Dating Yourself: The Lost Art of Self-Intimacy

There’s a secret romance that most of us have forgotten, if we ever knew it at all—the romance of being with ourselves. Not just being alone, not just independence, but truly dating ourselves. The kind of self-intimacy that isn’t a stand-in for a relationship, but the foundation for every other relationship you’ll ever have.

It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? We spend so much of our lives chasing intimacy with others—longing to be seen, understood, adored. We twist ourselves to fit, to please, to be chosen, believing that love will finally come from outside and make us whole. We search for it in all the usual places: late-night texts, almost-loves, one-sided friendships, or the arms of someone who doesn’t see us at all. We become masters at ignoring our own needs, running from our discomfort, abandoning ourselves over and over in hopes that someone else will stick around.

But what if the intimacy you’re craving has been yours all along? What if the person you’re waiting for is you?

Dating yourself is not just bubble baths and solo movie nights—though those can be delicious, too. It’s the radical act of learning your own edges and curves, your patterns and preferences, the way your soul stirs at certain music or sighs with relief at your own honest reflection. It’s sitting with your own longing instead of shoving it down or outsourcing it to someone who will never care for it the way you can. It’s noticing what you want, what you need, what lights you up and what drains you—and taking responsibility for meeting yourself there.

At first, it can feel awkward. The silence is loud. The temptation to distract or run is fierce. It’s easier to scroll, to work, to make yourself indispensable to everyone but you. But underneath the discomfort is an invitation: What if you stopped waiting for someone else to give you permission to be cherished, to be celebrated, to be held?

Imagine buying yourself flowers because you want to, not because no one else will. Imagine dressing up for yourself, eating the good chocolate, dancing in your kitchen and making yourself laugh until you snort. Imagine checking in—really checking in—about how you’re doing, what you need, what would feel like love right now, and actually following through.

Dating yourself is about presence. It’s asking, “What do I need?” and listening for the answer. It’s holding space for the ache, the loneliness, the joy, the wildness, the tears, and not abandoning yourself when it gets messy. It’s the bravery of meeting your own gaze in the mirror and saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you know what happens? The world shifts. The more you choose yourself—again and again, especially when it’s hard—the less you settle for scraps from others. You stop shrinking to fit. You stop twisting yourself for approval. You begin to attract people and experiences that match the level of intimacy you have with yourself. And when someone comes along who genuinely sees you, loves you, wants to add to your life instead of fill a gap, it’s a bonus—not a lifeline.

This is the art that’s been lost: becoming someone you want to come home to. Falling for your own soul. Making yourself laugh, holding your own heart, trusting your own wisdom. Not because you have to be alone, but because you’re worth your own attention. Because you refuse to abandon yourself again.

If you’ve never dated yourself, consider this your invitation. Start small. Be awkward. Let it feel strange. Show up anyway. Ask yourself the questions you wish someone else would and then answer them with raw honesty. Take yourself out or stay in—just make it intentional.

Romance yourself a little. Make your own company a place of safety, celebration, and truth.

Because when you learn to cherish yourself, you raise the standard for every other love in your life. And you discover, finally, that you are the love you’ve been waiting for all along.

With you in the messy middle,

Sarah