This is something I have deliberately not talked about publicly since my split with my husband because, well: respect. And privacy. Many of my friends, and even my team members, have asked me to talk about this on the podcast and in my writing, but I’ve been hesitant and kept this part of my life close to my vest… until now. So, in this week’s solo episode of MILF, I talk all about it. I let you in on my fumbles into the ‘swipe app’ world: dates gone awry, the tragicomedy, finding love again, losing it, the return to loneliness as my teacher, and the ultimate self-discovery of it all. 

Part of what allowed me to give myself permission to open this Pandora’s box publicly is that I’ve been separated, and now divorced, almost 3 years, my ex is on his second relationship since our split and, moreover, this is a subject about which we all need to have way more dialogue: dating in your 40’s as a single parent. Or just dating in your 40’s/50’s/60’s/70’s…. What in the heck does that landscape look like and how has it changed since I was single before I met my husband 16 years ago?

It’s changed a lot, and also not at all. 

First off, Swipe Apps. It’s not called online dating anymore. It’s BIG business. There are dozens of Swipe Apps out there. Take your pick. Bumble. Tinder. Coffee Meets Bagel. Hinge. Raya. And on and on. I’ve attempted this culture twice. The first time was two years ago and I lasted about 3 months (and came away with some doozy stories: one that particularly stands out is when a man was messaging me within the app about how he wanted to watch me have sex with his dog – I’m not joking, this happened). 

I went on a handful of dates. Mostly fine, some comical. No love connections. And soooooo much time spent: formulating my profile, posting it, then swiping, swiping, swiping. Oh, yay, a match.  Then messaging, messaging, back and forth. No voice, no face, just 2 or 3 pictures I looked at once or twice and a few impersonal ‘bio’ lines about height, education, and perhaps dietary restrictions and hobbies, then a brief or long exchange of words coming from a stranger’s fingertips into their phone and across the airwaves then magically onto my phone screen. The energy exchange is so filtered down at that point that what you’re seeing is more of a mirror – i.e. whatever you want to project onto said stranger –  than the slightest reality of who this person really is or if you have any chemistry whatsoever.

That part is only, only decipherable in person. Analog. Real time. Real life.

Next phase is: make a plan to meet. You meet the person and within 10 seconds you know it’s not going to be anything, but you have to be polite and sit through “drinks” or dinner, or whatever it is and make conversation. If you’re curious or simply want to give them the benefit of the doubt, you go back to their apartment to see what happens. Seeing how this person lives quickly becomes aversively intimate, awkward, and jarring. Especially if they walk directly to the kitchen sink and snot-rocket into their hands over the running faucet as if it’s nothing. Several times. (This also happened, as did the very same gentleman picking food from his teeth with his fork. At the dinner table. Yes. Yes. It did.)

So, at that time, late January 2018, I deleted my profile, then I deleted the app. I realized I wanted to give that time to myself. If I met someone fine, if not, fine. Then, the next day, as if by magic, I met someone, in real life. I was at a friend’s gig in Santa Monica. Sparks flew. It was instant. There was no denying it. I fell in love with this man and we were together, off and on, for over a year. 

Upon the heartbreak of not being able to make this work and being dumped by the same man approximately 4 times (yes, I lost count, and yes, I took him back every time because, well, love), I had to do research. So, I dove into all the things, all the blogs, all the medical journals, psychics and astrologers, my old deck of tarot cards, I even bought a pendulum… You know, the shit you do when he left and you love him and you want him to come back even though it hurts every time? The obsession shit? Ya, that — all the while, managing my business, my podcast, my child, my health and wellbeing (extra therapy and yoga), and my heartache. 

Then, my dear friend and grief therapist, Claire Bidwell Smith, gave me a book: Attached: The new science of adult attachment and how it can help you find – and keep – love. The book explains the various ‘styles of attachment’ that every human being develops in their early years as an infant and toddler, directly related to their attachment to their parents, particularly their mothers. It helped me understand that my attachment style and his attachment style didn’t work together, and so he would always abandon the relationship to keep himself “safe” and I would always be left holding the bag wondering what the hell happened.

Nothing would ever change. These things were ingrained in us deeply, respectively. And I, for sure, couldn’t ‘love it out of him.’ This is/was his journey to self and there was/is nothing for me to do but accept it and keep going forward. 

Recently, at my girlfriends’ urging (to help me move on), I went back (reluctantly, verrrrry reluctantly) into the swipe app culture. I lasted a total of 12 days this time: over 2,000 swipes (I counted), 5 matches, and 1 date. 

What I realized, as I cried all the way home from that date last Saturday night at 1am, was that all these lessons of disillusionment, heartbreak and rejection uncover truths about me if I am willing to listen and observe. I can, if I choose to, expand my experience of compassion and forgiveness.

It’s not about me.

Not about how I look or don’t look, how much I know about a certain subject or not, it’s not about me (or them) not being enough. I can let them be themselves and truly have empathy for their varied life-situations, their hopes and dreams and the ways in which they cope with life. It doesn’t have to fit with mine, nor does it need to repulse me or feed my own fears of abandonment. It’s just them doing their best to survive and to be seen in whatever way they need to be seen or not seen (attachment). It’s truly not personal. 

The emotional hangover from the date gone wrong was real. And it took me a few days, and a lot more crying, to recoup and write this blog. The return of my thoughts to that man that I loved, and still love, are painful.

Longing is a terrible, beautiful, torturous and deceptively hopeful place. And yet, it’s all a part of life’s tapestry. I can’t change it, I can’t dull it down.

And I don’t want to. All of these ultimately make me a better writer, a better mother, and hopefully, a better person. I don’t think I’ll ever master this romantic love thing, it tends to be my achilles heel, but I can strive for progress, more opening and vulnerability. 

At present, I’m leaning into the ebb and flow of my loneliness, the desire for intimacy along with the solitude that blossoms in its absence. These are the fabric of what makes me: Jennifer.  Trying to avoid the discomfort by swiping left a thousand times isn’t going to make it go away. In fact, it made it worse. 

So, while I wait for my person to come, I will do things that give me pleasure and expand my sense of vitality: focus on my writing, my son, my friends and my creative projects. I will honor the sadness, loneliness, and vulnerability that comes with wanting love in the first place. Vulnerability is the truest route to intimacy. That’s what I desire most. 

I love you. Keep going. 

Xoxo, 

Jennifer