Another self-care Saturday turned solo sadder night. Three wine glasses, two slices of pizza, and one playlist later, I was up late, scrolling through yet another app filled with potential “No’s” and “Maybe’s”. It’s like the dating apps were infiltrated with hard-learned lessons, and my heart was still healing from a ten-year situationship severance. I wasn’t ready for another ghosted conversation or no-show date. I wanted something real to accompany me into my 30s. And what was more 2020 than online dating?

Online dating — dating in general — has been no crystal stair for me. It would be careless if I didn’t share the lows as well as the highs. Part 1 of this online dating chronicle painted a pretty picture, but I’ve had to paint many failed pieces in order to experience the beauty and art of love.

Want to know a secret? I’ve had online dating profiles since 2013. Yes, this is 7 years of unsuccessful conversations, dates, and lessons later. I’ve probably had a profile on almost any dating app you can think of: Match, Coffee Meets Bagel, FTH, Hinge, POF, OkCupid, Tinder, Bumble, BLK, etc. I mean, in my early twenties, this was a fun way to occupy my time in between classes, internship, and work in graduate school. Mid-twenties: I wanted to feel like I was aligned with the societal expectations of my peers. Later twenties: I was borderline desperate and trying to figure out if my recent breakup was because I was too picky or in a terrible area of Virginia for singles. At this point, being a young Black professional in the DMV area [as well as Richmond] proved to be the Hunger Games of dating — may the odds be ever in your favor.

It’s not like I didn’t have the “resume” to be a bomb a** wife, but let’s be serious — I was competing with the other 99 college educated Black women praying they’d be blessed with one of the 35-40 eligible Black men. Men had the options, the time, and the leverage in the dating game, and I believed that I was at their mercy (TUH! Can we say cognitive distortion?). I actually thought I had to … dare I say … settle *gasp*

Have I been loved well? Of course. Did I have daddy issues? Healing through them, but yes. Was I exempt from the woes of dating? Nope. And here are a few of those experiences.

Names are of course omitted for privacy and the simple fact that some don’t deserve mention.

• The Distanced Daddy

  • He was loc’d, husky, smelled good, and was hilarious. But also a three hour drive away, on a good day on 95 North. However, we wanted to try it out. I’d ask about his kid, he’d ask about my day. We’d exchange opinions on society (he said he was inspired by Trump … RED. FLAG.) and vibe to slow jams that ushered us into aunty and uncle status. He’d hold my hand at church and I’d wait in the barbershop while he got a line up. I mean, I had fun but I was cautionary. I even introduced him to my friends. We attempted to make the distance less obvious by communicating non-stop …. until one day we didn’t. He just disappeared on a sunny September day. And I was devastated. I had considered compromising on the differences to weather [yet another] long distance relationship. But I guess he had other plans. I heard from him randomly on a December night, with some excuse about how “the distance was hard, but I’m driving through Richmond now. Can I stop by?” Sir. Keep driving.

• The Confused Country Boy

  • He started with complaining about how most women wanted him for his money and online dating was harder for men than women. Hmmm. I mean, that was his experience and I honored it, but something deep down inside of me wanted to prove him wrong. So I stuck around. We’d laugh about frying fish to deep southern hip hop, he’d casually flaunt his computer tech and cooking skills, and I’d barely question about why we only talked via Google Duo. Any suggestion to meet up was flirted with, but never intentionally planned. DC wasn’t a planet away, but I knew if he wanted to make the trip, he would’ve. Well, you know how they say when you go looking for something, you find it? Let’s just say I found out that he wasn’t at all who he represented himself to be. I fried catfish with a catfish — go figure.

• Aight, I’ma Head Out

  • At 23, I thought meeting someone for a chill evening at their house was an acceptable first date. Let’s just say I was young and dumb, noticed our date turned into a group when another random guy walked into the room, and I grabbed my keys and left. Yes, I know what you’re thinking: I was lucky to get out of there without anything else happening. Thank God for a praying grandmother.

• Triggered

  • Now, this one was difficult. Because the therapist in me saw his wounds and felt so bad that he experienced all he did. But the human in me knew that I couldn’t attach myself to a man unwilling to work on his wholeness but instead project and unhealthily cope. Plus, the first date isn’t really the space to unpack your deepest secrets. Sorry. This one got deep, but too quickly. I had to set a boundary and end it.

• No Call, No Show

  • We had great convo for two days straight, he was over 6’0, and finally set up a date at this lively Jamaican spot down the street. I had a good sister friend of mine come with me and sit at the bar while I waited. I knew I was as hot as a scotch bonnet pepper and as golden and soft as cocoa bread. But guess what? I had curry goat alone that night and never heard from him. No man, no cry … or whatever Bob Marley said.

There are so many other air-balled shots that I’ve taken, ghosted messages, and straight up rejections that I’ve experienced. And it chips away at the ego and self-esteem a little bit each time. Trust me, I know that the courage it takes to participate in online dating comes with this hope that it won’t last long because you’ll be asked to log off and be with somebody’s son IRL. I see you and I get it, sis. And I share a few of my experiences as solidarity but also encouragement. Keep that hope. There are many “frogs” to kiss, as they say, before kissing a prince. And sometimes, that prince isn’t yet the king meant for you.

Date with discernment and the knowledge that you’re worthy of love, even if guys can’t look past their screens to see it.