'In the over-50s dating pool, I thought I found someone special. I was wrong.'

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons.

Most of the single women in their fifties that I know have given up on dating.

After navigating separation and divorce they stepped out, hopeful of finding some fun and a new connection. Largely they found men with impossible expectations around physical qualities, past experience, kids or still wanting kids and commitment-phobes of every persuasion.

But still, after avoiding dating for years; as a solo parent it just seemed too hard to navigate the logistics and I knew I had some work to do on myself to be ready to offer the best possible version of myself; I decided I was 50 and I would dip my toe back in.

Watch: The common mindsets women have towards dating when coming out of a toxic relationship or divorce. Post continues after video.

Dating apps are a minefield. That hadn't changed and like my friends I encountered profiles of ageing, somewhat desiccated men who are looking for a supermodel with 'no baggage', or ones that were still looking to have kids. There are the passive aggressive profiles and the outright aggressive ones. And of course, too many holding dead fish or other animals or posing with sedated tigers. Plus, everyone's favourite, the bathroom selfie showing the towels on the floor and the toilet seat up. No, thank you.

Then there are the ones you think, okay, I'll swipe right and occasionally you get a match and instigate a chat. Frequently there is no response, I'm sure that goes both ways. Then when there is some engagement there's the monosyllabic responses to questions or maybe the ones who want to go from zero to one hundred and get down and dirty in the first chat.

I was definitely shocked at the ghosting. I mean, we are talking folks in their late forties and fifties. If you can't manage to say "I don't see this going anywhere, good luck" then that's a red flag.

Then another guy I matched with - he had a greyhound; I have a greyhound; I thought that was a start. We chatted for a bit, maybe a week. It was okay, so I thought I'd suggest a meetup.

But he had one more question: "Was I more on the curvy side?" Apparently, he didn't mind a little but it's not really his thing. Mmmm, my response; "Well, yes, I am and as sexy as hell, but if that's not your thing, good luck." Didn't hear from him again.

Then we moved on to the micro dates. I call them that because I have never experienced such brief, in person encounters.

In a post-COVID world it's not surprising to come across someone a bit (a lot) on the cautious side, too much working from home seems to do that. So, we agreed to meet for a walk at the beach. Plenty of fresh air and opportunity for some social distancing.

It was a bit windy, but hey, I love the beach whatever the weather. We walked and chatted for a whole 15 minutes at most before he suggested taking shelter then quickly ended the dated, due to the weather, suggesting we should catch up again.

My son laughed when I reappeared at home so soon.

Needless to say, after a few days of silence I messaged and he told me he had COVID (first time) and he really didn't feel a spark. No problem, not alone there.

NEXT!

The Italian musician who suggested a Friday evening meet up on Lygon Street. Not too bad for me coming straight from work but he clearly underestimated traffic and parking and was 40 minutes late.

Eventually he appeared, all double denim and apologetic. We popped up to the cinema bar for an Aperol (Italian, what else) and we chatted, briefly. He explained he had to get to a tango lesson, but he'd call, maybe after Christmas when it's not so busy.

I called a girlfriend from the car, and we laughed.  It took me longer to decide what top to wear than I spent on the date.

Oh, it's July now and I haven't heard from that one. Maybe he meant Christmas in July?

And then, determined to continue, my last date, a hastily set up meet up at a beach café. I told my son I'd probably be back in less than an hour, accounting for driving time.

When I arrived, I found a capped man, greyer and balder than his pics but with a soft, welcoming smile, a warm greeting hug and lots to talk about.

Coffee turned into wine and another wine, I hadn't eaten and was tipsy. Conversation ranged across every topic. We both stopped and looked each other in the eye and agreed this was 'unexpected'.

We hugged and kissed goodbye; it was reluctant. We messaged, why did we end it, it was going so well. We met again that evening.

From there it was some time every weekend and often an evening during the week as well. We talked about things to do; I booked events. We talked about needing alone time; his brother living at his and my teenage son, still unmet at mine cramping our style a little.

We played with the idea of a weekend away and he started checking with friends with holiday houses.

We had a marvellous day out at a CBD festival event, fabulous lunch at a well-known restaurant and took in a photographic exhibition I'd found with displays from photographers we'd discussed. I was so happy he saw a photo of a subject he had met and photographed years before and felt inspired to find it and maybe take up the camera again. We ended with more drinks and an amazing night.

I felt safe with him, his responses to stories and thoughts kind and near perfect.

Then two weekends went by, he was busy, tired. We arranged for a cheeky weekday catch up, his next message brief.

Then Monday morning the text to say, "love to catch up tonight or tomorrow (tomorrow was already agreed) but need you to know I'm seeing other people. We haven't discussed what we want or expectations, hope you're okay and we can talk about it."

My stomach dropped and tears rose. I departed my desk hastily for the staff kitchen and then a cold storeroom to hide trying to get my eyes under control.

I messaged a friend; she was a rock of support. But why? How?

How after all the weekends, the fun outings and making plans, the dinners at home with his brother, their nickname for me?

We met on what seemed less a cheeky day off and a more emergency mental health day. We walked and walked and talked. He told me he was scared, his last relationship was really tough, there were mental health issues, self-harm and violence. I understand as someone with lived experience of domestic violence.

He's switched off, he said, can't feel, wants to have fun and not 'settle down'. I asked lots of questions. How long? How many? How intimate? How safe?

Listen to 456 Club where hosts Narelda Jacobs and Cathrine Mahoney talks about dating again in your 40s, 50s, and 60s. Post continues below.

He was pleased we were talking, relieved I didn't just 'dump him'. For someone who doesn't feel, he seemed to be feeling a lot, and it showed on his face.

I was so mature and reasonable while we talked; I understand the fear of being vulnerable and getting hurt again. But I know connection counts.

I agreed to see how I feel, while confirming I was definitely disappointed and prefer 'casual' and not 'settled down' but exclusive. There are rules in place for our health and safety. 

We had an amazing, exhausting, heartbreaking day.

But now it's the wee hours and I can't get the picture I've conjured out of my head of him, being intimate with someone else, who of course I imagine is younger, prettier, more toned and whatever, but not more than me in any other aspect. I am more, more of everything.

How do I let go and head back into the pool of ghosting and micro dates after months of near ideal and even unexpected firsts (there's not so many of those left at this point in life)?

The author is a re-emerging writer after too long away from the pen just trying to survive. She has lived experience of domestic violence, volunteers and is a board member for a charity in that space. She works 9-5 to keep the bills paid, has a 17-year-old and a greyhound. You'll find her somewhere on Bumble and Hinge sometime in the near future.

Feature Image: Getty.