Between ending a relationship, navigating my way through the rollercoaster of modern dating, and recently finding myself in a new relationship, it would appear that I have became almost addicted to honesty.

And no, not brutal honesty, more like honesty with care. And like any uncomfortable practice, it’s a muscle - one I’ve spent the last few years strengthening. And I’m convinced it’s the single most freeing thing dating has ever taught me.

For the longest time I believed keeping the peace was the key to success. I pushed down disappointment, I convinced myself that being easygoing made me more lovable, and I put a lot of my needs in the backseat. God forbid I rock the boat or ask for too much. (Fellow people pleasers, cheers!) Looking back, I wasn’t protecting or cultivating the relationship, I was abandoning myself.

One of the hardest things I’ve ever done was end my last serious relationship. THAT level of honesty feels… catastrophic. It’s a pain so acute it almost makes you never want to “use your words” ever again.

But. It was also the first time I experienced honesty as a form of self-respect. And I was proud of that. I thought, “hey, would you look at that. You didn’t die.” Plus perhaps more importantly, “wow, what a fucking relief.”

And then I started dating. “Ha ha.”

I was shocked - no let me stress this, I was *SHOCKED*, by how much energy people spend trying not to say what they actually mean. The games. The guessing. The passive aggression. The soft ghosting. The hard ghosting.

The mental gymnastics of hoping someone will magically figure out what we need without ever having to risk saying it out loud. Every day, a new level of “my god what the hell is going on here.” “Use your words” stopped feeling like a joke and started feeling like a philosophy.

Because, as you’ve heard me say before: honesty is a gift.

Not because it always gets you the outcome you want, but because it gives everyone clarity. There is something deeply kind about letting another person know where they stand.

It’s the respect I desperately wanted when I was anxiously waiting for a text that never came, replaying conversations in my head, wondering if I had imagined a connection that wasn’t really there.

And sure, clarity can hurt. But I’d bet ya a dollar that confusion hurts longer. When has anyone ever thought “damn I wish they hadn't given me that information.” - never.

One of the biggest shifts for me has been realizing - better yet practicing - that you teach people how to treat you. And love you.

And it’s not through tests, it’s not through silence, and it’s certainly not by hoping they’ll just be able to read your mind. You teach people by letting them in, and especially by letting them in on your feelings.

“It makes me anxious when I don’t hear from you for a while.”

“Birthdays are important to me.”

“I love when you tell everyone how much you love me.” (Kidding. Or am I.)

Point is, you give people a chance to succeed.

And if they can’t - or won’t - well, then you have your answer. But you didn’t leave yourself behind in the process. You honored yourself enough to ask/say the thing.

And you know what I’ve found to be quite interesting in my own life lately? That lesson didn’t end when I found myself in a relationship. If anything, I think it has become more important. Like I’ve achieved a new bonus level of radical honesty. I’m realizing that the conversations never stop.

No one is going to instinctively know exactly how to love you. It’d be nice! But I’ll tell you I don’t think that’s actually a thing! Instead I’m finding that you keep learning each other. You keep saying the uncomfortable thing. You keep choosing honesty over “peace”, silence or self betrayal.

And I love… that even though I worry quite often that I’m “being too much” I have never been met with anything other than care in return for my own.

Every single time I express a need, I’m not met with punishment. I’m not called over dramatic. Instead I’m met with, “thank you for telling me.”

For someone who spent years avoiding hard conversations, even medium hard ones, that still feels quite scary. It’s uncomfortable but it’s a part of me I’ve grown proud to foster within myself. Look at me. Evolving right before our eyes.

So this is the hill I’ll die on today:

Use your words.

Say the thing.

Come from a place of kindness.

Give people the opportunity to show up for you.

Because every time you choose honesty *with care over silence, whether the relationship lasts or not, you walk away with something no one can take from you:

The certainty that you didn’t lose yourself.

Confirmed: I am seeing someone.

Confirmed: this isn’t about to turn into a relationship blog.

Confirmed: I am so happy.

But I know what it took to get here. And it certainly wasn’t just timing or luck.

I’ve been mulling over how to share this chapter for a while now. The tone of this space went from “I’m right here in the trenches with you” to “oh… wait. I think something is actually happening?” And that shift felt worth sitting with before trying to explain it.

So, while holding my breath for a lot of it, I let it unfold.

For the past few months, I’ve been quietly enjoying the sweetness and giant mixed bag of emotions when meeting someone new. And with so much uncertainty, I let myself experience it all in private. Which seems fair.

