In the first of a three-part series, Dating, Again, Coast Days host Lorna Riley shares her experiences of dating in her 50s, post-divorce.
We’re not meant to be alone, says my dad. Easy for him to say – he’s been happily married to my mum for 63 years. Me? But having been single for the past 18 months since my separation, and having made it through a hellish year, I decide he’s right; I’m not only ready, but keen to share my life with a special someone once again – the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle that constitutes my life.
I bypass Tinder (rightly or wrongly, I feel like it’s for younger people and perhaps those looking for short-term hook-ups) and install Bumble (where women make the first move – this seems like a safe option) and Hinge: my older daughter tells me this is better for those wanting a relationship
I’d hoped to meet someone organically: I have a busy social calendar, and a wide friend group. But at 55, eligible singles have proved scarce, and so with a heavy inevitability, I realise dating apps may be my best chance to meet Mr Right. I shouldn’t be so reluctant – my younger brother is very happily married to a fabulous woman he met online on an early version of a dating site, while more recently, https://kissbridesdate.com/colombian-cupid-review/ my eldest brother met his lovely partner via the more modern app. But where to start this somewhat daunting process?
I’ve not been so lucky in love
A good friend suggests Elite Singles, where he had quick success finding love, but it’s a subscription-based model and I’m still not certain this online thing is for me, so I opt initially for a couple of free apps instead. My younger daughter says she doesn’t want me to date at all, but I’m hoping she’ll change her mind if I meet the right person.
Setting up my profile is trickier still. As a radio host, I’m somewhat in the public eye and occasionally the subject of unwanted attention – will this be amplified on a dating app? Should I use a fake name, slightly obscure photos, take a few years off my age? Do I mention my darling granddaughter, for fear this conjures up an image of a bespectacled granny? What to put in, what to leave out? Should I disclose I’ve been married twice – or that I’ve had breast cancer twice, both of which I assume will be off-putting to potential suitors?
In the end, I decide honesty is the best policy (especially since all these things are easily found via Google). I use my real name and age, use a few recent photos with my new cropped post-chemo hairstyle, and vow to be upfront about my past as and when the need arises. I talk about the things I love: my family, travel, music, laughter. I also state (much to one friend’s horror, who said I would scare men off) that I’m looking for someone to spend the next 30 years with. I shrug off her concerns. It’s true, after all, and I’ve promised myself I’ll be totally honest. I’m also hoping this will deter those just looking for a casual fling. I wish them well – it’s just not where my life is at right now.
On that subject, the thought of physical intimacy is daunting. It’s been a good couple of years. Is it like riding a bike? (To be honest, I hope it’s not: due to vertigo causing balance issues, I find riding a bike difficult. I hope this isn’t an omen.) My body bears a few scars from my recent surgeries that I’m self-conscious about. It’s a post-menopausal body that’s borne three children – in reasonable shape thanks to pilates, but not the body it once was. And I don’t drink much these days, so liquid courage isn’t the option it once was. Will I even be able to go there?
I try to be kinder to myself during this process. It’s easy to focus on things that could be considered baggage or deal-breakers, but the truth is, I’m in a great place right now, physically and mentally. I feel whole again, and in many ways the happiest I’ve ever been. And while I don’t feel 55, I’m grateful for every year and every life experience that has made me who I am today. I truly believe I have a lot to offer the right person: I’m positive, intelligent, a good listener, financially secure and I try to make the most of my appearance. I’m not needy, I’m not wanting to be rescued, I’m not bitter. I’d just like a companion on the same wavelength, someone to eat out with, go to shows with, to travel with, to laugh with. Surely that’s not too much to hope for? Could my missing puzzle piece already be on one of these apps, waiting for me?