'I was exhausted by dating, so I did something I swore I'd never do.'

"I sound insane," I said to Moe, a very patient therapist.

If I'm honest, it was an appointment I never pictured myself needing: a one-on-one coaching session with a love and connection expert. And yet here I was, divulging my wretched dating history to a stranger on a grainy Zoom call.

Growing up, 'love' wasn't a maybe for me, it was an inevitability. Every romance novel and movie had the same message: that love happens to everyone. Even the most insecure, the most confident, the most introverted, the most extroverted, the most flawed, the most flawless. Everyone got their happy ending.

Sure, over the years, my goal posts changed. I was too awkward for love in my teenage years, but there was always university, right? Wrong, I was far too insecure and insular to meet new people. Not to worry, I had my whole 20s in front of me. I would gain a Carrie Bradshaw-like confidence. I would be fun, flirty, date-able, lovable. My time was coming. It had to be.

And yet…

Many cosmopolitans and a sprinkle of uneventful dates later, I found myself searching for love in a place my younger self never could have predicted: on a dating app.

Watch: Em Asked ChatGPT To Decode Her Dating Texts. Post continues after video.

The routine became predictable. My housemate and I would plop down next to each other on our second-hand lounge, phones at the ready. Two heavy sighs later, we would be scrolling through our respective matches with waning motivation.

"What should I say to this guy?" one of us would eventually break the silence. We'd then spend the next 30 minutes crafting — what we deemed at least — a witty response to a man we'd never met.

As we'd break to sip our cheap wine, a sharp 'ding' would interrupt what had surely been another conversation that didn't pass The Bechdel Test. The man had replied. Invariably, we would both sigh at his mediocre message, at his lack of personality, at his lack of ability to ask a single question.

With a groan, we would close our apps for the night and retire to our separate rooms, exhausted and disheartened. I'd leave my app idle for days, sometimes weeks… sick of the chore, disillusioned by the concept of love.

I relayed all of this to the lovely Moe Ari Brown, Hinge's love and connection expert, during our coaching session. It had come at a time of desperation; after one too many failed dates. I tried blaming the apps as a concept, but many of my friends had found love on them. What was I doing wrong?

Moe's response had all the validating cadence of a seasoned therapist.

"None of what you said sounds insane. It's extremely relatable," he told me. "But the word 'chore' stands out to me."

I considered this. When did I start to think of dating as a chore? I was using a word usually associated with hanging out the washing or doing the dishes to describe the one thing I had longed for as a child.

"When the replies are underwhelming, it makes that feel like a chore, because you're not getting the reward back for all of the energy you put in," Moe continued, breaking me out of my reverie.

Unsurprisingly, however, the therapist's solution was not shutting the apps for weeks on end in a display of self-pity and pessimism. I had to be intentional and consistent. Booooooring.

"75 per cent of Hinge users expect a message back within 24 hours," Moe said. "This is the sweet spot to keep the energy going for yourself, so that you stay engaged."

When he went on to suggest I implement voice recordings in my conversations, I immediately shuddered, confessing I hated the sound of my own voice. But, as the therapist pointed out, our voices convey so much more than a text message.

"I see voice notes as our authentic frequency, our authentic signature, and there is so much truth about us as carried through our voice. It's a great way of gauging attraction and connection early on."

The first few days, he added, are essential.

"Within about three days of chatting, that's when we typically suggest to schedule a date," said Moe. "That way you're not getting stuck in what we call the 'phone zone', which is when you're consistently messaging back and forth. The momentum kind of drops after that."

If finding the energy to reply to men on dating apps was draining, willing myself to actually go on dates was near impossible. I told the therapist as much.

"When you've had those moments where you didn't want to go, and you made yourself go. What were you telling yourself?" Moe asked me.

I could picture the scene clearly. I would be applying my lip-liner while my housemate helped me do my hair. 

"I don't want to go," I would say.

"But what if he's the one?" she would reply.

The one comment would provide enough fuel for my inner monologue to start a fire.

'What if he was the one? Imagine if I didn't go and he was the love of my life. His messages weren't too bad. Maybe he's funnier in person. I should give him a chance. I'm never going to find someone if I don't go on dates.'

Inevitably, the date would be fine. Not amazing, just fine. And so the inner bargaining continued: 'There wasn't really a connection, but maybe it will build over time. We were both nervous, maybe next time we'll be less nervous. It's not like the movies, you can't expect immediate fireworks. Go on the second date.'

"You're trying to keep yourself optimistic, or trying to convince yourself, 'Okay, you need to be open, be flexible,'" Moe said. "Those are mature things, but we don't want to do that to the point where we're overriding what our body and our intuition is telling us about what we desire."

It wasn't the first time I'd heard this. Once, when complaining to a friend about another 'fine' date, she gave it to me straight: "You need to look at the men you're choosing to go out with. These men are not right for you."

(Truth be told, she said it in a much more colourful way, but I figured I'd save Moe from the expletives).

"Your friend's advice was solid," said the love and connection expert. "It sounds like the people were just not meeting you with what you needed."

He then asked if I ever made the first move on the apps. I sheepishly told him the truth: while I would occasionally message first, I never 'liked' anyone's profile. I just waited for people to match me. In doing so, I conceded, I was significantly limiting my dating pool.

Put it this way, Moe said, "If you were looking for jobs, if you waited for recruiters to reach out to you, you're only getting opportunities that are approaching you, but if you are self-selecting, then you are making sure that the options that are coming your way are ones that you have hand-selected."

He argued that this vetting process could significantly improve my dates if I had "already seen a real chemistry with them".

"Some questions that I orient daters toward are. 'Do I feel energised by this conversation, this date, this match?' These kinds of questions can help us to check in with how we're feeling," Moe said.

"I encourage people to keep doing that, and probably earlier on, before you go on a date. 'How am I actually feeling in my body about this connection? What do I feel when they send me a message?' If I'm not smiling, if I don't feel joy, it's probably not going where I wanted to go."

When my coaching session was over, I began an agonising hour of self-reflection.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I had been too passive on the apps, rarely making the first move and giving inconsistent replies. It wasn't until I gained the confidence to put myself out there with intention, both online and in person, that finding love started to feel less like a chore and more like a possibility.

And, as Carrie Bradshaw would say, just like that… my time had arrived.

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