What If You're Just Exhausted from Dating?

I quit the search for love and discovered something better

I quit dating at 60.

Not because I gave up on love. Not because I’m bitter or jaded or nursing wounds from my past.

Because I finally figured out what I actually wanted.

And it wasn’t what I thought it was supposed to be.

The revelation that changed everything

It happened on a sunny, chilly Sunday morning.

I was sitting across from yet another perfectly nice man at yet another coffee shop, listening to him talk about his grandchildren and his recent knee surgery.

He was kind. Educated. Financially stable. All the boxes checked.

And I felt absolutely nothing.

Not disinterested, exactly. Not repulsion. Just a profound sense of going through motions I no longer believed in.

My divorce ended an 18-year marriage. Then, I survived a 12-year, on-and-off-again relationship with a narcissist. One that nearly broke me.

And I was still trying to prove I could get it right this time.

On the drive home, something shifted. A thought arrived so clearly it felt like someone had turned on a light in a dark room:

What if I just... stopped?

Not temporarily. Not as a break to “work on myself” before getting back out there.

What if I simply decided that this chapter was complete?

The relief that flooded through me was immediate. Physical. Like I’d been holding my breath for years and finally exhaled.

What nobody tells you about dating after 60

For years, I thought I was supposed to keep looking. Keep swiping. Keep trying to find “the one.”

Society tells us that being alone means we failed somehow.

That we’re incomplete without a partner.

That our happily ever after requires another person to show up and complete the story.

The messages are everywhere. Well-meaning friends asking if you’re “seeing anyone.” Family members at holidays with concerned looks. Articles about “putting yourself out there” and “staying open to love.”

As if the problem is that we’re not trying hard enough.

As if we’re missing some crucial ingredient to a fulfilling life.

After my divorce, people kept telling me I’d find love again. That I just needed time to heal, and then I’d be “ready.”

Ready for what, exactly?

Here’s what I learned in my 20+ years as a therapist: The relationship we have with ourselves determines the quality of every other relationship in our lives.

And sometimes, the most important relationship to nurture is the one we’ve been neglecting while searching for external validation.

The cost of losing yourself

I need to tell you what those 30 years cost me.

An 18-year marriage that looked perfect from the outside. The right house, the right image, the right story to tell at dinner parties.

But inside, I was slowly disappearing.

Then a 12-year relationship with someone who made me question my own reality on a daily basis. Who told me I was too sensitive. Too emotional. Too much and somehow never enough.

Classic narcissistic abuse. The kind that doesn’t leave visible bruises but carves out your insides until you’re hollow.

It didn’t just hurt me emotionally.

It killed something essential. The part of me that knew what I wanted. The part that could say no without explaining. The part that believed my feelings were valid.

By the time that relationship ended, I didn’t recognize myself.

I’d spent nearly three decades molding myself to match what I thought would finally make me lovable.

Quieter. More agreeable. Less demanding. More flexible.

And I lost myself completely in the process.

The difference between giving up and letting go

I need to be clear about something.

This isn’t giving up.

This isn’t settling for loneliness because I’m too damaged or too tired to try anymore.

This is something entirely different.

This is choosing.

Actively. Deliberately. With full awareness.

After those relationships ended, I did the work. Reading everything I could about trauma bonds and codependency and why we repeat what we don’t repair.

I learned about narcissistic abuse recovery. About reparenting yourself. About how your nervous system can get wired for chaos and calm can feel terrifying.

I got really, really good at being alone.

Not lonely. Alone.

And somewhere in that process, I discovered I actually liked myself.

Not the performing version I’d perfected over decades. The real one. Messy and opinionated and occasionally difficult.

At 60, I got tired of auditioning for a role I didn’t even want anymore.

The revelation wasn’t that I’m unlovable or undatable.

It’s that I genuinely love my life exactly as it is.

And after 30 years of emotional warfare, that feels like a fucking miracle.

What my life looks like now

My mornings are mine.

I wake up when my body decides it’s ready. Not when someone else’s alarm goes off.

I drink my coffee slowly. Read for an hour. Sometimes I don’t shower until noon.

Nobody is there to judge my choices or ask why I’m still in my pajamas.

Nobody is monitoring my mood to determine if their day will be okay.

My decisions are mine.

Want to spend Saturday reorganizing my bookshelves by color instead of meeting someone for brunch? Done.

Feel like eating cheese and crackers for dinner while binge-watching a show everyone else finished three years ago? Absolutely.

