Six months ago, Rose Gallagher wrote for GLAMOUR about how at 33, and as the Bridget Jones of her friendship group, she was going to try online dating and see what she could find. Between heartbreak in her twenties and a laser focus on her epic social media and beauty career, she told us how she ‘just hasn’t been looking for love, and it hasn’t been looking for me either'. Her account of re-entering the dating pool in her 30s went viral and she was inundated with messages from like-minded women who took great comfort in her honesty.
But with all her friends settling down with husbands, houses and babies, she decided to hit the dating apps hard in her quest for ‘The One’. Initially, she described it as ‘a lot of fun and games’ and whilst she still hasn't found the man she set out to find, she's learnt a hell of a lot about online dating and, well, herself. Her brutally honest account of dating in her mid-30s - and the lessons she's learnt along the way - is sure to be a comforting read for anyone else in this stage of their life…
If Bridget Jones joined Hinge and found everything but love.
One thing I have never been able to handle well is rejection. Most of my past heartbreaks have involved the guy choosing another girl, so I easily find myself in a comparison trap. A great thing I’ve taken away from more dating is that it I’ve met some truly lovely people that I just didn’t want to see again.
Let’s take Thomas. Warm and kind, I had a lovely night at dinner with him, but I just don’t want to see him again. Whenever someone doesn’t want to see me now, I tell myself that I am just their Thomas and that’s OK.
After a fair few swipes, I noticed a pattern in the guys approaching me. They were all roughly 27 and I’m 33. I figured this could be quite perfect, because 28-30 were fun years in my life and so I welcomed the chance to capture them again. What I could never have anticipated was the shock around the table when my friends found out.
Over a Sunday roast, I shared the details of two upcoming dates that I had, only having mentioned the ages when I was asked. Feedback included “will his mum let him stay out late?”, “are you going to the Wacky Warehouse?” and “do make sure he’s done his homework first.”
I, for one, am thrilled to be in my Jennifer Coolidge White Lotus dating era. I may have been the butt of the joke but the anecdotes did make for a memorable afternoon.
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I had no idea how lonely my 30s would be. I’ve always known that I don’t want children, I haven’t had any good luck with guys, but I have always had a full life with my friends. That was until everyone settled down and/or had children, apart from me. The time I get to spend with a lot of them now has significantly dwindled.
I realised I needed to be open with my friends about wanting to spend time together alone as adults. I do love my friends’ children, but my personal circumstances changed this year. I’ve been caring for an unwell family member with help from my dad full-time since February, working around caring commitments and with very little social time to spare.
When I do have social time, I’m briefly coming out of an environment where a number of people are dependent on me. There have been so many times when I’ve desperately wanted the comfort of an old friend, but they just aren’t able to listen or have an uninterrupted conversation because their children are there.
The thing about this is, it’s no one’s fault. I know they are likely desperate for some friend-time too. But I had to gently ask if we could spend some adult time together when I realised I was going between being depended upon at home to not being listened to when I socialised. The loneliness was on a loop.
I’m sure that many a parent will read this and think how selfish I sound, and the last thing I would want to do is upset them. Parents have the most challenging job in the world and I take my hat off to them; I know that I’m not cut out for it.
I’m not completely made of stone – if we’re talking a new baby, a tired mom or dad and possibly factors like breastfeeding, I am of course on the same page that the baby needs to be with us.
But years into a child’s life, when they’re big enough to talk and need lots of interaction, I have taken to gently seeing if there is a child-free day to meet so that we can just be together as friends.
“The modern dating scene is a scary place for heterosexual women.”
All of this considered, one day I had a real urge to spend an afternoon with someone who knew nothing about my current situation. I went onto Hinge and stumbled upon Oliver, a good looking guy that was making me laugh.
He was on the maternity ward waiting for his brother to have a baby, and this in itself was a much more exciting opener than the classic “how was your day”. (This question is especially soul destroying when you’ve spent it awake until all hours in a waiting room of a hospital, editing makeup videos while you wait to transfer wards.
The stories I could tell you about my Instagram vs Reality this year, but I digress.)
A short while later, I found myself out with Oliver. We had lots of quite specific things in common, it was all quite lovely. We went for day drinks, planned our second date at the independent restaurant we discovered was both of our favourite, and spoke a fair bit the following week. I was sure in my gut I’d met a good person.
And why it's no bad thing.
The next thing I got a long message. Something had come up at home so he couldn’t meet this weekend but he insisted he was still super into me. My friends rolled their eyes; they’d all had this message before and one said he’d even sent it himself (trust the roast dinner crew to lighten the mood). I was sure it was sincere and told him not to worry.
Next week, he replied to my Glastonbury photos on Instagram and said he couldn’t wait to see me when I got back. And then I never heard from him again when I followed up. Not a peep.
I was gutted. It wasn’t that I wanted us to get married and have children, but I had run away with the fantasy of my new social life. Have I now got someone to go to the pub with once a week? Am I going to spend my Saturdays out for dinner?
I had two great nights with him at a time when I needed them so at least I can take away that. He has, however, made me realise that I can’t be bothered to date for a while if this is the best I have to look forward to.
I'm afraid to report that I still have no idea what the answer is to finding love in your 30s, but I do know I’ve had enough of being lectured on it by people who met their partners 10 years ago the old-fashioned way and haven’t had to sign up to Bumble and spend hours swiping and making small talk only to be ghosted after a string of great dates.
Dating has taught me a lot about myself. I have the balls to be honest but kind if I don’t want to see someone again. Boys really enjoy talking about themselves in a way that doesn’t quite come naturally to me.
And ultimately, what I was really looking for is a fuller social life, so rather than searching for a guy I’m going to try and fill that gap with my favourite friendships and that's empowering me more than any man from an app right now.
