I hear it all the time.

“There’s no one good out there.”

It’s the refrain of so many singles—smart, kind, emotionally aware people who genuinely want love but feel defeated by the search. They’re not wrong to feel disillusioned. But what if the problem isn’t the people out there? What if it’s the way we’re looking?

We’ve outsourced one of the most intimate decisions of our lives—choosing a partner—to an algorithm. We’ve traded intuition for interface, depth for data, and vulnerability for velocity. Dating apps have become the default, but they’ve also become a form of emotional numbing.

A Personal Reflection

I say this not just as an observer, but as someone living it.

As a single person, I’ve felt the ache of wanting connection in a culture that seems to be shunning it. I’ve opened dating apps hoping to find depth, only to be met with detachment. I’ve craved real friendship, emotional intimacy, and the slow unfolding of something meaningful—but too often, I’ve found myself in spaces that reward surface-level interaction and punish vulnerability.

It’s frustrating. Not because I expect perfection, but because I know what’s possible when two people show up with honesty and care. I know the beauty of being known. And I know how rare it’s become to find someone willing to build something slowly, without rushing, without numbing, without hiding.

The Illusion of Choice

Dating apps promise abundance. Swipe through hundreds of faces, filter by height, hobbies, or attachment style. But abundance isn’t intimacy. In fact, the more options we have, the less likely we are to choose. Psychologists call it choice overload—too many options lead to paralysis, dissatisfaction, and impulsive decisions.

Instead of leaning into connection, we lean out. We dismiss people quickly, often for superficial reasons. We ghost instead of communicate. We chase the thrill of the match, not the work of building something real.

Numbing Through Attention

Dating apps give us attention on demand. A match, a message, a compliment—it feels good. But it’s not the kind of good that nourishes. It’s the kind that distracts. We use it to avoid the discomfort of being alone, the ache of longing, the vulnerability of showing up fully.

We say we want love, but we numb ourselves with novelty. We say we’re looking for someone, but we haven’t truly sat with ourselves. And that’s the paradox: the more we avoid our own inner world, the harder it becomes to connect with someone else’s.

The Hookup Mirage

And then there’s hookup culture—the fast food of intimacy. It promises pleasure without commitment, closeness without vulnerability. We tell ourselves it’s safer this way. That if we keep things casual, we won’t get hurt. That if we don’t invest, we won’t lose.

But here’s the truth: avoiding depth doesn’t protect us—it isolates us. Hookups can feel like armor, but they’re often just avoidance dressed as empowerment. We push away the slow build of a beautiful friendship or relationship—the kind that requires patience, emotional risk, and mutual care.

We’ve normalized sex without connection, and in doing so, we’ve devalued the emotional intimacy that makes relationships transformative. The kind that comes from late-night conversations, shared vulnerability, and the courage to be seen. Hookup culture teaches us to consume each other, not to care for each other. It numbs us to the beauty of being known.

And perhaps most painfully—it makes us less likely to commit. We become emotionally avoidant, suspicious of depth, and allergic to stillness. We shut off from love not because we don’t want it, but because we’ve trained ourselves to fear it.

The Wall That Doesn’t Protect

For many of us, this fear runs deeper than we admit. We’ve been betrayed. We’ve opened our hearts only to have them mishandled. So we build walls. We tell ourselves we’re protecting our peace, guarding our hearts, staying safe.

But the wall doesn’t keep pain out—it keeps love out. It doesn’t protect us—it isolates us. And in trying to avoid being hurt again, we end up hurting ourselves in quieter ways. We betray our own longing. We abandon our own capacity for connection.

Self-protection becomes self-betrayal.

The Quiet Self-Betrayal

Every time we swipe past someone who could’ve sparked something real, every time we settle for attention instead of intimacy, every time we choose distraction over depth—we betray ourselves.

We betray the part of us that longs to be seen, held, and understood. We betray our own capacity for love. And we do it not out of malice, but out of fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of vulnerability. Fear of sitting alone with our own reflection.

But healing begins when we stop abandoning ourselves. When we choose to stay present. When we stop numbing and start listening.

The Courage to Sit Still

Real love doesn’t start with a swipe. It starts with stillness. With the willingness to be alone—not as punishment, but as practice. To sit with our fears, our insecurities, our unmet needs. To learn how to love ourselves not through validation, but through presence.

When we do that, we stop outsourcing our choices. We stop looking for someone to complete us and start looking for someone to meet us. Not perfectly, but authentically.

Reclaiming the Search

This isn’t a call to abandon dating apps. It’s a call to use them with intention. To slow down. To be curious. To choose connection over distraction. Because there are good people out there. But we won’t find them if we’re too busy numbing ourselves to notice.

I’m still searching. Still learning. Still sitting with the discomfort of being alone, not because I’ve given up on love—but because I refuse to settle for less than real intimacy. I want the kind of connection that grows from friendship, from presence, from truth.

Love isn’t hiding. We are.