But in trying to figure out how to come back to my Substack in particular, I realized something important: regardless of my relationship status, this space was never just about dating. It’s about navigating hope without losing yourself.

And that hasn’t changed.

If anything, this is proof that it’s possible.

So here’s what I still know to be true. First and foremost: dating is a complete mindfuck. You’ve heard me say it 100x. It’s my thesis.

Not just because it’s hard, but because so much of it is out of your control. You won’t fully understand it, you won’t be able to perfect it, and trying to do either will drive you insane.

The only way I’ve found to stay sane is learning how to hold two opposing truths at the same time. Because dating is a constant negotiation between opposites:

Intuition vs. over-analysis

Whimsy vs. reality

Self-preservation vs. vulnerability

Delusion vs. discernment

Effort vs. detachment

Creating your own conditions vs. trusting timing

Hope vs. acceptance

Knowing your worth vs. being open to surprise

And the goal? Perspective. Not perfection.

In my case, I can’t help but believe that meeting my guy did feel a little divine. (I feel incredibly lucky to have met this person. He is 1 of 1.)

But at the same time, best believe I didn’t just sit around and wait for this meeting to happen. Honey, I made damn sure to create the correct conditions.

So what do I actually think I did right?

1. I put myself out there.

I went to the concerts, the dinners, the parties, the trips - fun things. I made my life full and social and expansive. I stayed on apps when it felt right, and stepped back when it didn’t. But I made myself available to opportunity in so many ways.

2. I took risks.

Even the cringey or expensive ones. I worked with a matchmaker. Was it necessary? No. But it most definitely shifted something in me. I felt in control, I saw my options, and I had permission to be selective.

3. I dated for information.

A lot of dates. A lot of clarity. I learned exactly what I wanted, and more importantly, what I didn’t.

4. I built a life I didn’t want to leave.

I learned how to love being single. I created a version of my life that felt full, grounded, and genuinely fun. So much so that anything less than what I truly wanted became a no.

5. I took care of myself.

Mentally, physically, socially. I showed up for my own life first.

6. I learned resilience.

A tough one. It’s getting back up after disappointment. Again and again. Staying open when it would be easier to shut down.

7. I was honest.

With myself and with other people. Even when it was uncomfortable. Dating karma is real, and honesty is a form of kindness.

8. I became rich in friendships.

I built a community and a support system that filled me up. Good friends will hold you accountable and remind you of your standards and worth when you wobble. The type of love I cultivated from my friendships fundamentally changed me for the better.

9. I didn’t give up hope.

Even when it felt ridiculous. Even when I was exhausted. I stayed open to the idea that something real existed for me. “If I exist, they exist.”

10. I never settled.

I trusted that what I wanted was real, and that I was worthy of it. And I refused to shrink my life for anything less.

It’s a bit of a “witch’s brew”, as I like to call it. No single ingredient gets you there. But if there’s one thing I want to leave you with, it’s this:

You don’t have to“stop looking” or “decenter men.” You can learn how to build a life you love while still being open to more.

Your effort matters.

Your standards matter.

Your physical and mental health matters.

Your relationships outside a romantic one matter.

Your belief in yourself matters.

Your belief in their existence matters.

Corny? Maybe.

True? Absolutely.

And hopefully… this is where it gets more interesting.

Because dating doesn’t end when you meet someone, it just changes shape.

If you’ve got a question or a comment, please feel free. That’s why I’m here.

XO,

Caroline

It’s a topic I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Could be Nobody Wants This season two, could be timing, but it really boils down to getting to a place where you truly believe — and trust — that whoever’s right for you will see you and celebrate it.

We’ve all been told to “just be yourself,” but when you’re younger — or freshly rejected — that phrase can feel frustratingly abstract. Be yourself? Okay… no shit, “how am I not myself?” But the real question is: what does it mean to actually embody it? What does it take to feel it?

Well. As an Olympic dater, a chronic overthinker, and someone who’s made a career out of wearing her heart on her sleeve — here’s what I know now: it is profoundly boring to be someone you are not. And it is exhausting.

The Cool Girl (or Guy) Has Got to Give It a Rest.

When I first re-entered the dating pool after my breakup, I most certainly dated at times from a place of fear — fear of rejection, fear of being too much, too little, too vulnerable. I overthought texts, played the waiting games, and tried on versions of myself that didn’t quite fit.

