Dating in the Time of DMs and Disassociation

Dating in the Time of DMs and Disassociation

Genre: Blush / Journal / Personal

They say love in the digital age is a swipe away. But what they don’t tell you is that disappointment is, too.

I’ve dated through apps, emojis, voice notes, disappearing snaps, and unread messages left on “seen.” I’ve met men who shared playlists instead of feelings, who knew how to curate an aesthetic on Instagram better than they knew how to hold a conversation. I’ve gone on more “first dates” than I care to admit, and yet it still feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of actual connection.

The funny part? I’m not bitter. I’m just... exhausted. Emotionally jetlagged from traveling through too many almosts and not-enoughs.

Let me walk you through some of the highlights from my modern dating career:

The Guy Who Only Spoke in Memes

He was hilarious. Our conversations were 80% TikToks, 10% memes, and 10% “you up?” messages at 11:37 p.m. At first, I thought it was fun. Who doesn’t love someone who can make them laugh? But eventually, I realized we never actually talked. About anything real. I could quote every one of his favorite creators, but I didn’t know what his childhood was like, or what made him cry. I ghosted him — and instantly felt guilty.

The Guy Who Trauma-Dumped During Brunch

It was our second date. I ordered waffles. He ordered a panic attack. Somewhere between the syrup and the side of fruit, he told me about his unresolved issues with his mother, his last three breakups, and how he hadn’t been to therapy but really meant to. I nodded, sympathetic. But I also realized I was not equipped to be his unpaid therapist in heels. We never saw each other again, though he did send a thank-you text: “Appreciate you holding space for me.”

You're welcome, I guess?

The Guy Who Was Emotionally Available — for One Week

We met at a bookstore. (Yes, people still do that. It was as magical as it sounds.) He was reading Murakami. I made a joke about lonely protagonists. He smiled like he knew something about me. Our first date lasted six hours. We talked about grief and hope and climate change and oat milk. I thought, finally.

A week later, he disappeared.

No text. No call. Just evaporated like morning fog. I replayed every moment trying to find the error. Was I too much? Too eager? Too happy?

Turns out, it wasn’t about me. He resurfaced a month later with a vague apology and an Instagram story about “needing time to find himself.” I wished him well, and blocked him.

Lesson learned: Just because someone says they’re ready doesn’t mean they are. And you can’t build a relationship on potential.

If dating in the 2000s was about meeting someone at a bar, dating in the 2020s is about surviving the algorithm. It’s a game of profiles, swipe fatigue, and emoji interpretation. Are two red hearts too much? Does a fire emoji mean attraction or just hype? Is a lack of response ghosting or just social anxiety?

And don’t even get me started on “situationships.” You know, those not-quite relationships where you talk daily, share secrets, hook up sometimes, but somehow aren’t dating? The emotional purgatory of knowing someone likes you — just not enough.

The truth is, we are a generation wired to connect — and terrified of vulnerability. We crave intimacy but fear rejection so deeply that we often settle for less just to avoid the risk.

We date while disassociating. We text while watching Netflix while scrolling TikTok while pretending we’re okay.

And beneath all the laughing emojis and filters is a quiet loneliness. A wish that someone, somewhere, could see through the curated highlight reel and still want us. Raw. Unfiltered. Typing… and deleting.

But here’s the thing no one tells you: every failed date, every ghost, every awkward goodbye teaches you something. Not always about them — but about you.

The guy who ghosted me taught me I deserved consistency.

The one who only sent memes taught me I wanted depth.

The guy at brunch? He reminded me I could be kind without becoming someone’s emotional crutch.

Every ending shaped me. Sharpened me. Strengthened the muscle of knowing what I will and won’t tolerate.

So now, I date differently.

I ask real questions. I show up honestly. I say how I feel, even if it scares me. And if someone can’t meet me there? I walk away. Not because I’m heartless — but because I’ve finally learned that love isn’t about proving your worth to someone. It’s about meeting someone who already sees it.

To anyone else navigating dating in the time of DMs and disassociation: I see you. I know you’re tired. I know you’ve reread messages wondering what you did wrong. I know the ache of wanting something that feels simple and getting lost in something complicated.

But don’t stop believing in love. Not the Hallmark kind. The real kind. The messy, beautiful, boring, extraordinary kind. The kind where two people look at each other and say, “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Until then? Keep choosing yourself. Again and again. Because that’s the first love story worth getting right.