‘THE PLEASURES & PITFALLS OF MIDLIFE DATING’
Rosie Green on getting back in the dating game
Until I was 45, I had never been on a date. My husband and I met when we were 18 and our courtship involved loitering around each other’s university halls of residence on the pretext of borrowing highlighter pens. We were together for 26 years, married for 15 of them, have two gorgeous teenage children and a lifetime of memories together. He was my rock, my constant in an ever-changing world.
And then it all spectacularly imploded in the summer of 2018. My ex did and said things I never could have imagined. He wanted out and left with no forwarding address.
My self-esteem hit rock bottom. I hit rock bottom. I lost two stone in as many months and felt beset by crippling anxiety. I was frightened for the future. And I was hurt. So hurt. The perfect life we had worked so hard to create was crumbling and everything that was certain now wasn’t.
But there was a life force within me that meant I carried on. I got up in the mornings, got the children to school, made them meals, put one foot in front of the other and took one day at a time. I was determined to survive. Strike that – I was determined to thrive and to emerge from this horrible situation proud of my behaviour, able to create a margarita with the lemons!
MOVING ON
After six months of licking my wounds, I realised I craved the closeness of a romantic partner. The intimacy, the hugs, the togetherness. I know some in my situation want to eschew
men for ever, but I just didn’t feel that way.
My mind was overwhelmed with questions. Did I need to fully heal first before I contemplated dating? Was male attention just an attempt at validation? Was dating simply a plaster over the wound? Did I need to do ‘the work’ and let that wound air and give it time? Did I need to be happy with myself by myself?
FIRST DATE
Luckily, I didn’t have to overthink all this as a man slid into my direct messages on Instagram. We both worked in the media industry (he was a photographer, I am a writer) and he was a decade my junior. He invited me to dinner and, on a hot summer evening in 2019, I went out on my first date ever. I didn’t tell my children. In fact, I didn’t tell many people just in case it was a disaster. I left the kids contentedly with my mother and headed into London’s West End. I felt like I was a teenager.
I gave myself enough time to get ready (this is crucial – if you don’t feel confident in how you look, you send out uncomfortable vibes and I didn’t want my date to absorb that feeling). I wore a sundress that was casual yet pretty, flattering and easy.
Of course, I was nervous. But I approached the date in the same way I do with all things that scare me: I don’t think about them until five minutes before they happen. And it was great. We went to a chic but not stuffy restaurant. We ate good food, drank wine, flirted and laughed. By 9pm, we were kissing.
Kissing, I discovered, was one of the best things to come out of my new situation. I think kissing can get lost in a marriage. It had certainly been AWOL for a while in mine. I resigned myself to the fact you can’t keep up the heady desire of the early days. And, well, public displays of affection seemed quite embarrassing. But now kissing was thrilling. It was a dopamine hit x 1,000!
Suddenly, the pleasure receptors in my brain that had lain dormant for so long were firing up. Afterwards, I felt buoyed. I had felt unlovable for so long and now I felt desirable. I felt hope. I felt excitement. We went out on some more dates; the last one on the back of his motorbike. As I sped along, I prayed I wouldn’t leave my children motherless.
It ran its course. A few months later, sensing I was missing the kissing and the connection, a friend suggested we sign me up to a dating app. Thank heavens for online dating,
I had felt unlovable for so long and now I felt desirable. I felt hope
I say! Otherwise, we’d be like Jane Austen heroines – waiting to be set up.
My friend and I were at a spa when, in a calorie-deprived delirium, we hastily created my profile. I remembered Sara Davison, a divorce coach, once asking me what I wanted in a man. I mentally flicked back to the list. Must be kind, must be honest, must have a chest with girth, must be able to give me a fireman’s lift. We considered a few dating sites. Tinder – too overtly sexual. Raya – too elitist. Then, we settled on Hinge, which had been recommended to me.
Once you put yourself out there on the marketplace, it’s so easy to get consumed with what others think of you, but I found it helpful to keep reminding myself of what
I had to offer, which my friends said was a lot. So, I tried to listen to them.
Anyway, soon I was messaging and flirting and arranging real-life dates. One of the first was with a great guy. Tall, handsome and funny. We kissed on the second date. It was life-affirming. There was another man who I felt like I had a real connection with. Smart, sexy, driven. We spent a summer Whatsapping, drinking cold rosé on warm nights and kissing in car parks like teenagers. We didn’t talk about whether we were seeing anyone else; we didn’t have the exclusivity chat. I assumed that he, too, was going through the weeding-out process. All of us feeling our way in this new world.
NEW RELATIONSHIP
In those months, I learned something about rejection, too. Because there are men out there who won’t choose you (I know, fools!). I read something once that said men are like taxis: you need to get them when their light is on. And I think that’s so true. I found that men tend to be more pragmatic about relationships. They actually mean it when they say they want ‘something casual’. I had to accept that my fairy-tale fantasy tends to override what I need/want/am able to give in terms of commitment. From my experience, many men are different. So listen to them. You can be gorgeous, clever, kind and successful, but if they are not in the zone, they are not in the zone. Or maybe they’re just not that into you. Or they might be into their ex. In which case, thank you – and next!
A friend of mine had given me the advice of not to get too invested in dates, not to overthink them or load them with expectations and that’s what I tried to do. I tried to enjoy them for what they were – a night out with a new
person. Sometimes I could do this, sometimes I couldn’t.
When the first relationship (if that’s what you call it) fizzled, the second one serendipitously surfaced. He became my ‘boyfriend’, which felt weird to say, but rather nice. We went out for six months. We went on holiday. This involved a childcare spreadsheet (I’m not joking), where various friends and family were recruited to keep my children’s lives running smoothly.
The sun was warm, the food delicious. I felt a lightness and a freedom I hadn’t felt in years. I felt desire and felt desired. My children knew about him, saw his messages flash up on my screen, but they didn’t meet him. I asked them how they felt and my teenage daughter said she needed reassurance I was not going to leave her. I could see the reasoning behind her thinking. One parent had left, so why shouldn’t the other? I did my best to convince her I was not going anywhere.
That relationship actually ended in the first lockdown. Not badly, but it did make me feel sad and a bit mad. I wondered if the highs were worth the lows. And for a while, I retreated into my friends and family. But a few months later, I entered the dating scene again. This time a little wiser.
LEARNING CURVE
What had I learned? That there were some types best avoided… 1) The rebounders. Those who were obsessed with their last relationship and spend more time talking about what their ex is doing rather than what they/you are doing.
Kissing was one of the best things to come out of my new situation
2) Young men. While this is extremely flattering (and I can’t deny the washboard stomachs and cheeky grins were tempting), I knew I wanted someone with the same lived experience. 3) The endless messagers. You know the minutiae of their lives, their inside-leg measurements and how they take their coffee, but three weeks in, you’re no nearer to a real-life meet-up. Between lockdowns, when we were allowed to socialise (and therefore date!), I had a renewed confidence. My self-esteem didn’t hinge on whether someone ‘liked’ me or not. Of course, there were some ‘meh’ dates (the guy who wore sunglasses the whole way through comes to mind), but there were lots of great ones, too. And one of them is now my boyfriend. Now I have the affection, the hugs and the togetherness I craved. It feels like a gift. And it’s one I won’t ever take for granted.
• How To Heal A Broken Heart (Orion Spring) by Rosie Green is available now.