It’s officially summer, which means we’re halfway through 2026.
Back in January, I had no idea what this year would hold for my dating life. What I did know was that I was suddenly waking up at 3 a.m. every night, drenched in sweat, wondering whether I was losing my mind.
Turns out: perimenopause.
The year started with night sweats, hot flashes, and a front-row seat to all the cultural messaging women receive about aging and desirability. You know the one: once you hit 40, you’re apparently supposed to fade quietly into the background like a dusty vagina nobody ordered.
Fortunately, reality has been far less dramatic.
After prioritizing strength training, increasing my protein intake, and mostly cutting out alcohol, the symptoms disappeared. More importantly, so did a lot of the anxiety I had about what this next chapter would mean for my personal life—including dating.
That is, until I realized in April that I hadn’t been on a date in six months.
Not six bad months of dating. Not six months…
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