Six Months of Internet Dating Taught Me More About Myself Than I Expected

Photo by Elisha May

Six months ago, I went on Hinge with a fairly simple intention:

I wanted to meet my guy. My Bestie. My Life Partner…

I wanted a man who was independent, outdoorsy, adventurous, self-directed. Someone with his own life, his own interests, his own direction. I jokingly called him my “mountain man.” And I was quite specific about this mountain man. (My intuition was giving me hard data, but as is often the case, I misread the data, it was an energy I was calling).

I wanted someone who would get me outside more, someone capable and adventurous, someone who could take me up mountains and into places I'd never been before. I wanted my physical self to be challenged more after years of my emotional and mental capacity being stretched.

But underneath the mountains, what I was really asking for was something much deeper: I wanted a man who could meet me, a man with emotional and relational capacity, a man who was curious about himself and about me. A man who had done enough of his own work that I wasn't walking into another relationship where I became the fixer, the rescuer, the emotional translator or the person responsible for keeping the whole thing moving. I wanted someone with his own life who wanted to share it with me. And, increasingly, I realised I wanted something I'd never really experienced before:

Reciprocity.

Mutual investment.

Not me moving towards him while he decides whether to move towards me.

Not me carrying the emotional weight of the connection.

Not me trying to work out how to make something work.

Both of us choosing it. Both of us investing in it. Both of us showing up.

Six months later, I haven't got the neat romantic ending - yet - but, I have learned an enormous amount, mostly about myself…

I thought I was looking for a man. I was actually refining what I meant by “the right man.”

For months, I had this very clear picture of the mountain man and then something rather strange happened. I met two men who fitted that archetype almost absurdly well. One was an Arctic expedition type through dating and the other was also deeply connected to mountains, exploration and expedition life, but met through my work.

At one point I actually had to laugh. Right. Apparently the universe heard “mountain man” and took the brief literally. But neither connection became the relationship I was ultimately looking for. And I think that's because the mountain was never really the point. The mountain represented something: Freedom, Adventure, Capability, Independence.

A man who had his own direction, a man who could lead himself through difficult terrain, a man who could take me somewhere new, and I still want all of those things. But I've realised they're only part of the picture, because a man can be adventurous and emotionally unavailable, he can be fascinating and inconsistent, he can be capable in the wilderness and completely incapable of meeting you emotionally, he can have an extraordinary life and still not have the capacity to build a life with you. So my specification has become much clearer. I don't just want a mountain man. I want a whole man. And yes, preferably he will still take me up the bloody mountains!

I don't want a project anymore.

This might be one of the biggest things I've learned. I've spent a lot of my life being very good at seeing what is underneath people: their wounds, their potential, their patterns, the parts of them that want to heal, the parts of them they are afraid or ashamed of, the person they could become. And when you're naturally wired that way, it can be very easy to mistake seeing someone's potential for compatibility.

You can meet someone and think:

I understand him.

I can see what's happening here.

There's so much potential.

If he just...

And that's where the trouble begins. Because a relationship isn't supposed to be a personal development project where one person is the consultant and the other is the client. I don't want a man who needs me to fix him, I don't want to rescue him, I don't want to become his therapist, I don't want to carry the emotional labour of his self-discovery, I want a man who is already responsible for himself. And who is still curious enough to keep discovering himself.

There's a difference.

One says:

“Please help me become whole.”

The other says:

“I'm becoming more of myself. Come and meet me there.”

Emotional capacity isn't enough.

This has probably been the biggest refinement. Over the last six months, I've become increasingly clear that I need emotional and relational capacity. I need a man who can communicate, who can tolerate emotional depth, who can talk about difficult things, who can stay present when something uncomfortable comes up, who doesn't disappear when intimacy gets real. But I've realised that emotional and relational capacity are only one part of the equation. Because someone can have emotional intelligence and still not invest, someone can be self-aware and still not follow through, someone can have depth and still not make space for you. And I don't want a relationship where I'm constantly thinking:

But he's emotionally capable.

Okay.

Is he actually meeting me?

That's the question.

I want reciprocity.

This word has become incredibly important to me.

Reciprocity.

I give, you give. I show interest, you show interest. I make space, you make space. I invest, you invest. Not necessarily perfectly or identically at every moment. Relationships aren't spreadsheets. But there needs to be an underlying sense that both people are participating.

