Why Are You Still Single?
It’s a question I’ve both heard and asked myself more times than I can count. At 31 (nearly 32), I’ve built a life I love—friends, family, jobs, hobbies, travel, growth, goals I’m chasing. And yet… there it is, that stubborn little question, popping up when I least expect it. I’ve spent years peeling back the layers—past relationships, choices, patterns—trying to make sense of something that never feels simple.
It’s been over a year since I’ve been on a date, and nearly three years since my last long-term relationship. Before that, if I wasn’t in a relationship, there was always some kind of love interest. Someone occupying my thoughts, my time, my energy—whether it ever turned into anything or not. If we’re counting elementary school crushes, that’s nearly my entire life spent chasing or being chased.
…So what happened when I finally stopped?
Awareness
I knew something was wrong when he started talking about philosophy, the universe, and spirituality. The way the conversation flowed so naturally. How easily we laughed. The depth of his questions—thoughtful, curious, like someone searching for meaning. He was a stranger, really. Someone I’d just met for the first time over drinks with close, mutual friends.
I had never met anyone like him—or maybe more honestly, I didn’t know someone like him even existed. Nothing happened. Nothing was meant to. But I was struck—deeply, unexpectedly—and honestly a little terrified by how quickly and easily I could connect with someone I’d known for only a couple of hours, more than with the person I’d been with for years.
“I withered away to skin and bones
And still, I was too much for you”
That was a problem. Because in that moment, I was washed over with the queasy confrontation of my unequivocal loneliness—and the uncomfortable realization that my needs were greater than I had been willing to admit. And with that truth hitting me hard between the eyes, I had a choice: do something about it, or continue accepting things as they were.
Months passed, and I did continue to accept things as they were—but with a keener sense of awareness. I could no longer ignore the small cracks that had collected over the years, quietly breaking me apart, until it became harder and harder to hold myself together. I feared I would lose myself entirely, like a lone chunk of ice drifting away in arctic water.
That fear sent me searching for answers.
Breaking the Cycle
I began diving into books and podcasts about healthy partnerships. It wasn’t enough to simply feel that things were off in my relationship—I needed objective, expert perspectives. Evidence. Statistics. Science-backed research. I needed to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what healthy love looked like and what I truly deserved.
One book in particular, Getting to Commitment by Steven Carter, changed the way I saw myself. Through it, I began to understand my own patterns: I tended to choose partners who displayed dysfunction, trust issues, or emotional unavailability. And in doing so, I was setting myself up for an outcome that was inevitable—Not because I was running away, but because these relationships either slowly burned themselves down, or I eventually had no choice but to step away to save myself.
“Love feels so fragile
Stirring up old wounds from the past
Little flower scared to death
That nothing good can last”
So what was “wrong” with me? I realized I was seeking what felt safe—known—but safe didn’t necessarily mean good for me. I had grown comfortable with emotional distance because it felt familiar. Most of them weren’t bad men—but they possessed traits that triggered old wounds. With just a flicker of familiarity, I was drawn in like a moth to a flame, and the cycle would start all over again.
It was difficult—even painful—to confront these parts of myself. These were the dark bits that never wanted to be exposed. Somewhere along the way, I had been programmed to behave a certain way in relationships: staying quiet, compliant, accepting bad behavior, ignoring red flags, suppressing my feelings, enduring high emotional drama, and compromising my needs and values. Most of all, staying in relationships that I should leave.
Until I finally decided to break the cycle.
Navigating Uncharted Waters
I found myself washed up on the shores of a brand-new singlescape for the first time in five years, at 29-years-old. Lost. Confused. Still getting my sea legs. Gasping for air—but alive, and safe.
It’s not that I was eager to jump into another long-term relationship. And yet, for some reason, I had it in my head that I was meant to find my soulmate immediately. That this was my purpose. The whole reason I had turned my life upside down. And it’s worth remembering that being alone had never been comfortable for me—not once in my life.
So while I did give myself some time, I began dating again after a few months. But everything felt different. I was suddenly unsure of who I was even supposed to be choosing. My nervous system felt like a compass caught in magnetic interference—its needle spinning wildly out of control. I knew, intellectually, that I had to choose differently—but emotionally, I was still disoriented, pulled by the habits of my past.
“He likes lightning
And other strange things
I push and pull like the ocean
Never knowing who to cling to”
Previously, my relationships were built on mutual attraction and proximity. We shared common interests—music, movies, TV shows. They were nice. But I had never really considered what made for a healthy, compatible, lasting partnership. I hadn’t thought deeply about core values—mine or theirs—or whether they aligned. Things like politics, finances, spirituality, family goals, lifestyle, careers, emotional intelligence, depth, communication, and personal growth.