I think back on all that unnecessary (and at times extreme) anxiety and just want to give that girl a hug.

The older I get, the more I realize

that dating is mostly a crash course in self-discovery. You learn what you do and don’t want, what you will and won’t accept. The pool may get smaller, but your standards — and your self-trust — get stronger. And as I always love to reframe: what a gift that miserable experience is!

Not everyone is going to like you, and not everyone is for you. Our egos are loud — mine still loves to drop in and insult me from time to time. But here’s the truth: someone not choosing you has nothing to do with your worth.

Rejection is redirection. Let the universe do its cosmic quality control.

And honestly, don’t you love those hindsight moments when you think, thank God that thing or that person didn’t happen?

The Light Bulb Lesson

I’ll never forget the moment that “be yourself” finally landed for me. I had been blindsided by someone I thought was all green lights. I was so sure of it all — and then, in so many words, he said, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” (To my face, at least, and not on a Post-it note — IYKYK.) I was devastated.

I find that my ego is an ice queen in rejection situations, but the real Caroline can be more of a “no stone unturned” kind of girl. So, I reached out one last time to have the old (mildly pathetic, in retrospect) “you sure??” conversation.

I was nervous — legitimately shaking — but my mom, who happened to be visiting during that rough week, said something I’ll never forget:

“You have nothing to lose here if you’re being yourself. Whatever the outcome is, you can be proud that you were true to you.”

The light bulb went on. I heard it, I accepted it, I embodied it — as best I could.

He still said no, but I was proud of myself. For being brave. For being vulnerable. For being true to myself and for trying — without attachment to the outcome. I got my answer, and I accepted it.

From that moment on, I stopped dating for approval and started dating for alignment. The goal wasn’t to be cool or strategic — “how can I get him back, or get him to love me?” — it was to be authentic, and to see more clearly who matched that energy.

Authenticity > Strategy

I firmly believe these days that if my sincerity scares someone off, I’ve just saved us both a lot of time.

So many of us date from a place of insecurity — operating with “strategy.” I don’t mean that in a manipulative way; I mean the small adjustments we make to be liked, to win, to control the narrative.

It takes time and effort to build confidence. But the freedom I feel these days, knowing that if my over-communication, eagerness, or dry sense of humor turns someone off… I’m simply not the girl for them.

There’s absolutely no sense in letting your “representative” — the perfectly packaged first-date version of yourself — take the wheel for too long. Life is too short to shrink.

If you exist, they exist.

And the closer you are to yourself, the closer you are to freedom from needing anyone else’s approval.

“I Am Cringe, But I Am Free.” Try It On. See How It Fits.

Let me stress: being a sincere person doesn’t make you weak or a doormat. I’ve seen some things — and I would argue it’s the opposite. It’s powerful to know that despite how hard it can be out there, despite how awful people can sometimes be, you still chose to show up, and stand by who you are and what you’re worth.

Speaking from experience — from both sides of the coin — being kind, being open, being honest > being aloof.

I am loud, strong-willed, sensitive, vulnerable — but I am free.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I am free.

Curious to know if this resonates at all with you? Have you experienced any similar shifts — with dating or in any other areas of life?

If I had a dollar for every time someone told me “you’ll meet someone when you least expect it,” I’d be rich enough to buy the damn compound. (Girls you know the one.)

But here’s the thing, what if this chapter, right now, is the whole point?

What if being single is actually… romantic?

I really do believe that one day I’ll look back and long for this chapter. A time when I could be a little selfish, fully self-sufficient, and — maybe it’s a big word — but untethered.

Sure, there are still nights I wake up from a nightmare wishing I wasn’t alone, but the incredible thing about this time is the resilience it forces out of you.

We hear it all the time: dating right now is hell. Expectations are in the gutter, no one knows how to commit or communicate, etc etc etc.

And listen, I agree. To quote myself: “dating is a mindfuck.” But as nice as it is to be validated in that, I think there’s a more productive truth to sit with: being single can actually be really. fucking. awesome.

We’re programmed to believe you’re nobody unless you’ve got somebody. That if you’re single, something must be wrong with you — because partnership is (or should be) the goal… right??? (— wrong.)

But I’ve found it deeply empowering to remind myself how fun and special this time can be. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t force fate. So much of life — and love — is out of our control. But what we can control is our perspective.

And at the end of the day, you know what’s attractive? Someone who’s fully living their life.

