Dating in Your 20s: Absurd But Relatable

 Dating in your 20s is a social experiment no one fully consented to, yet somehow we all signed up for anyway, bright‑eyed and delusional, convinced we’d be the exception to the chaos. You start out thinking you’re emotionally evolved, healed enough, self‑aware, and finally ready for something real—and then, without warning, you find yourself crying over someone who thinks replying once every twelve hours counts as consistency and believes emotional communication is a personality flaw. This is not a romantic comedy. This is not character development in a cute montage way. This is a full‑scale circus, and somehow we’re all both the clowns and the audience, applauding behavior we’d absolutely warn our friends about.

I entered my 20s believing dating would be fun. Flirty. Light. Something between coffee dates and soft laughter, maybe even cinematic in that slightly unrealistic, hopeful way. What I actually got was emotional whiplash, commitment‑phobic monologues, and men who proudly announce they’re “not ready for anything serious” after acting like your boyfriend for six months straight. They plan dates, stay over, text you good morning, meet your friends—and then look genuinely confused when you ask where this is going. Absurd doesn’t even begin to cover it. This isn’t confusion. This is selective accountability.

Everyone Is ‘Chill’ Until Feelings Happen

There is a universal lie people tell in their 20s, and it sounds suspiciously casual: “I’m just seeing where things go.” Which, more often than not, is code for: I want emotional access, physical intimacy, and constant validation without the responsibility, consistency, or basic human decency of actually showing up. Dating culture right now rewards detachment. Whoever cares less has the power. Whoever replies slower is winning. Whoever pretends they’re fine with anything is somehow the most desirable person in the room.

If you’re someone who feels deeply, asks questions, or dares to want clarity, congratulations—you are now “too much.” I tried being chill. I tried not asking questions. I tried pretending I didn’t care. I tried acting like ambiguity didn’t bother me. Turns out I am terrible at lying, especially to myself. I don’t want half‑interest. I don’t want mystery where communication should be. I want connection that doesn’t make me feel like I’m doing emotional gymnastics just to stay relevant.

The Apps: A Psychological Endurance Test

Dating apps deserve their own warning label, preferably one you have to sign before downloading. Side effects may include lowered self‑esteem, trust issues, emotional burnout, and the sudden realization that many grown men still don’t know what they want but expect you to wait patiently while they figure it out.

You swipe. You match. You talk intensely for three days. You exchange playlists, inside jokes, and future plans that somehow feel real even though you’ve never met. Then—nothing. Silence. Or worse, you meet them, think it went well, replay the date in your head like a highlight reel, and then receive the classic “You’re amazing but…” message. Always amazing. Always kind. Always deserving of better. Never chosen.

Everyone is busy. Everyone is “working on themselves.” Everyone has trauma they refuse to process while still expecting emotional labor from you. And somehow, you’re expected to be understanding, low‑maintenance, emotionally available, attractive but not intimidating, independent but not distant, and grateful for the bare minimum—all at the same time.

Situationships: The Final Boss

No one properly warned us about situationships, and frankly, that feels personal. That strange emotional purgatory where you’re not together, but you’re definitely not single either. You act like a couple, argue like a couple, emotionally invest like a couple, but you can’t call each other anything without triggering a defensive speech about labels and pressure.

Situationships thrive on confusion. They keep you hopeful enough to stay but uncertain enough to never feel safe. You analyze texts like they’re riddles. You overthink tone, timing, punctuation. You replay conversations in your head like crime scenes, searching for the moment you might have said the wrong thing. Leaving is hard—not because it’s good, but because you’ve already invested parts of yourself you can’t easily retrieve.

The Almost‑Men Hall of Fame

There is a very specific category of men you meet in your 20s that deserves its own exhibit, which I like to call almost‑men. Almost emotionally available. Almost ready. Almost self‑aware. Almost capable of meeting you halfway.

There was the one who planned beautiful dates, opened doors, held my hand in public, made me feel chosen—and then vanished for days because he “needed space” after I asked the extremely unreasonable question of “What are you looking for?” There was the one who trauma‑dumped on the first date, called me his peace, spoke about healing, and then ghosted because accountability is apparently more terrifying than intimacy.

And my personal favorite: the man who claimed he didn’t want a relationship, yet somehow had time to text me every day, sleep over, meet my friends, and get visibly jealous when other men existed near me. Sir. That is a relationship. You just don’t want the responsibility that comes with naming it.

Bad Dates That Should’ve Been Crimes

I once went on a date where the man talked uninterrupted for two straight hours about cryptocurrency, his gym routine, and his ex. I nodded politely, dissociated completely, and mentally planned my escape route. When the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I wanted to scream freedom.

Another date showed up forty‑five minutes late, blamed traffic, and then explained—without irony—that he doesn’t really believe in relationships. He ordered steak. I ordered patience. Neither arrived. Dating in your 20s teaches you tolerance you should absolutely stop having.

Ghosting Lore: A Modern Tragedy

Ghosting deserves its own mythology. One day you’re talking nonstop, sharing playlists, sending memes, making plans that feel real. The next day, silence so loud it echoes. You check your phone. You replay conversations. You wonder if you said something wrong. You convince yourself you’re chill while actively spiraling.

Here’s the truth no one likes admitting: ghosting is rarely about you. It’s about emotional immaturity. People ghost when they don’t have the skills—or courage—to communicate discomfort, disinterest, or basic respect. If someone disappears instead of having a conversation, they did you a favor, even if it hurts like hell at first.

Why We Romanticize Red Flags

Red flags don’t always look red in your 20s. Sometimes they look like intensity. Sometimes they look like chemistry. Sometimes they look like potential. We call it a spark when someone is inconsistent. We call it excitement when they keep us guessing. We call it connection when it’s actually anxiety.

Peace feels boring only when chaos is familiar. And that realization alone changes everything.

The Group Chat Therapy Sessions

If it weren’t for group chats, most of us wouldn’t survive dating. There’s always that one friend who says exactly what you don’t want to hear but desperately need.

“He’s not confused. He just doesn’t want you.”

“If he wanted to, he would.”

“You’re not asking for too much. You’re asking the wrong person.”

And somehow, even when you know better, you still hope you’ll be the exception.

What Dating in Your 20s Actually Teaches You

It teaches you boundaries by showing you what happens when you don’t have them. It teaches you self‑worth by forcing you to rebuild it. It teaches you that love isn’t supposed to feel like constant anxiety.

Slowly, painfully, it teaches you that being alone is better than being with someone who makes you feel lonely.

A Note to Anyone Still in the Mess

If you’re reading this while waiting for a text that might never come, I see you. If you’re stuck in a situationship you know isn’t going anywhere, I see you. If you’re exhausted from giving chances to people who haven’t earned them, I see you.

You’re not difficult. You’re not dramatic. You’re not asking for too much. You’re just asking the wrong people.

One day, you’ll stop trying to convince someone to choose you. One day, you’ll stop shrinking your needs to keep someone comfortable. One day, love won’t feel confusing, heavy, or one‑sided.

And when that day comes, you’ll realize all these absurd, chaotic dating stories weren’t failures. They were lessons. And you survived every single one of them.