I've realised that what I've experienced in the past has often been some version of me moving towards someone and then trying to work out whether they were going to meet me there. I don't want that anymore. I don't want to convince someone to choose me. I don't want to audition for the role of girlfriend or situationship. I don't want to prove that I'm interesting enough, attractive enough, understanding enough or easy-going enough to be worth the effort. I want to see what happens when two people want to participate.

That feels very different.

I'm learning not to confuse intensity with intimacy.

This one has taken some time because some connections are incredibly activating. They can make you think about someone constantly, they can trigger deep emotions, they can expose wounds you didn't know were still there, they can make you question everything, they can feel significant, and sometimes they are significant. But significance doesn't automatically mean compatibility.

Someone can change you without being someone you should build a life with, someone can be a catalyst without being a partner, and I think I've become much better at recognising that distinction.

I'm less interested now in asking:

“Why does this person affect me so much?”

And much more interested in asking:

“How does this person actually show up?”

That's a very different question.

I'm learning to sit in “I don't know yet.”

This might sound ridiculously simple.

It isn't.

Especially when you're someone who notices patterns, reads energy and instinctively tries to understand what's happening underneath the surface. Dating can become an Olympic sport in interpretation.

What did he mean by that?

Why hasn't he replied?

Is he interested?

Does he like me?

Is this going somewhere?

Could this be something?

I've had to learn to step back from all of that.

Sometimes the answer is simply:

I don't know yet.

And that's okay.

I don't need to decide whether someone is my future after a handful of messages. I don't need to decide that someone is wrong for me because one interaction didn't go perfectly. I can meet someone, enjoy them, observe them, let time reveal them.

And most importantly:

Let their behaviour provide the information.

Sometimes what we're calling in arrives in a different form first.

I think this is one of the more interesting things I've learned. Sometimes we think we're calling in a particular person, circumstance or outcome. But perhaps we're actually calling in a quality, an energy. And sometimes life gives us that quality in another form first. Not as the final destination, as preparation, as evidence, as a new reference point.

As a way of showing us: “This exists.”

I've had experiences with men recently that have shown me different forms of healthy masculine connection; not necessarily romantic, and that's been surprisingly valuable. Because you can intellectually know that you want respect, emotional openness, curiosity, boundaries, independence and mutuality. It's another thing to actually experience a connection where those things exist naturally. Sometimes we need the experience before we are fully ready to recognise it when it arrives in the form we've been hoping for. Maybe that's part of what the last six months have been. Not me failing to find the mountain man, but, me becoming much clearer about the man I actually mean when I say mountain man.

I don't just want to be chosen. I want to be met.

There is a subtle difference. Being chosen can still leave you wondering whether you are enough; being met feels different.

It feels like:

“Here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“Let's see what we can create together.”

No chasing, no convincing, no rescuing, no auditioning, no trying to earn someone's investment.

Just two people who have their own lives, their own direction and their own responsibility for themselves, deciding that they want to move towards each other and build something together without either one abandoning themselves.

That's the relationship I want.

So, what has actually changed in six months?

I'm not sure I would say I've become better at dating, as many don’t lead anywhere, not even a first call! But I have become better at discerning. I've become clearer about what I want, about what I don't want, about what emotional capacity actually looks/feels like. I am clearer about the difference between chemistry and compatibility, the difference between potential and behaviour, clearer about reciprocity, clearer about mutual investment, clearer about my boundaries. And perhaps most importantly, I'm learning that I don't have to abandon myself in order to have a relationship. I can want love without making finding it my life's project, I can be open without being indiscriminate, I can be hopeful without projecting a future onto someone who hasn't demonstrated the capacity to create it. I can let someone reveal themselves. And I can leave when what they're showing me isn't what I want or just dones’t feel right, or aligned.

I still want the mountain.

I haven't stopped wanting adventure. I still want to disappear into the wilderness with someone, I still want someone who can take me up a mountain, I still want independence, freedom, curiosity, exploration and a man with his own life. But now I know that isn't enough.

I want the man who can climb the mountain and come back down and sit beside me, the man who can lead himself through difficult terrain and have a difficult conversation, the man who has his own life and genuinely wants to make room for mine. The man who is strong enough to stand on his own and open enough to meet me. The man who doesn't need fixing, the man who doesn't need rescuing, the man who doesn't need me to complete him, the man who is curious about life, himself and me, and willing to invest. Mutually.

Maybe that's what six months of internet dating has really taught me. I thought I was looking for someone to take me up the mountains.

Turns out I was learning how to recognise the person I want walking beside me when we get there.

Until next time…

Much love

Elisha 🔥