Navigating Dating & Intimacy in Your 20s as Someone with Very Little (To No) Experience

graphic by Maria Tapia

“There’s a particular feeling in your body when something goes right after a long time of things going wrong. It feels warm and sweet and loose.” Lily King, Writers & Lovers

I’ve been obsessed with love for as long as I can remember, a symptom of letting a tender child read too many books and watch too many films. I can’t quite pinpoint the moment, however, when I realized I might not get it; at least, not in the way I’ve always wanted, or more accurately, always believed I would. 

My first and only boyfriend was in 6th grade. We’d hold hands on our daily walk before lunch, breaking apart our sweaty palms when we thought a teacher was looking. When we broke up (because I was too scared to kiss him at the movies the upcoming weekend), I knew it wouldn’t be long before I fell in love again. Those rare bouts of loneliness I felt for a partner in high school disappeared once I reassured myself: it’ll happen in college. I just haven’t met the right person yet. I just have to leave my small town and it will happen. 

I continued to reassure myself throughout university that someone was out there waiting for me, it would just happen when I least expected it to. I’m not one to put too much stock in fate, but in this aspect of my life, I couldn’t afford to think any differently. After waiting so long to be in a relationship, I figured that it had to be for a specific reason, and it would all be worth it. 

I filled my time with books and movies by other tender-hearted, sensitive souls that yearned for love but would not always get it. I felt less alone surrounded by the words of others, validated by their loneliness and longing. 

“I am supposed to be touched. I can’t wait to find the person who will come into the kitchen just to smell my neck and get behind me and hug me and breathe me in and make me turn around and make me kiss his face and put my hands in his hair even with my soapy dishwater drips. I am a lovely woman. Who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me?” Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

Fast-forward to my first (and only) date in college. My senior year, I was ecstatic that someone I was interested in finally liked me back–until I actually had to go on a date. All of these perceptions that I had of romance that had built up over the years were finally about to become reality. It all HAD to live up to my fantasy…right?

I quickly realized that nothing could have matched up to the dream of romance I had in my head; the poor guy didn’t stand a chance. 

When you start dating after not receiving much romantic attention throughout your life, it can feel jarring. When I started to venture into romance, I felt naked, vulnerable, and unsure. What if they rejected me? What if I liked them? What if they found out that I liked them? The possibility of something, anything happening suddenly seemed so much more frightening than nothing at all. 

Simple gestures and moments I had longed for suddenly felt like my worst nightmare, something that would set my heart racing with nerves rather than butterflies. A tender touch on a hand felt more shocking on the skin than it ever felt in my dreamed-out fantasies, where a caress is nothing more than a phantom touch. 

I had yearned for intimacy and romantic connection, but when opportunities to explore arose, I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

I never realized I could be avoidant in terms of my attachment. According to the New York Times, “People with avoidant attachment styles tend to reflexively align this intimacy with losing independence and being suffocated, shutting down or pushing it away.” Yearning was a feeling I was familiar with; longing was my constant state of being. However, when it came time to leave behind the romance inside my head and attach, to commit, to actually experience something real, I found myself avoidant to the extreme extent. 

I would pine for crushes, thinking about them constantly, staring at the back of their necks in classes, hoping they would even sneak a glimpse at me. Sometimes, they did, and immediately my feelings would change. 

If someone I wanted started to want me back, I would immediately retreat. Somehow, as soon as they exhibited attraction towards me, all of my attraction towards them would fade. I would make excuses like they were coming on too strong, or I just realized that we wouldn’t be a good fit. I realize now that I was subconsciously developing crushes on people I was certain would never like me back, and when they did, I was threatened. Suddenly I was too close to being vulnerable romantically with someone else, and I was too afraid of that happening, as much as I often lamented about wanting that. 

It’s much easier to live inside your perfect fantasy than experience a present moment that will never quite live up to what you’ve always dreamed. 

But, what I’ve come to learn is that it’s real. Nothing will be as perfect as it is in my head, because nothing can match up to a fantasy. But a fantasy also can’t replicate being touched, and really being known. Finally, I feel ready to begin to leave the fantasy behind, let my dream self become a ghost. I’m ready to be known and touched as I am, instead of just as a figment of my imagination. 

“True love does have the power to redeem but only if we are ready for redemption. Love saves us only if we want to be saved.” Bell Hooks, All About Love

It will feel unnatural, anxiety-inducing, and threatening to begin to open myself up to being known. It will feel disappointing to have encounters that don’t live up to what I’ve always dreamed about. I’ll have many nights where I’ll feel disheartened and alone, and wonder why I should continue to try. But I’m ready to try, to develop a collection of experiences that are real–good and not so good–that are outside of the corners of my mind. At the end of the day, a collection of experiences is all that we have, and I’m ready (and scared and overwhelmed and excited) to allow myself to begin to have them. 

“As the image of myself becomes sharper in my brain and more precious, I feel less afraid that someone else will erase me by denying me love.” – Jenny Slate, Little Weirds