Last year, I noticed a pattern in my dating life. I would meet someone, date them for approximately two months, and then, as I got to know them better, realise they weren’t actually the right fit for me. I would communicate how I felt and end things.
The problem was that, on paper, these men looked like great partners. They had careers, ambition, and seemed serious about building a future. But once I spent enough time with them, I often realised we weren’t compatible.
Eventually, I started wondering if the problem was me.
Maybe I was avoidant. Maybe I was sabotaging good relationships. Maybe all the social media relationship coaches were right.
So I booked sessions with a certified therapist.
During our first conversation, she asked what I hoped to gain from therapy, and I explained my dilemma. I told her how I tend to notice certain behaviours and imagine the long-term consequences they could have in a relationship. How those observations led me to walk away before becoming deeply invested.
Over the next month, we talked through several of my dating experiences. One thing she identified was that I can be an anxious person, and she gave me practical strategies for managing anxiety in both dating and friendships.
Then one day, she told me our next session would be our last.
I was completely confused.
Wasn’t I here because something was wrong with me?
Her response changed my perspective entirely.
She said, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re emotionally aware, you know what you want, and you’re not willing to compromise on things that matter to you.” Although she also made it clear that if I felt I still needed therapy, I could return in a month.
I won’t lie, hearing that from a professional felt incredibly reassuring. I had spent so much time questioning myself that I almost expected to be told I had some deep-seated issue to work through. Instead, she saw someone who understood herself and was making intentional decisions.
She explained that many people stay in relationships where they aren’t truly compatible and only discover the consequences years later. She described my approach as carefully thinking through compatibility and encouraged me to keep dating while also working on managing my tendency to overthink.
One example that stood out was a man I dated who rarely laughed. I love joking around and can be quite silly, so at first I didn’t think much of it. But I started noticing that if I made an offhand joke, he would bring it up days later and tell me he didn’t appreciate it.
I remember thinking, “You’ve been thinking about that for three days?”
It often felt as though he was keeping score instead of simply enjoying our time together. While he was a perfectly decent person, I realised I would probably spend years second-guessing myself around him rather than feeling free to be playful.
When I told my dad about the situation, he agreed with my decision. He said someone with that temperament might slowly change who I was and make me feel as though I had to walk on eggshells.
That conversation with my therapist taught me something important.
There is enormous pressure, especially on women, to choose the person who looks right on paper. But someone can be successful, kind, and responsible and still not be the right partner for you.
Compatibility isn’t about finding a “good” person. It’s about finding the right person.
So these days, I trust my instincts a little more. Ending something with someone who isn’t a bad person can still hurt, but I would rather experience temporary disappointment than spend years trying to force a relationship that doesn’t fit.
After all, what’s right on paper isn’t always what’s right for you.