pedestal.Claim I’m funny when in reality my best joke is; Why was six afraid of seven? Because seven “ate” nine. 

(Classic? Yes. Funny? Not really.) 

Or the classic: 

“Tell us about yourself.” 

Sure let me just start from the beginning: 

I was born.

I’m sorta a functioning member of society, I think? 

My cats are the boss. 

I’m better on paper than in real life because I have a crippling fear of human interactions? 

And honestly, the absolute worst part? Photos. 

Everyone wants that “natural look” but it’s a literal look created by good skin care, lighting, and make-up skills above my ability. 

All these dating apps want confidence. Personality. Charm. 

But it takes all I am to just upload a picture where I don’t look like a startled raccoon.

But all the faux bravado alone is painful–but throw in the emotional whiplash and you have yourself a full on hurricane.

The swipe. 

Maybe interest. 

The Oh–no, I know that person.

 Existential crisis trip.

Delete your profile.

Pretend you don’t WANT to date. 

Then start the process all over because you want affection. 

Deep down, I don’t think it’s the fear of strangers, but the fear of what happens if I let myself match with someone. 

What if they expected someone different? 

What if they want to go out in public in broad daylight? 

What if they’re normal and I’m the crazy chick they tell their friends was a mistake?

Dating apps force me under a microscope I’ve done my best to avoid. No easy or slowly dipping my foot in–Just a hard shove into the deep end, like your cousin does because they find it funny. 

Cold water.

Surrounded by bubbles.

Complete submersion.

I know most people say dating apps make “meeting people easier,” but truthfully? 

It feels like I’m trying to auction myself off in a digital marketplace–hoping for a high bid but terrified when it actually happens.

Because the fact is…

I don’t know how to present myself to strangers, because I barely know how to present myself to me. 

The thing I have to remember? 

Keep trying–even if it looks like asking about dating, only to scowl immediately and deny it, like it personally offended me. 

That’s gotta count for something, right? 

Level One: Don’t Get Seen

 “Maybe I’m not scared of dating–maybe I’m scared of being seen.” 

It feels like inside of me there is this never ending wear going on. 

On one side there is this want to be understanding and reasonable and then the other that immediately bolts,the second actual interest shown in me. 

It’s like the second someone leans in, I lean out. 

Just enough to say, “Nope. Absolutely not. Don’t give me that look.”

I tell myself, 

“You’re just overreacting. Everyone gets nervous. Just breathe.” 

And to be fair that is probably true. 

But unfortunately so is this” 

I have zero confidence in myself to let a stranger close enough to emotionally damage me. 

And maybe this is the part where I admit something I don’t say out loud: 

I’m almost 30– yeah I know, dinosaur–but have never dated. 

Not really. 

Not in the messy, meaningful, romantic way that everyone stumbles into accidentally. 

I can count my entire romantic encounters in a single awkward teenage kiss that barely counts 

And after that? 

Nothing. 

No flirty stranger. 

No late-night “I miss you” 

No butterflies in my stomach moment.

Life just moved past me while I stayed stuck in the kiddy zone, convincing myself that I’ve got plenty of time.

Only to look in the mirror one day and realize I’m almost thirty and have never even held a legit relationship.

And yes–I’m also a virgin. 

Not because I’m “saving myself.” 

Not because I’m uninterested. 

Just…life didn’t line up that way.

I never felt safe enough. 

Close enough.

Chosen enough.

Honestly? Dating has never seemed like a safe option for me. 

Most people I know collect relationships like a person collects baseball cards– first loves, almost, heartbreaks, and rebounds. 

Me? I don’t even have a card binder.

I’m that tourist who doesn’t speak the language. 

When you’re the one with barely any experience, it’s easy to believe:

I’m the problem. 

I’m unwanted. 

I’m Undesirable.

I’m a joke. 

I’m often asking myself the worst questions:

“What if I’m too inexperienced?” 

“What if some part of me is unattractive to them?” 

“What if they notice I’m not sure who I am? 

And one of the scariest questions:

“What if they see the real me… and laugh?”

For most people, dating is vulnerability lite. 

For me? 

It’s giving over the entire command of my heart when I’m not even sure I can do the same. 

It’s not that I don’t want a connection. 

I do– so much there is his ache.

But wanting something and believing you deserve it are two very different ideals. 

And right now, I’m in a fight with both. 

“How do you date when every part of you wants to hide?” 

That’s the truth I keep avoiding.

I’m not scared of the idea of dating. 

I’m scared that I’m not enough. 

Scared that my depth of my inexperience makes me unloveable.

Scared that the vulnerability will expose the parts of me I actively keep hidden. 

And maybe admitting that– putting words to it instead of keeping it hidden with humor or avoidance– is the first step.

MaybeI’m not behind. 

Maybe I’m just cautious. 

Maybe I’ve been protecting my heart because nobody ever has. 

Maybe that counts for more than I’m willing to admit. 

The Hidden Level: Where Hope Lives

“I want connection — I just don’t want it to hurt.”

The softer parts of me I tend to not talk about. Parts I don’t even acknowledge. 

It’s the parts that want something real. 

I’m not talking about the fireworks or fate or whatever Kdrama rom-coms keep promising. 

Just someone I can feel safe with. 

Someone I can let myself be soft with. 

Someone I don’t have to pretend around. 

The irony of this?

Most people–especially my friends–assume I have no interest in love. 

One of my friends even goes as far as to joke that “I’m never getting married.” like it’s my quirky personality trait. 

It’s said with affection but honesty, it lands too close to home. 

It’s not that I’m completely offended. 

But the thought has crossed my mind, “What if they’re right?” 

What if everyone else sees something in me. What if I’ll always be the bridesmaid friend–emotionally supportive and funny–but never the bride? 

Truthfully, I’ve learned to manage loneliness. 

I’m not crying into a pint of ice cream or listening to heartbreak songs at two am. 

It’s quieter than that.

Like an ache that hums under the skin, a small empty space beside me–even if it’s piled high with blankets and cats.  

I want to feel a love that doesn’t make me flinch. 

A love that is gentle and safe.

A love that doesn’t make me feel  like I can only have scraps because of my inexperience. 

What scares me about dating isn’t the awkward first dates or even the photos–though that’s definitely a tough one. 

But the fear that maybe I want something deeper but I won’t be able to articulate–not because I refuse but because I literally don’t know how to speak the words out loud. 

“Maybe it’s not dating I’m scared of — maybe it’s hope.”

I’ve found a little peace with finally admitting what I want–even if there are still lingering fears.

I’m learning that being afraid doesn’t make me unworthy. 

Being inexperienced doesn’t have to mean I’m behind. 

And I don’t need to transform into someone fearless to feel deserving of connections. 

Dating doesn’t demand perfection. 

It just simply asks me to show up–even if I’m shaky and awkward. 

Maybe trying doesn’t mean grand gestures. I think it means giving myself permission to stop hiding behind some mask or pretend. 

I don’t know who I’ll meet or how everything will unfold. 

But I do know this:

I’m done pretending I don’t care. 

I’m done simply trying to have a wall of self-protection just because I’m not confident. 

“You don’t have to be fearless to be worthy of love — you just have to be willing to try.”

I’m done simply waiting for things to pass. 

Maybe being ready doesn’t equal confidence–maybe what really matters is honesty. 

Maybe healing begins with a soft shift, not a dramatic leap. 

So here I am.

Still terrified. 

Slightly more hopeful.

Still willing to try–even if it’s slow but you know what they say, “Slow and steady win the race.” 

Does dating scare you guys too? What small steps did you take the day you finally let yourself try?