“Making single sexy” action items:

Embrace Your Secret Self

There is nothing more fun about being single than discovering your secret self — the version of you who eats dinner in bed, wears oversized meemaw apparel around the house (girls know exactly what I’m talking about), leaves dishes in the sink if you damn well please, and goes back for a second helping of dessert (sometimes!)

Your secret self is fun to find — and even more fun to own. There’s something special about having little things that are just yours, things you might not do if someone else was around.

Say “Yes”

Now is not the time to sit, wait, or wallow. It’s the time to smash that “I WANNA LIVE” button and go for it.

Say yes to the date(s).

Yes to the job.

Yes to the trip, the experience, the random invite.

The best part? You get to do all of it on your own terms. Limited baggage is a gift — take full advantage.

Cultivate Deep and Meaningful Friendships

The single best thing to come out of my singleness? The friendships.

They took time and effort, but they’re now the most rewarding part of my life. My best friend and I always say we’re filthy rich in friendship, and I can’t stress enough how imperative that is.

If you’re single, besides having friends in relationships, it’s also incredibly important to have fellow single friends — people who really get the moment you’re in.

And if you’re in LA, this is exactly why me and one of my best friends Ashley (@everydaypursuits) started the LA Girl Dinner Club. We wanted everyone to experience the kind of love and friendship we’ve cultivated. It’s not optional — it’s vital. So if you’re here… come hang with us.

Get Hotter

And I mean that in every sense.

Take this time to take care of yourself — inside and out. Start a workout routine. Go to therapy. Meditate. Read more. Learn a language. Find a hobby. Get a membership. Join a club. Take a class. Create an intention — however big or small — to improve.

And do it for you.

Say Nice Things To Yourself

I live by life’s little digestible nuggets — affirmations.

“I am exactly where I am supposed to be.”

“What is meant for me will be for me.”

“If I exist, they exist.”

“I’m building a life that feels like love.”

(Curious — what are some of your favorite affirmations? Let’s get a list going in the comments maybe??)

Imparting Fruit For Thought

Start living your life as though this could be it for a while. What do you want the next month, six months, year, five years to look like?

Partnership is a want, not a need. Live on your own terms.

The truth is, you won’t be single forever — and I don’t just say that to be nice. Statistically, it’s just a fact.

You will look back on this time and miss (parts of) it.

This season is a gift. So let it be one.

You have everything you need, and you’re already whole.

You get one shot at this life — make it interesting.

You’ll learn more about yourself! they said.

And sure, but the one thing I can guarantee about dating is this: it will humble you.

Dating is a rare chance to feel the full spectrum of level-10 emotions: exhilaration, hysteria, heartbreak. If you’re lucky, you get to experience them all at once — excellent material for stories, if nothing else.

These days, while disappointment still feels inevitable, some parts have gotten easier. First dates don’t scare me anymore. I block when necessary. I’m in my “radical acceptance” era. Even the anticipation of disappointment feels lighter.

But getting here wasn’t easy.

Four years ago, my sweet little sad ass dated from pure anxiety. One offhand comment or canceled plan could take me out completely. It took years of learning, unlearning, and repeating the same lessons on loop before I landed anywhere close to secure attachment.

I’m not “fully healed” (no one ever really is), but I’ve made peace with myself. And along the way, I’ve collected a handful of hard pills — ones I still take with a little chaser of radical acceptance.

Pill #1: You cannot control other people.

Sometimes you won’t know “why.” Sometimes you won’t get closure.

The first guy I fell for after my breakup nearly broke me. I was embarrassed by how deeply it hurt. How could someone I barely knew affect me this much? What am I, 13? My therapist gave me the line I still repeat to myself: “Sometimes you’re not going to know why. And you’re going to have to find a way to be okay with the not knowing.”

Most people are not great at exhibiting good “dating karma.” Closure is rarely delivered in a neat bow, if at all. At the end of the day, closure is something you have to give yourself.

Pill #2: He’s not busy. He’s just not into you.

Oh my god, the amount of times I tried to disprove this one… “But he’s different.” “He’s a founder.” “He hates texting.” GIRRRRL.

After running too many personal case studies, I can confidently confirm: if they wanted to, they would. Period. (And when they do want to, you’ll know.)

But even worse than no effort at all? The lukewarm ones. THE LUKEWARMIANS. Nothing is more maddening than someone who dangles just enough to keep you around, but never fully shows up. If it feels off, it usually is.

