I lost counts of how many dating apps I’d used (and failed at) back when I was single.

I had a serious love-hate relationship with them. On one hand, it was a useful tool for a homebody introvert like me to meet men whom I wouldn’t cross paths with otherwise (including my husband). But it also caused me to have a dopamine addiction and left me feeling disappointed, frustrated, and hurt - and finally sent me into therapy.

At the end of my reset year when I turned my life around, I changed my dating approach completely, and it meant using dating apps differently. I became intentional. I realised I had made many mistakes that cost me not just time but also my wellbeing and dignity. In contrast, when I used it like a tool I had control over and made it work for me, it produced quality matches and a brand-new dating experience.

These are some of the mistakes I made. You might recognise yourself in them.

I fantasised about being loved and meeting a dashing man, but I hadn’t thought enough about what kind of relationship I wanted or what would actually work for me. I was wishy-washy about my intention with the mindset of “Let’s see how it goes.” I acted based on feelings and instant gratification, not on what would serve me long-term.

When you don’t have your own clear goal, i.e. getting married, whoever you meet can start to shape what you’re looking for. You like him, so you take what he offers to stay together with him. Your needs become negotiable to fit with his plan. Meanwhile, he knows what he’s doing; he’s steering it in a way that benefits him. By the time you realise what’s happening and see the gap between what he gives you and what you really want, it’s too late.

The photos and words I chose gave an impression of me, but it wasn’t necessarily the one that would get me the partner and relationship I truly wanted. Deep down, I was insecure, so I showed things that I knew would get me easy validation - things that I assumed most men would like. I used dating apps like a slot machine.

On the other hand, writing something honest and unique about myself made me feel exposed and worried that it would scare people away. But I didn’t realise that it meant my profile was doing its job - letting people self-select. I had to pay the cost of having fewer matches to get the reward of a smaller, more eligible pool of men.

If you choose a photo because it gets attention or write something because it sounds appealing without considering what it communicates, you might get a temporary ego boost, but ultimately from the wrong people, which is a waste of time and energy and can damage you more down the line. Worse, the right people might have got the wrong impression and concluded that you’re not for them.

When someone stopped replying or unmatched me, I looked for what I’d done wrong. If I’d asked what he was looking for, I wondered whether I’d been too direct. If I’d shown interest, I wondered whether I’d shown too much.

But these online matches didn’t know me yet, and I didn’t know them. I didn’t know what else was happening in their lives, who else they were talking to. There were so many things outside my control, yet I treated his response as a verdict on my desirability and self-worth, or proof of my faults. They hadn’t earned any of the significance I assigned to them.

On top of that, my profile was just a representation of me. But I treated it as if it was the whole of me, and it was fixed. I had chosen those photos and written those words, and I could change them if they weren’t communicating what I wanted.

I gave the information on a profile more weight than it could carry. An impressive job could make me assume someone was responsible. A thoughtful answer could make me assume he was emotionally mature. I filled in what I didn’t know with what I wanted those details to mean, depending on how attracted I was to his photos.

The same thing could happen in reverse. Some men aren’t good at taking photos, their photos might be older, or they simply come across differently in person. His profile might show signs of compatibility with you, but you still dismiss him because you’re unsure about his photos. You shouldn’t date someone you’re not attracted to, but sometimes you need to meet before you know whether that attraction is really there or not.

A profile can give you reasons to be interested and reasons to rule someone out. It can’t tell you how you’ll feel in his company or whether his behaviour will match what he says about himself. Concluding too soon can mean ruling out someone you might have liked in person, or investing in someone whose behaviour hasn’t earned your trust.

Regular messages gave someone a place in my day before he had a place in my life. I looked forward to hearing from him, shared things with him, and started imagining what we could become. It created a false sense of intimacy. I felt close to him, but most of what I knew was what he had chosen to tell me and how he presented himself through text.

By the time we met, I already wanted it to work. If I noticed a red flag, walking away meant giving up the connection I thought we had and the time I’d invested. That’s the sunk cost fallacy: what you’ve already put in becomes a reason to keep going. I stopped observing and discerning, and started to perform and force an outcome.

And if the conversation never progresses to meeting, it costs you real time and emotional energy while they benefit from having your attention on tap. That’s time and attention you could have spent getting to know someone who wants to meet you and move things forward.

I wanted to see whether a man would take initiative, make a plan, and was intentional about me. But I could become so focused on whether he did those things that I went along with a plan I didn’t actually like.

It’s important to find out whether a man would pay attention to my preferences and needs. Yet if I didn’t express them, I wasn’t giving him the opportunity to show me. He assumed I was happy with what he’d suggested, while I could end up resenting him for something I’d agreed to.

From the outside, giving someone room to take initiative and being passive can look similar. In both cases, he might be arranging the date. But in one, you know what you want, communicate it, and assess how he responds. In the other, you’re going along with what he wants and hoping it will turn into what you want.

Booking a nice restaurant, buying flowers, saying the right things. These are good signs, and I wanted to see that effort. But someone could do all of them before he knew enough about me for them to reflect much personal investment. And to him, these things might have cost very little.

A man might have dated a lot, know what tends to impress women, and have the money to do it comfortably. That doesn’t make his gestures insincere, but it means they can’t tell you everything you want to know about his intentions with you personally.

Sometimes you need to see what happens when you express a preference that’s different from what he’s suggested. Does he listen and adjust, or does he dismiss it? That gives you information about how responsive he is to you, beyond whether he knows how to arrange an impressive date. I also needed to see whether he remembered what I said and continued making an effort as we got to know each other.

I didn’t know when I wanted to get married or how long was too long to still be texting without meeting up. Without a timeline or the confidence to set one for myself, I gave up my power to set the pace that would suit me and decide the level of access he had to me, while wasting my own time.

When you know what you want and when, you have a reason to act and have a reference point to assess a man’s behaviours. You can signal that you’re ready to meet, say no to something you’re not ready for, or stop a conversation that isn’t progressing. He’s still the one who pursues, but you’re not sitting around waiting for it. If it doesn’t happen within the timeline you have for yourself, he’s out.

When I wasn’t finding anyone I wanted to meet, I looked at more profiles. It gave me dopamine and hope. But the longer I continued, especially while frustrated, the less attention and curiosity I had for each person.

The process could become objectifying, too. I was flicking through faces and judging individual features, losing sight of the fact that each profile represented a whole person and one of them could become my life partner, one of the most important decisions I’d ever make.

By the time I closed the app, “I haven’t found someone in this session” could feel like “There’s no one out there for me.” I was drawing conclusions about my future from a limited set of profiles I’d looked at while increasingly fed up.

When a match ghosted me, I felt hurt and disappointed, and sometimes even intensely anxious, but I felt ashamed for it and told myself to get over it. The reasons were: We hadn’t even met. I barely knew him. This has happened so many times; I should’ve known better.

But I had given the connection my attention and attached hope to it - it was real. Sometimes it was about losing the possibility of a future I’d longed for and thought was finally within reach, or the exhaustion of starting over again and again. Trying and giving yourself another chance at love shouldn’t be punished with shame.

Even though it happens within an app, your feelings are valid regardless, and they deserve to be tended to.

I’m thinking of running a webinar where I go deeper into online dating and show you how I used the apps differently, including showing you my actual profile and photos back then. If you’d be interested, vote below so I know whether to run it.

Ellen