But as I fumbled and floundered my way back into the dating pool, I realized something incredible: I could identify red flags and toxic traits almost immediately. And instead of giving someone months or years of my life—sticking around, hoping things would change the more I poured into it—I began ending things at the first signs of dysfunction, or simply when it became clear we didn’t align. Not because anything was wrong, but because I finally understood what wasn’t right for me. And maybe most importantly, I began to build self-trust. I started listening to my intuition. If something feels off, there’s a reason.
Finding True North
“How’s the dating stuff going?” my older brother Matt asked one day.
“Meh… none of them work out,” I replied.
“But you seem like a normal person,” he observed, with a sarcastic edge.
“I am normal,” I insisted. “I’m obviously not the problem,” I joked. “Clearly it’s these guys. Ugh.”
It had been over a year of “getting back out there.” Downloading apps. Deleting apps. Downloading again. Deleting again. Setups through mutual friends. Meetings in the wild. You name it. Excitement sparked hope, hope morphed into delusion, delusion gave way to reality, and reality led to disappointment—disappointment that ultimately became fatigue.
I remember the final Hinge date I went on. A last-ditch effort. He had a cool job as a sailor on a freight ship on the Great Lakes. He was artistic, well-read, well-traveled—maybe a little pretentious. He seemed nice enough. We talked for an hour or two over coffee, and the whole time I kept thinking: there’s nothing wrong with him, but I don’t want to be here. Nothing is clicking. On paper, all of it should have worked. But… something was missing. I knew I’d never see him again.
“I started to realize
This chemistry was not good for me
All the burning and crashing
Mistaking trauma for passion
I keep asking myself
Why go through all this pain
For those who breeze in and out of my life
Like it’s nothing?”
On the drive home after the date, I began to cry. I cried because I knew, deep down, that I was meant to be alone for a while. Probably a long while—years, even. Maybe the reason nothing was working was because I had been going in the wrong direction. I knew I was meant to focus on my purpose, and as much as I wanted that to include a man, it simply wasn’t the time. How had I gotten so turned around?
And so, I jumped off the merry-go-round. I had done the work to understand what I was looking for in a partner—and what I would no longer accept. I had grown in intuition and wisdom, in self-respect. I had gained the ability to walk away at the first red flag instead of the five-hundredth. All crucial. But in my focus on finding the relationship, I had lost sight of my deeper purpose—my true sense of self. Yes, I knew what I wanted in a partner—but what did I want for myself? What were my dreams and goals, what was my path, with or without someone by my side?
Once I truly stopped and slowed down, giving myself the space and time, my compass slowly—but surely—began to steady, pointing toward true north.
Becoming What I Needed
It was around this time that the idea for this blog, Catching Economy, was born. Through it, I discovered a whole new kind of love—a different kind of passion, purpose, and meaning. The kind that keeps me up at night, head full of ideas. Hours disappear like minutes when I’m working. I’ve learned commitment and discipline. How to grow something. How to listen. How to pivot. How to put myself out there in an entirely new way. It’s a work that is energizing, not draining.
I’ve gained the space to meet new people and invest in deeper friendships. More opportunities for experiences I might never have had before. Spontaneous trips, adventures on a whim—things I might not have done otherwise. I’ve developed a whole new appreciation for independence, and for how important it is to never lose your sense of self, your voice, your goals—whether or not you’re in a relationship. I’ve learned just how capable I am: making decisions for myself, taking care of myself, managing my life… and yes, even lugging really heavy furniture up to my third-floor apartment all on my own.
“I don’t wait around
For your calls anymore
You are a hurricane
I am shelter in the eye of the storm
You shoot for the stars
But I hung the moon”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t experience passing moments of loneliness. But that feeling is nothing compared to the pain of sharing your life with someone who stands inches away from you, yet remains completely emotionally out of reach—leaving you clawing and howling for love and affection.
Out there, I couldn’t find what I needed. So I became what I needed.
I built a relationship with myself that is strong and steady. I know who I am, and I know where I’m going. I learned to trust my own direction instead of following someone else’s. This season of conscious singleness has brought me more peace and healing than I’ve ever known—letting years of crash-and-burn cycles drain from me like toxin, allowing me to finally settle into a sense of calm. At first, that calm felt like boredom. Until I realized it wasn’t boredom at all—it was safety. True safety.
And while I absolutely still desire a relationship, I’m unwilling to settle for anyone undeserving of the hard, often painful work it took to reach a whole, healthy place—one I couldn’t have imagined for myself for most of my life.
Until then, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be—learning, growing, and walking steadily toward whatever comes next. 🌻