If I Ever Date Again....

I was having one of those conversations this morning that starts somewhere completely random and ends up a whole trauma-dump, tear-fest and somehow still left me sitting there afterward thinking, well… fuck. I guess I learned a few things about myself.

We were talking about wasted time, bad decisions, breakups and shitty people and somehow the topic of "what dating again would even look like" came up, which is kind of funny because I don’t actually know if that will ever happen again. I’m still healing from the last time I tried. And honestly, the thought of doing it all again is kind of soul-crushing.

The awkward online conversations. The getting-to-know-you phase. Trying to figure out whether someone is actually interested in you or just the version of you they’ve created in their head from a handful of posts and some perfectly posed selfies. 😂 Then comes the part where you actually let someone close enough to potentially hurt you.

Yeah. No thanks.

But somewhere in the middle of that conversation, between the crying and the laughing and the holy shit, how did we end up talking about THAT? moments, I realized something. I may not know if I’ll ever put my heart out there again, but I do know what would have to be there, if I ever did.

The last pathetic, lying, cheating, manipulative waste of time, taught me that there’s a difference between being needed, being wanted and being loved, between chemistry and compatibility, and between surviving something together and actually building a life together. I don’t want another relationship that feels like something I have to survive. I want something safe, honest, mutual and passionate.

And apparently, I would really fucking love to be taken care of for a change. 😂 I mean, who doesn’t want a provider and protector taking care of them, after decades self reliance?! Someone safe enough that I can remove my armor and step out of this masculine energy. 😉 There’s something pretty damn appealing about somebody noticing I’m struggling and exhausted, making the coffee, handling dinner, pulling me into a hug and saying, “I’ve got this.” I’ve spent enough of my life being strong because I had to be. It would be nice to have somebody who notices the check engine light on and actually does something to fix it.

I’m not looking for some perfect "Prince Charming" with a six-figure salary, a boat and abs that can be seen from space. 😂 I’m actually pretty simple. Give me a good heart, good character, a sense of humour and somebody who is a decent human being even when nobody is watching.

And, apparently, wanting an adult is now considered having high standards. I’d like someone who works, has a driver’s licence, pays their bills, knows how to look after themselves and understands that “I’ll deal with it eventually” is not a legitimate healthcare plan. If you need a therapist, a doctor or a dentist, make the fucking appointment before you end up in the ER or a psych ward. You know… basic adult shit. 😂

I have absolutely no interest in raising, fixing, managing or rehabilitating another grown-ass human being.

Sobriety matters to me, too. Not because I want to police another adult’s choices, but because I don't drink and I know what it’s like when alcohol becomes part of the relationship. I don’t want to count drinks, worry about or wonder what version of someone is coming through the door or spend my energy managing somebody else’s drinking. I’ve done that shit. I’m good.

Then there’s the kid situation.

I love kids. I really do. But I’ve gotten attached to kids who weren’t mine and loved them like they were, only to have those kids ripped from my life when the adult relationship ended. That shit hurts in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. 💔🥺

So I don’t want to raise anyone else’s children. I’ve already raised mine, and I’m not looking to start another round of parenting, whether they’re little kids or teenagers with enough attitude to qualify as a hostile workplace. 😂 I don’t need somebody to be a father to my kids, and I don’t want to become a mother to somebody else’s.

I’m perfectly happy being part of someone’s family, though. I’ll show up for the dinners, holidays, birthdays, celebrations and all the beautiful chaos that comes with loving somebody who has kids. I’ll care, I’ll probably bring food and I’ll absolutely get caught up in the chaos. I just want to do that as a partner and a member of the family, not another parent. There’s a difference between being part of someone’s family and becoming responsible for raising it.

....And if that family situation comes with too many baby-mamas or enough drama to require its own daytime talk show and a lie detector … you can seriously count me out. 😂

Beyond all the practical stuff, I want romance. Not helicopter-and-rose-petals bullshit, but the everyday kind that makes you feel thought of. Flowers, plants, sweets because they saw them and thought of me. Random “thinking about you” and "just because" text messages. A hand on my back thru a crowd. Kissing me in the kitchen for no particular reason. Someone actually planning a date because they want to spend time with me. Spontaneous drives, fires, meals, long conversations and laughing until neither of us can remember what the hell we were talking about.

I want someone I can be completely ridiculous with and completely vulnerable with. Someone who can talk through difficult shit without turning every disagreement into a fucking war, who can admit when they’re wrong and who understands that relationships aren’t about winning.

I also don’t want to be made smaller to make somebody else comfortable. I’m not going to pretend to be less opinionated, less independent, less loud or less me so someone else can feel bigger. That version of me has already had enough airtime.

I think what I want, more than anything, is two people who have full lives of their own and genuinely enjoy being part of each other’s. Someone who has their own home, routines, friends and interests, and I have mine. We don’t need to be joined at the hip or share a bathroom to know what we mean to each other. I want the freedom to have my space and my life while still having someone I’m excited to see, make plans with, laugh with, travel with, fall asleep beside occasionally and share all the good stuff with.

Because I don’t need a relationship to make my life whole. My life is already full. I have my kids, my people, my dog, my plants, my chaos and approximately seventeen thousand things keeping me busy. 😂

IF I ever date again, it won’t be because there’s an empty space beside me that needs filling. It’ll be because someone comes along who makes me think, Holy shit. Life is really fucking good with you in it.

Maybe that person exists. Maybe they don’t. Maybe I’ll meet them someday, or maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life happily surrounded by the people and things I love.

Honestly, I’m okay with either.

I’m still healing, and I’m nowhere near ready. But... if this mythical unicorn exists, they can find me because I'm not chasing a fucking unicorn! 🦄❤️