- At the age of 35, it dawned on me that I had never experienced love, and I felt like a failure.
- During my twenties, I struggled with my sexuality as a gay man and found it challenging to open up to others.
- After twenty years of searching for a boyfriend, I unexpectedly crossed paths with my future husband.
On my 35th birthday, as I scanned the room, I couldn’t help but notice that I was the only single person at my own party. Adding insult to injury, my birthday falls on Valentine’s Day. Though I had been content with my single status, the realization that I was approaching 40 without ever being in a meaningful relationship left me feeling ashamed.
Now, years later, happily married, I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to be patient and wait for the right person.
Learning to love myself was essential
Coming to terms with my homosexuality was a challenging journey. Growing up in a conservative Irish Catholic family, I spent years listening to priests condemn homosexuality as a grave sin. The mere thought of being affectionate with another man filled me with fear of damnation.
Even after leaving the church, feelings of guilt and shame persisted. Throughout my twenties, I wrestled with my sexuality and remained in the closet until an unexpected intervention from my father, a hypermasculine construction worker.
“We all know you’re gay, and we all love you,” he said. “Seems like the only one who has a problem with it is you.”
In hindsight, I’m grateful for my dad’s urging to come out. He saw what I couldn’t at the time: I needed to love myself before I could truly love others.
Overcoming the challenges of early dating
Once I fully embraced my sexuality, dating became another hurdle. I hesitated to open up to strangers, yet casual encounters left me emotionally unfulfilled. Watching my siblings bring their partners home for Thanksgiving filled me with envy, so I decided to put myself out there.
I frequented bars, explored online chat rooms, and asked everyone I knew if they had any single friends. Fortunately, I went on numerous dates. Unfortunately, they rarely progressed beyond the initial meeting.
It would be easy to blame the other men, such as the optometrist who brought his wife on a coffee date or the stockbroker who inquired about my tickling preferences (to which the answer is a firm “no”). However, I must admit that I played a significant role in my dating struggles. I struggled with flirting and small talk, often coming across as too intense. I once wrote a love poem to someone after a single night together and prematurely invited another person to a family gathering before even finishing our appetizers.
The repeated rejections made me feel like a failure. However, I now recognize that each date presented a fresh opportunity to learn from my mistakes and identify the kind of person I desired. Looking back, I would also advise my younger self to be more open-minded towards others. Just because someone doesn’t seem like Prince Charming doesn’t mean they’re not worth getting to know.
Continually giving my heart to the wrong people
In my thirties, the pressure to find a partner intensified. Witnessing my friends get married filled me with joy, yet the absence of someone to share intimate moments with saddened me.
Despite improving my dating skills (except for flirting), I found myself consistently prioritizing others’ needs over my own. I engaged in activities I disliked, like hiking despite being clumsy and disliking sweat. I even agreed to an open relationship despite my preference for monogamy.
Despite my efforts to please, these men abruptly ended our connections. It felt like more wasted time, but in retrospect, I needed to focus on my own needs and understand that no one could or should complete me.
The wait for the right person was worthwhile
Shortly after my thirty-sixth birthday, I went on a dinner date with Michael, a charming public-health professor. I admired his pragmatic nature and his dedication to volunteering for animal-rescue groups. Plus, he was incredibly handsome.
As we continued dating, I appreciated how his practicality balanced out my impulsiveness. We supported each other without becoming overly dependent. We could go days without talking or weeks without seeing each other, without feeling insecure about our relationship.
If I faced personal struggles, Michael gave me the space to be true to myself and determine my desires. Each time, my heart led me back to him, and that’s when I knew I was in love. After a year of living together, we got married three years later.
It took nearly two decades to reach this point, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Sometimes, I wonder about the possibilities had Michael and I met at an earlier stage in life. Would I have been ready for him, or would I have mishandled our first date? Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I’m grateful that I found my first love, and we’re blissfully happy together. The wait was entirely worthwhile.
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