Dating Whilst Healing
Trying to find love without pretending I’ve got it all figured out.
“Beautiful boys, I wish you knew how precious you are” – FKA Twigs, Girl Feels Good
Lately I’ve been feeling really lonely. Actually, ‘lately’ is generous, it’s been years. I haven’t been in a loving relationship since 2019. I’ve fallen in love since then, but it wasn’t the kind that gives you something solid to stand on, it didn’t feel very safe and inevitably it didn’t last. (Insert me into one of those Male Loneliness Epidemic articles. Whatever.)
Still, even after going through some of life’s biggest tests alone, the thought of meeting someone new sometimes feels terrifying.
Let me try and explain it.
In the years I’ve been struggling with my mental health, not just recently, but across my whole life — I’ve hurt people. Not always directly, and not always dramatically, but the fallout has been awful. Friendships have faded away, relationships have broken and colleagues have felt the ripple effects of me struggling.
So dating has felt like something I needed to protect others from. Like, I don’t want to pull someone into my chaos, especially not something new and fragile. I know what mental health can do to a relationship when it’s still growing. So I’ve kept my distance, no dates, no hook-ups, not even casual flirting. Just withdrawal from it all.
But the thing is, that self-protection has started to feel like I’m harming myself.
You get lonely, touch-starved and emotionally claustrophobic. (No one wants to cook dinner by themselves every night for 5 years, it’s shit.) I have started to believe that healing is something you have to do entirely alone, before you’re “allowed” to be loved again, like there’s a deadline you’re failing to meet.
But healing isn’t linear. We say that all the time, and then self sabotage the moment we feel behind.
And recently I’ve been wondering, if I struggle with my mental health, do I even have the right to date?
Shakily, I think I do.
I’ve made peace with being upfront about it now. A few months ago I promised myself I wouldn’t mask my neurodivergence anymore. Not in the way that means shape-shifting just to fit into someone else’s idea of “easy to get along with.” It’s all theatre.
Still, it’s hard. Men don’t exactly have the best PR at the moment. You don’t have to scroll far on Substack before someone’s telling you that men are lost, emotionally stunted, dangerous, or just not doing the work. The ‘Male Loneliness Epidemic’ is highly ridiculed on social platforms at the moment — sometimes fairly, sometimes unfairly.
And all of that genuinely gets in your head, even when you are doing the work.
I don’t really think anyone will escape the tough times, especially with the way that the world is moving. So why do we act like we should have it all figured out before we get close to someone? Learning to earn tenderness by becoming untouchable is backwards.
I’ve caught myself pulling away from connection, waiting for a future version of myself that feels more finished and more sorted. But that’s another fantasy timeline and another way of putting your life on hold.
Last year, though, I got a glimpse of something better. I dated someone who saw me clearly, not just the anxiety or my various coping mechanisms, but the stuff underneath that I like about myself. The fact that this version of me was still visible to someone gave me something to hold onto.
It reminds me of a line from FKA Twigs:
"Beautiful boys, I wish you knew how precious you are."
That line always stopped me in my tracks. It’s not scolding, it’s a lament. She’s not telling men to be better — she’s aching for the ones who don’t know they already are. And I think a lot of us carry that same confusion: wanting to be loved while quietly believing we aren’t worthy of it yet.
At this point tired of waiting to become someone else before allowing myself to be held.
But I’m also not rushing in and performing openness just to feel wanted. I’ve gotta work with the grey area in the middle.
I’m learning that dating whilst healing isn’t about becoming “ready.”
Maybe it’s just about being honest enough to say:
This is where I’m at and this is what I’m carrying.
Do you still want to come closer?
And maybe that’s enough.
Maybe it isn’t. I don’t know yet.
I think I’m ready to find out.