You’re probably reading this because you searched for “fed up with dating” or even “fed up of dating” depending on whether you view dating as some sort of yucky sludge force-fed to single people through a beaker held over them by smug society. Or maybe it’s you got obsessed with dating because you feel alone and think it’s inadequate to be single. Fed up of or fed up with dating pretty much sums up how I have felt for many years.
Have you been watching “Married at First Sight” and scoffed “I know him,” not literally but figuratively. You’re thinking “I’ve seen thousands of him on Match.” He’s in his 40s, a hatchet man hacking away at dating, seething with the sense of entitlement that only Knights of the Garter should have temerity to contemplate. He claims no one is quite right but the truth is that he’s not ready to settle down with you or anybody.
You might be him, or her, and you actually don’t want a relationship so you find fault in everyone you meet. Stop and think. Don’t waste your or other people’s time.
If you’re reading this because you want to know how to find a wife or a husband, or a girlfriend or boyfriend, this blog isn’t going to help you at all. Read this if you genuinely feel fatigued, hopeless and fed up of the dating scene.
My turning point was dating a yuppie wannabe who said sexist things, wanted to talk about his stuff and his life even when I was on the other side of the world in Melbourne having some amazing epiphanies but not being able to share them. I remember his bespectacled face, white work shirts and grey hairs despite being in his 30s. He was steeped in a great sense of entitlement at work, with his friends and with me. I used to cook 3 course meals for him, thinking that’s the road to becoming a wife but when he said we should get married in a year my heart sank. I was deeply unhappy with him and marrying him was the last thing I wanted but the first thing society told me I needed (not him as such but basically anyone!)
I should have known it was a bad sign when his flat was clean but his bath tub (hidden behind a shower curtain) was disgustingly dirty. I hadn’t been looking for a boyfriend when I found him and I met him at a party. After some merry dancing he kissed me and I actually wiped my mouth. Sigh. I went on to date him and wound up unhappy.
When that ended I developed a wave of blissful happiness, like the sort of giggly cheeriness that you read about in Victorian novel about tittering ladies in the parlour. I once went out running and saw him randomly, and he looked desperate to chat. The once proud faced narcissist was now hunch-backed walking with his head hung low and his hair much greyer.
Things had unraveled after an argument fuelled by his sexist comments about me — ranging from you’re “too old for me” (I was late twenties he mid thirties), “your career will never be as great as mine because I’m a man” (I kid you not and, no, this wasn’t in 1932). Yes he paid for all my dinners when we dined out and bought me a present every time he saw me but with that transactional, paternalistic approach to dating went a lot of sexism. I realised my hypocrisy as a feminist who went along with someone paying for my dinners when we earned pretty much the same (I in a more senior job). Yes, I know and I’ve learnt my lesson!
I realised that, if you’re happy single, don’t get into a relationship because of the “why not?” philosophy you are fed by yourself and society. Don’t choose someone because they fit an idea of what a boyfriend or girlfriend should be like, their job, income, looks or anything superficial. If you don’t actually even like someone, you don’t share their values (like Mr. Sexism and me) don’t waste their or your time and stay perfectly happy being single.