It’s messy. It’s complicated. And let’s face it, sometimes it’s downright laughable in its absurdity. Here, I’ll share my adventures navigating the dating world after 40 and post-divorce.
As with any story, the best place to start is, of course, at the beginning. But this one doesn’t truly start until another chapter ended—my marriage.
I’ll admit, for a time, I felt embarrassed about the decision to end it. I had always spouted support, commitment, and loyalty, through thick and thin. But there I was, ready to walk away from it all. Ready to humble myself and admit, “Yeah, we messed that up,” and that it would be healthier for both of us if we no longer relied on each other.
We officially separated in 2022, but our divorce wasn’t finalized until the spring of 2024. He spent much of 2023 getting the start of some much-needed mental health care, while I tried to finish my degree and figure out how to support myself and two kids on my own. I still haven’t fully figured it out, but we have a roof over our heads, and they’ve never gone without—so I’m managing.
In hindsight, I started dating too soon. I was still raw with emotions, bitter and angry at my now-ex-husband. I was grappling with so much I wasn’t prepared for. My confidence had hit rock bottom, and I felt completely abandoned. My mental health struggled, and if it hadn’t been for finishing my degree and a truly amazing therapist, I may have ended up on another “grippy sock vacation” or worse, giving in to darker inclinations.
Since then, I’ve had a few “relationships” between the time we officially separated (and made the mutual agreement to date) and now. Each one has been unique, to say the least. I’ve learned a lot—not just about what I want moving forward, but also what I certainly don’t want. Some lessons have been painfully hard, some beautiful and reaffirming, and one or two have been downright absurd in one way or another.
Each one has been a lesson, not just about other people, but about myself as well.
Additional posts coming soon.
***UPDATE***
Admittedly, I have yet to do more than scribble a few notes about the lessons I’ve learned along my journey. While I feel those lessons are significant, I’m not entirely ready to confess how I got there. Some truths are hard to say out loud, even to myself.
Apparently, I miss a lot of signs.
And I set the bar pretty low.
And maybe—just maybe—I don’t really know how to date. Traversing this landscape feels like trying to follow a map that keeps updating mid-route. The rules for navigating are confusing, inconsistent, and often ignored without warning by others.
Much like driving in St. Louis.
Despite the uncertainty, I approach dating with the mindset that I’m starting at the halfway point. At this stage in my life—a woman, a mother, a provider in my 40s—with plans, goals, and my own intentions, I neither have the time nor the energy to “kick-start” someone else’s interest in moving in the same direction I am, or at the same speed.
If I never get married again, I’d be okay with that. What I’m truly looking for is a partner—a true, tried-and-true partner. Someone who can ground me when life becomes overwhelming. Someone who understands balance and knows that equality in a relationship isn’t just about splitting bills or chores 50/50. It’s about emotional reciprocity.
Reciprocity, in the emotional sense, isn’t about trading goods or labor, like an expensive dinner for sex. It’s about being a source of safety, comfort, and respect for your partner. The world is a scary place, and everyone deserves someone they can shelter with—someone they can be their truest self around. Someone they can sing off-key and loudly with on those long trips.
One of the most significant lessons I’ve learned is that, sometimes, it’s safer to navigate life alone than it is to travel with someone who doesn’t see the dangers ahead. Sometimes, the person you’re with is too distracted—staring at the scenery, cat videos, or arguing with other passengers—to notice the obstacles in the road. This can be downright deadly if you’ve handed them the keys.
Continuing with the metaphor, I’m looking for someone who can pay attention to the road ahead while still singing along with the radio. Someone who shares the journey, not just the destination. Someone who makes the ride better—more meaningful, more fun, and a lot less lonely.
Maybe I’ll explore this more in a later post. For now, this is where I’ll leave it: I’m seeking a partnership grounded in mutual care, respect, and understanding. And until I find it, I’ll keep driving—even if it’s just me and the open road.
Reconstructing Cori 