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I remember a Friday night hunched over the kitchen sink cleaning the dishwasher filter while my kids played video games online with their friends, oblivious to my existence.

I had been widowed for nearly a year, and was slowly emerging from the settled dust of grief and a recalibrated life. And thinking: this can't be it for me.

But after being with the same partner since I was nineteen, stepping back into the dating world at 44 felt like landing in a foreign country without a map.

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I often thought my foray into this strange territory was complicated by the fact that I hadn't dated much before that one relationship — I had no blueprint for navigating the social norms around any of it. But, I suspect the landscape has changed so much since literally the last century that a blueprint probably wouldn't have helped much anyway.

What good is knowledge of the three-day rule for calling someone after a date when you are knee-deep in analysing online profiles, learning what ghosting is, and discovering that infidelity has had the biggest rebrand since cauliflower became rice — and is now ethical non-monogamy?

And when it comes to sex, the one piece of advice I still remember from Dolly magazine is that it's okay if your vagina gets wet while you're kissing someone — it means you're enjoying it — and that doesn't mean you have to go all the way. I guess that tip is still relevant.

I am a big gatherer of stories and data when embarking on anything new — I love hearing about other people's experiences and accumulating little nuggets of knowledge along the way.

When I dipped my toe into this scene, however, I couldn't find any positive rhetoric around online dating at all. I had one solitary friend who shared her experience with me, which ranged from many bad dates to her eventual happy ending, and I'm incredibly grateful to have had her insight.

But online? It was all tumbling stock prices and layoffs at the apps' parent companies, and general 'women hate men and men hate women' style articles, rolled out ad nauseam.

Everyone had an opinion; nobody had a solution. Should I even bother? As if the thought of buying underwear to be seen by other people — or that my boobs might be observed in anything other than a medical setting — wasn't enough to put me off, nobody seemed to be enjoying the process.

But what were my other options? Hope a single dad joins the school P&C? Even so, the thought of mingling those worlds gave me a shiver. The phrase "don't shit where you eat" might be a bit crass, but I've yet to come up with an alternative that covers it so well.

I wasn't looking for another husband, but I did want…company? In whatever form that might take.

Friends and family are great at stepping in and filling the gaps where a partner once was — going to the theatre or cheering your team along with you. But you can't expect them to do it all the time, or forever — they all have their own lives and may not even be interested in whatever shenanigans you're dragging them along to.

That kitchen-sink moment, coupled with a very distinct kind of energy I hadn't felt before — not libidinous, but something — left me feeling like I could run clean through a brick wall, or dance the night away until my feet bled, just to physically push myself to the point where my brain shushed for a minute.

After a few months of that feeling building, one warm January afternoon, I walked into the lounge room and announced to my bemused kids, "I've downloaded Bumble".

What followed was a group activity of teaching the algorithm what I definitely wasn't into — mirror gym selfies and dead fish photos. Oh dear, the tropes were true! Also, phrases such as "must be in your divine femininity" or "no mask photos #unvaxxed" — wowsers.

I was astounded by what people chose to put front and centre to sell themselves. It was also an excellent teaching opportunity for my sons to learn what kind of people I have been actively raising them not to become.

Now, women are at a distinct advantage in the online pool — as a numbers game anyway. In general, there are always more men on the apps, sometimes as high as 70 per cent men to 30 per cent women. And when you take into account swiping habits — men swipe right on one in every three profiles; women swipe on one in every sixteen — you need to be prepared for a little overwhelm in your like pile.

I cautiously swiped right on someone I would ordinarily have considered far too young for me (oh, how that dial got turned down the further along my journey I got), but they mentioned books and had a friendly smile, so I took a chance — and we matched.

Bumble originally sold itself as the platform where women had to make the first move and initiate the chat after matching. This has since been tweaked, and men can reply to prompts if they're present. But back in my day (2025), it was up to me to make the first move.

Did I make hay while the sun shone and send a friendly, witty opener? No. I became prostrate with fear and let the match expire.

Fortunately, they re-matched with me, and I figured they must be kind of keen, so I sent that witty opener: "Hi Evan, how are you today?"

From there was a pleasant exchange of messages at a pace that felt comfortable and not overwhelming, before he suggested meeting for coffee.

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I often credit this person with giving me the best possible start to online dating — there was no sexualisation in the conversation, they sent me a recent photo of themselves unprompted (catfish prevention strategy), and even offered to send through their Australian Federal Police clearance.

Even so, meeting a stranger from the internet was nerve-wracking. My kids aren't allowed to be friends online with anyone they don't know IRL, and they were quick to point out this hypocrisy.

But off I went anyway — with new underwear, a tummy full of butterflies, and my location shared with my bestie.

Oh, the relief when he actually showed up. This was always my greatest fear when dating — along with assuming I would come down with a case of facial blindness and not be able to recognise the person. It never happened.

I won't go into too much detail about how the date ended, but let's just say it involved as much fun as two consenting adults can have in the back of a car — which elicited the follow- up question from said bestie the next day: "Why were you driving around to all those parks?"

I'm certainly not going to pretend these platforms are without their drawbacks. I'd love to see more natural interaction in the wild — just between humans in general, not necessarily with romantic intentions. But they definitely have their place, and for this introverted widow who wouldn't have set foot in a bar as a teen in 1999, let alone as a perimenopausal woman who hates crowd noise, they did the job.

You quickly learn what does and doesn't work for you, and nearly every interaction that led to an in-person meeting was a positive one for me. It turns out that behind the algorithms and swipe fatigue there are still just people, trying their luck the same as you.

Feature Image: Getty.