And yes, I’m still a “no stone unturned” person - if sending the double text gives me peace, I’ll send it. If asking someone out (when they should have) helps me sleep, I’ll ask. Authenticity matters more than pride, because you’ll never regret being true to yourself. But don’t confuse authenticity with delusion: you deserve clarity and equal energy.

Pill #3: Butterflies are alarm bells.

As an anxious attachment girlie, I used to romanticize butterflies and confused them for “chemistry”. My therapist had to break it to me: butterflies are actually anxiety.

True connection feels safe. It feels good in your body and on your nervous system. Safety is what we should be seeking, not chaos. (And trust me, I too love a little chaos for the plot, but not for the foundation of a life and/or partnership.)

Pill #4: The goal is not to get everyone to like you.

This is my favorite.

Dating often feels like an interview or audition. We send out “the representative” and do our best to be funny, charming, likable, etc. Our egos strive to be liked, but the choosing needs discernment. Alignment should be the real goal.

I’ve learned to flip the script: instead of asking “Do they like me?” I ask, “Do I even like them?” The quicker you accept that you are not for everyone - and act authentically anyway - the less time you waste.

Authenticity is the most radical act of love you can give yourself.

Pill #5: Timing is everything.

This one’s a little woo-woo, but hear me out.

The right person at the wrong time is still the wrong person. I’ve met wonderful men - smart, kind, full of potential - who weren’t in the same season as me. Sometimes they needed healing, sometimes I did. Relationships require both people to bring equal energy and maturity.

And you can’t force timing.

What is meant for you won’t miss you.

What misses you was never meant for you.

If someone hints (or outright says) they’re not ready, believe them. Don’t invest your precious time in hope disguised as patience.

That’s where I am today: humbled (yet still undeniably hotter), braver, clearer, more grateful and certainly more at peace. Because every hard pill, every lesson, has made me a different kind of dater - and yes, a better person, fineeee - than I was four years ago. I may need more botox units than I used to, but I will tell you again: perspective is a gift!

Im curious — which of these resonated with you the most? Is there a hard pill/dating lesson you’d like to add to the list? Maybe there’s a part two: crowd sourced. Let me know!

Lots of love no loathing,

Caroline

Now, I won’t go overboard on self-flattery (smart as a whip, funny, independent, nearly perfect, etc.), but I’d like to think I’m a catch. So how did I get here? Why would I hire a matchmaker? What could possibly drive me to this level?

Steps into spotlight. The short version: because I truly want to share my life with someone. Maybe it’s the faint ticking of a biological clock, maybe it’s my genuine capacity to love and be loved, but most importantly — because I finally feel ready.

After my breakup from a ten-year relationship, I was thrown into the dating deep end. On one side: confident, independent 32-year-old woman. On the other: an inexperienced, somewhat naïve adolescent.

I’ll be forever grateful to my single girlfriends who held my hand through every “he never called me back” and “I don’t understand what happened.” Back then, hearing their stories, I thought: wow, that sucks, couldn’t possibly happen to me. Fast forward four years later — humbled into oblivion — I now know no one goes unscathed.

Over those four years, I kept wondering: how much disappointment can one person take? At first, I chalked it all up to “character building.” Lessons in resilience. Growth, blah blah blah. But eventually I hit a point where I was officially “lessoned out.” Apps had me ping-ponging between “it’s just a tool, use it” and “I hate it here.”

Then one day, as with most pivots in life, I just decided I’d had enough of the insanity loop. To take my power back, I saw two options:

1. Listen to the internet and “decenter men” (powerful, yes, but also…boring).

2. Try something else.

The idea of matchmaking wasn’t random — my mom and stepdad actually met through one. But for years, the concept felt too serious. Too final. I wanted to give “whatever will be will be” (via Hinge, Raya, or “in the wild”) a fair chance. But by May, roulette dating had officially broken the camel’s back. Suddenly, serious didn’t feel scary anymore — it felt necessary.

So there I was, Googling “matchmaking services Los Angeles” and booking calls.

I met with four agencies before landing on a boutique team that felt personal, curated, and — most importantly — like they got me. Signing that contract was terrifying, but also liberating. It felt like an investment in my future. At the very least, it was me saying: I’m serious about this.

And honestly? The process has been refreshing. Dates feel intentional. There’s accountability, integrity, and (praise be) actual effort. I’ve had a few misses, sure, but not a single “bad” date. I’ve also never been on this many dates in my life. Some weeks, 2–3 first dates. Exhausting? Yes. But also kind of badass. Olympic dating, if you will.

