Dating, Chapter 1 — The Painful Birth of a Profile

My journey to online dating began like so many others.

Boy meets girl –> boy and girl fall in love –> boy and girl get married and have babies –> boy and girl fall out of love –> boy and girl divorce.

Girl’s best friend makes a fake profile on OK Cupid, just to show her there are options –> Girl is hilariously underwhelmed with the possibilities presented –> Girl wonders why so many men can’t seem to keep their shirt on, and why childless men always have photos of themselves with their nieces and nephews. Do their sisters and brothers know? –> Girl gets increasingly more curious and also lonely, until –> Girl makes a legit profile on a dating site.

So, there I was. I’d been physically separated for about 8 months at that point, with a couple more months of circling the relationship drain behind that. But much like the end of a marriage, there was no single point that propelled me forward — it was fits and starts from the fake profile to the real one. The first months after the separation and my dad’s death were spent in a depressive fog from which I honestly doubted I would ever emerge. I was cynical and crawling out of my skin with anxiety and already making bad choices, so it was just as well that I had no interest in dating.

Then I got Wellbutrined. I finished the DBT group. I turned to goo like all good butterflies must, and somehow came out on the other side more or less whole.

Finally, I opened OK Cupid and uploaded an actual photo of my actual face.

Then I suspended my account and took an Ativan.

I made accounts on Match and Bumble, ostensibly to “get a feel for it,” and the vulnerability was terrifying. I don’t do well promoting myself — I get full up on shame and self-loathing and insecurity. I doubt. And this was not promoting something I had produced – an essay or article – this was promoting myself in a literal sense.

But because I like to live in a world full of potential, it was also sort of addicting; like a slot machine of relationship possibilities. I pulled the lever. Pulled again. Over and over until I found someone who seemed interesting and swiped whichever the hell way is the good way. And then… nothing happened.

So I suspended all my accounts and took an Ativan.

In some ways, writing has prepared me for the uncertainty of dating. The knowledge that rejection is just part of the game. I’ve had to up my “not taking everything personally” skills because, as with writing, you just can’t take every rejection as a statement about your worth, and you can’t assume everyone who doesn’t think you’re awesome is personally rejecting you.

Easier said than done, I know. It went like this for a good while. I’d start a conversation with someone and be immediately gripped by panic and overwhelm. And in the meantime, I was also having to come face to face with the question of “what am I looking for?”

Building an authentic dating profile takes introspection of the highest order, and this was causing me to stare down questions and baggage I didn’t even know I had. At first, it actually seemed easy, as I assumed I knew what I wanted and answered all the questions and filled out all the blanks with flippant obviousness. Of course this is what I want. No way would I date anybody who did XYZ. If you’re XYZ then I’m 100% not interested. I think I was confusing sarcasm with bitchiness — a frequent job hazard for the terminally insecure.

Oh the walls I built out of strict boundaries and assumptions, all without even going out on date number one. I was not prepared for the birth of a profile to be quite so exhausting.

There were so many questions! Am I only looking for a serious long-term relationship, or is casual ok? What does casual mean, anyhow? Which photos should I pick? Chelsea is right, I do make that same smirk in every picture. Am I open to non-monogamy? That can mean so many different things. What age range am I ok with? Am I a cat person or a dog person? What was the last show I binged? What is my favorite type of peanut butter? Which word describes me?!

At least I know my MBTI type, as that appears to be very important for dating profiles. INFP sometimes masquerading as INFJ. Ok. I have actual strong opinions on the oxford comma, but was advised to keep those thoughts to myself.  Car selfie while wearing sunglasses? Check.

What am I even doing here?!

Reading my profile now, it bears little resemblance to the original; a lot has been slowly tweaked as I figure myself out a bit more all the time. How in the hell do people do online dating without half a decade of therapy under their scalp?

Like therapy, I’ve found that the process of dating holds a mirror up to your every day interpersonal dynamics. I can see myself recreating my “real life,” but on a micro scale. I get overwhelmed easily (thus all the suspended accounts and Ativan). When interesting people pull back, I sometimes over-reach and try harder, egotistically sure it’s something I did or said. And you know what is as entirely unsexy in the world of online dating as it is in every day life? Trying too fucking hard. On the flip side, I’ve had to remind myself repeatedly that I am not responsible for other people’s feelings. I don’t have to keep chatting with people I’m not into just to spare them the feelings of rejection.

I made missteps. I put my foot in my mouth. I said the wrong things. I over-corrected. One lingering vulnerability hangover fed directly into the next.

I suspended all my accounts and took an Ativan.

I decided that to do this without spiraling into a depressive fog of self-loathing, I was going to have to look at it intellectually. This was interesting. Fascinating. I was going to say dumb things and I was going to go on awful first dates and I would meet assholes and confront confusing feelings; but as long as I stayed at the thousand-foot view, it was all a series of learning experiences. I even paid money to get better “data.” Each site has its own unique combination of what is free and what requires you to fork over your money in an exchange that makes you feel weirder about this already supremely weird experience. But, this was for science. Cha-ching.

via GIPHY

It was a social experiment.

I had to confront so many biases that I didn’t realize I had. Little things that would seem insignificant to someone else. There was so much projection and the dating version of transference going on. I knew nothing about these men, so all I could do was fill in the blanks with examples from my life based on superficial similarities. Correlation is not causation, Rhiannon. I am sure I swiped left on perfectly great guys for perfectly shallow reasons. I discovered I have quite the thing for hipster glasses.

What I did not expect about the online part of online dating was that it was going to use every ounce of what I’ve learned through therapy to open new doors of understanding, compassion, and patience for both myself and others. It has been the reflected culmination of my strengths and weaknesses. I’ve had to push through anxiety and uncertainty and fear – sit with it, even – to keep moving forward, to go on dates, to risk rejection and to experience it.

To reinstate that profile

And that’s just the profile — wait until you hear how much I’ve learned from actually dating….