Curled up on the sofa after a big bowl of pasta, my hand reached for the remote to start another episode of First Dates on Channel 4.
I was snuggled up with my partner, Ben*, one Friday night after we’d been together for around 3.5 years.
Then suddenly, as I listened to the participants describe their mix of nerves and excitement before a date, I was reminded of how I used to spend my Friday nights – chaotic evenings filled with butterflies as I headed out on first dates.
This is the moment I realised I missed the thrill of dating.
Don’t get me wrong, Ben is wonderful. He’s caring, reliable, consistent, loyal, and I love him deeply.
But it wasn’t the same as my former dating life – and I often find myself lamenting that.
I loved dating itself, but also the rituals around it.
The pre drink to settle nerves. The group chats with girlfriends to dissect outfit choices or analyse a date’s text message. That giddy, girly energy.
It all added colour to the day-to-day of adulthood. I remember one date where a simple drink turned into stargazing on Brighton Pier, as we spoke about life and the universe. Every date brought butterflies – will they like me, will the attraction be there, will there be a spark?
Of course, there were plenty of downsides to dating too. I was ghosted more times than I can count or rejected in ways that made my hyper-sensitive heart ache.
The worst part wasn’t even the ghosting itself – it was how easily I’d let my imagination run away with the idea of a future together. My hopes always outpaced reality.
Then I met Ben in 2022, aged 23.
From the beginning, it felt different. Safe, yes – but still exciting in the way new beginnings always are.
We met on Hinge, despite living in different cities – me in Brighton, him in London. The early days were filled with long weekends of dancing in bars, train journeys, and lipstick-stained wine glasses.
On one early date, we explored Hampstead Heath, swapped stories about our childhoods, as we slowly built something solid. We made things official two months later, which felt natural.
But about six months in – shortly after our first holiday to Spain together – I noticed that the novelty had faded. It just hit me that I didn’t have that burst of nerves and excitement when we spent time together anymore.
Not in a bad way – it’s just that we just knew each other too well.
The spark hadn’t gone, but the thrill and the high-stakes mystery had settled into something softer and more familiar.
I didn’t share how I was feeling with Ben at the time because the pros really did outweigh the cons. After all, I wanted to be in a safe, happy relationship. I literally manifested my dream guy.
Now, three and a half years after making it official, I still miss the adrenaline that used to come with dating. That electric uncertainty. That thrilling possibility.
I liken it to eating clean for a long time – wholesome, nourishing, and sustainable – but then suddenly getting an intense craving for sugar. You know it’s not the best long-term fuel, but sometimes you just want the rush.
Over time, through a lot of relationship podcasts and conversations with friends, I realised that missing the thrill of dating is normal and it doesn’t mean your relationship is broken.
Even my friends have admitted to feeling the same. They’ve reassured me that it’s natural to miss the thrill of getting to know new people.
It’s often wrapped in shame, as though missing the buzz of dating means you’re ungrateful or emotionally cheating. This is a narrative I have in the back of my head like a broken record from relationship podcasts or dramatised reality TV shows like Love Island, where the spark is everything and settling down is painted as boring.
But I think we need to reframe it.
Relationships – no matter how wonderful – aren’t supposed to meet every single need. If you’re craving something, ask yourself: is this about the relationship? Or is this about me?
For me, the antidote has been finding ways to inject more fun and spontaneity into our routines. Sometimes it’s as small as swapping our usual homemade dinner for a takeaway. Or going to the cinema, instead of watching Netflix at home.
The key is not blaming the relationship, but gently shaking it up. Acknowledge the sameness and do something about it.
If you’re missing the butterflies, maybe it’s time to plan a night out. Or recreate your favourite first date. Or try something brand new together – a pottery class, a salsa night, a new restaurant.
It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be different.
And if your partner isn’t up for it, do it for yourself. Book a solo date, try a new recipe, or wander around a gallery. Add that splash of ‘sugar’ to your life on your own terms.
I do this often – if I’m feeling bored or understimulated, I’ll head to a coffee shop to be around new faces and soak up the buzz, or I’ll plan a catch-up with a friend.
What I want people to take away from this is simple: Missing the thrill of dating is not a red flag. It’s not a threat to your relationship.
It’s an invitation to talk, tweak, and explore. To add just a little bit more novelty to your life.
And the best part? You don’t have to give up the safety and security of love to get that thrill again. You just have to seek it – together or solo – with intention.
*Name has been changed
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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