Still, it’s not without stressors. The cost weighs heavy. So does the thought: what if my contract ends and I’m still single? But reframing helps. This isn’t about guaranteeing a partner. It’s about creating opportunities for connection, practicing showing up as my authentic self, and raising the bar for who I let in.

And truthfully, that’s been the gift: I’ve had dates where I felt like the best version of myself. Where I laughed easily, swore freely, and didn’t want the night to end. That, to me, is progress.

Here’s how it works (because I know you want to know):

• My matchmaker and I had several calls to get to know each other — values, goals, what an ideal partner and partnership look like.

• She finds a handful of potential people to “present” to me.

• We review profiles together, where I say yes, no, or maybe.

• She reaches out to the yeses and maybes.

• If there’s mutual interest, the potential match is interviewed.

• If we’re both still in, the matchmaker coordinates the first date.

She’s always sourcing new people, we check in regularly, and technically I can go on as many dates as I want.

Wild, right? Stressful too — but that’s dating. The difference is, now I feel more in the driver’s seat.

I don’t know where this will go. Would I love to get to a date three (and beyond) before my contract ends? Absolutely. But even if I don’t, I’ve already learned this: investing in myself feels a whole lot better than waiting around.

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There’s one part of my life I rarely talk about online: my love life and dating.

This September marks 13 years of sharing just about every facet of my world on the internet via Love and Loathing LA. I’ve never shied away from putting myself out there. I’ve been marching to the beat of my own drum since forever — my “talks too much in class” report cards ended up serving me well in creating connection and community. I was made for this line of work. And while it feels almost easy for me to be vulnerable online, dating has always been the one subject that scares me most — in more ways than one.

I came out of a 9–10 year relationship almost four years ago now (wow… what?!). Even then, I never explicitly shared what was going on. Mostly because it wasn’t just my news — it was someone else’s too. Who was I to air that? From then on, in my quest to find love again, I decided to keep that part of my life just for me.

Dating in my mid-30s has taken me right back to being awkward, adolescent, and “new here” — a feeling I hate. As hard as I’ve tried to approach it with grace and joy, it’s been complicated, frustrating, confusing, and above all… tender.

This chapter of my life hasn’t been easy. I’ve been working on reframing it as an opportunity to grow and to learn how to “love myself” (yes, I’m rolling my eyes too — but it’s true).

Now that I’m in a place of more radical acceptance about who I am and where I’m at, I’ve realized something: while I’ve been searching for connection and deeper purpose, I also have a rare opportunity to open up about one of the hardest things not enough people talk about — what it’s really like to date in LA in your 30s. With the added twist of being someone whose job is, quite literally, to live life in public.

“So… besides being a total mindfuck, how’s it going?”

We’re jumping ahead, but in short — and this should tell you a lot: I recently started working with a matchmaker.

A few months ago I hit a point where dating (especially online dating) felt like the definition of insanity — doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. I’ve always tried to find a reason behind each date, whether good or bad: “I learned ___ about myself.” “I know I’m not attracted to ___ quality.” “That was just a fun night out.” But after too many second or third dates ending the exact same way — silence, disappearing acts — I was left with the same dumfounded thought: “Not this again.”

Enter the matchmaker.

Trust me, I never thought I’d be here either. Matchmaking felt like a last resort — maybe even a little cringy. Expensive. A big “does this even work??” But when you’re burned out and the tiniest hopeless romantic voice inside says “don’t give up,” you listen to your mom and you try. Try to keep going. Try a new avenue. Try something different.

So I did. I wanted dating to feel less like a game of roulette and more like something intentional. And I’m pleased to say, it’s been nothing short of fascinating so far. Signing up felt like leveling up — not just in dating, but in self-reflection. And now I have so much to share. From the things that keep my chin up, to the lessons I’ve learned, to the real-time highs and lows of this process, I’m equal parts terrified and excited to bring you with me.

There’s power in knowing you’re not alone (my single girls, I see you). But there’s also power in owning your story — even the hardest, messiest parts — and sharing them in hopes of finding common ground.

That said, this series is not about advice or advocacy, especially when it comes to using a Matchmaker. Lord knows I hope it works too (trust me) but dating is like a diet: it looks different for everyone. This is simply my present experience— told honestly, with all the learning curves, surprises, and absurdities along the way.

This is also my first Substack rodeo. I plan on sharing a few times a month (bear with me while I work it out), and most importantly: thank you for being here, seriously.

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