Dating in Your 30s: When Their Baggage Matches Your Trauma
We’re Not Dating—We’re Trauma Matching
Swipe left on hobbies.
Swipe right if your inner child has abandonment issues that vibe with mine.
Because let’s face it: dating in your 30s isn’t about butterflies and candlelit dinners anymore—it's a full blown psychological warfare of “Can your chaos coexist with mine?”
Welcome to the trauma compatibility Olympics, where the gold medal goes to whoever can regulate their nervous system first.
Red Flags or Just My Type? (Yes.)
Back then? I wanted spark.
Now? I just want someone who doesn’t make me spiral after a text delay.
That electric chemistry?
Yeah—probably just my unresolved daddy issues clapping from the sidelines.
If your gut says “RUN,” but your libido says “maybe just one coffee”…
It’s your trauma picking the playlist again. And it’s on repeat
Let’s Be Honest: We’re All a Little Fucked Up
He’s emotionally unavailable? Same.
He’s still healing from his ex? Same.
He over-explains and under-commits? SAME.
We’re not soulmates, babe—we’re each other’s mirrors. And yikes, mine needs Windex.
When “This Feels Familiar” Should Actually Scare You
If your stomach flips and your heart races, that’s not love—it’s your inner child panicking.
Because being drawn to someone’s mess isn’t romantic. It’s relational Stockholm Syndrome.
You’re not falling in love.
You’re just hoping this one will finally choose you the way the last one didn’t.
Spoiler: He won’t.
Your Type Is Just Your Trauma Wearing Cologne
Say it with me now:
🛑 If you have to audition for love, it’s not love.
🛑 If you’re reading between the lines, there’s nothing written for you there.
🛑 If it feels like a challenge, it’s probably a test you’ve failed before.
Raise Your Standards, Lower Your Cortisol
Stable is sexy now.
Predictable is the new foreplay.
“Texted back and didn’t gaslight me” is the bare minimum, and somehow still impressive.
Boring? Maybe.
Peaceful? Revolutionary.
The Plot Twist: It Was Never About Them Anyway
Let’s get brutal:
We don’t chase red flags because we’re hopeless romantics.
We chase them because chaos feels like home and peace feels fake.
And healing?
It starts when we stop calling it “fate” and start calling it what it is—repetition.
Final Mic Drop:
You are not the trauma whisperer.
You are not their emotional support human.
You are not the therapist they refuse to pay.
You are the prize, bitch.
Stop dating like you’re on clearance.
You know that feeling when you’re young enough to have confidence that there is enough future to forgive all the mistakes you’re making?
Gonna skip this read. Never had to date in my thirties