Prefer to spend Friday night writing instead of getting dressed up for a date? Perfect.

My energy goes where I choose.

I pour it into my work. My friendships. My creative projects.

No more reserving emotional bandwidth for someone who may or may not deserve it.

No more explaining why I want to spend my weekend alone instead of accommodating someone else’s social calendar.

No more pretending to like hiking.

(I really, really don’t like hiking.)

And most importantly: No more walking on eggshells in my own life.

The psychology of recovery and autonomy

There’s research on this phenomenon, though it rarely makes headlines.

Studies show that life satisfaction in older adults often correlates more strongly with autonomy and self-determination than relationship status.

But there’s another layer for those of us who survived emotionally abusive relationships.

Studies on trauma recovery point to one essential truth: healing requires getting your sense of control back.

When you’ve spent years in relationships where your reality was constantly questioned, where your needs were systematically dismissed, where you learned to prioritize someone else’s emotional state over your own survival—reclaiming your autonomy isn’t just nice. It’s therapeutic.

We’re taught that happiness requires partnership. But data tells a more nuanced story.

What actually matters is whether we feel in control of our lives. Whether we’re living according to our values. Whether we have meaningful connection—not necessarily romantic connection.

I have friends who call me when they need to laugh. Colleagues who challenge my thinking. Former clients who send me updates on their progress.

I have a sister who knows my coffee order. Neighbors who dog-sit for Chloe when I travel. Work that I am passionate about.

This is connection. Real, sustaining, life-giving connection.

And I didn’t have to compromise myself to get it.

What this isn’t

This isn’t a manifesto against relationships.

If you’re happily partnered, I’m genuinely glad for you.

This also isn’t advice that everyone should quit dating.

Some people thrive in relationships. They’re energized by partnership. Their lives are richer for it.

And this definitely isn’t me closing the door forever.

Maybe I’ll meet someone tomorrow who changes everything. Someone who adds to my life without requiring me to subtract from myself.

Someone who doesn’t need me to be smaller to feel bigger.

Maybe I won’t.

Either way, I’m no longer waiting for my life to begin when someone else shows up.

The question that changed my perspective

A client once asked me: “How do you know the difference between being alone because you’re afraid of connection and being alone because you’ve built a life you’re not willing to compromise anymore?”

It’s a brilliant question.

One is rooted in fear. The other is rooted in clarity.

Fear-based aloneness feels like hiding. Like protection. Like playing defense against potential hurt.

I know that version intimately. I lived it for years after my divorce and the end of that narcissistic relationship.

I was terrified of getting it wrong again. Of missing red flags. Of waking up five years later and realizing I’d disappeared again.

Clarity-based aloneness feels different.

It feels like freedom. Like choice. Like playing offense in designing the life you actually want.

I’m not hiding from love.

I’m standing fully in a life I’ve carefully, intentionally built from the rubble of relationships that nearly destroyed me.

There’s a profound difference.

The gift of this stage

Now at 70, I finally understand something I couldn’t see at 40 or 50 or even 60.

The goal isn’t to find someone who completes you.

The goal is to become someone who doesn’t need completing.

After years in a bad marriage and another one with a narcissist, I was so fractured I didn’t even know what my own completion looked like.

I had to rebuild from scratch.

Figure out what I actually liked. What I actually believed. What I actually needed.

Not what I thought I should like or believe or need.

What was actually mine.

And then, if you choose, you can invite someone into that wholeness.

But you don’t have to.

That’s the part nobody mentions.

You’re allowed to be complete, exactly as you are, without adding another person to the equation.

Especially if the last people you added nearly cost you everything.

What I want you to know

If you’re reading this and feeling that same tug of recognition, that same quiet relief at the thought of stepping off the dating carousel:

You’re not broken.

You’re not settling.

You’re not giving up on love.

If you survived an emotionally abusive relationship, whether it lasted 5 years or 25, and you’re tired of trying to prove you can still “do relationships right”.

You don’t need to show that you’ve healed by finding a healthy relationship.

Sometimes healing looks like choosing peace over partnership.

Sometimes it looks like protecting what you’ve rebuilt instead of risking it for potential.

You might just be discovering that the love you’ve been searching for has been waiting inside you all along.

And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is choose yourself.

Completely. Unapologetically.

After decades of choosing everyone else.

I finally stopped waiting for someone else’s permission to live it fully.

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What if taking a break from dating isn’t giving up, but the bravest thing you could do right now?