Stuck in the Diner: How Being Stood Up Taught Me Self Love
I vividly remember the first time I got stood up on a date. It’s happened more than once, but this one sticks out like broccoli on a tooth. Picture this: I’m sitting in a greasy diner booth, my mom by my side, waiting for a boy who never showed up.
We had planned to meet at Wimpy, a popular fast-food chain in South Africa. I needed a date for a school dance, and our moms had conspired to set us up. As time ticked by, the boy’s mother finally appeared — but he didn’t. She offered apologies, dripping with regret, but they couldn’t soften the sting. I forced a smile and sipped on a milkshake as thick as my shame. Ironically, I didn’t even like this boy, which somehow made the rejection feel even worse.
Years have passed since that Wimpy incident. I’ve had crushes, been on dates (with guys who actually showed up), and remain an incurable Romantic. Yet, I still find myself playing peek-a-boo with the coveted “girlfriend” title. We often picture romance as grand gestures, flowers, and sweeping declarations — undeniable stamps that the object of our desire finds us equally as desirable. But as my singleness stretches on, longer than I ever imagined it would, I’ve had to face the fact that romance hasn’t come storming through my door. If I’m the princess in the tower, it hasn’t slain any of my dragons.
There are plenty of reasons I’ve never had a long-term relationship. I’m an introvert, I’m religious, and my hobbies have always veered toward the frilly and feminine. I simply don’t meet many men. The ones I do meet either don’t spark anything within me, or I don’t inspire much in them — or they’re already spoken for. Over time, I’ve come to expect rejection from men, all while craving a relationship like a nicotine hit.
Last year, after one too many ‘ghostings’ from dating app duds, I found myself curled up in my sister’s arms. “I don’t get it,” I lamented with a clogged nose and burning eyes, “Why am I always heartbroken over some guy who couldn’t care less?”
My sister listened patiently, then said something that hit me like a gut punch: “Maybe it’s because you’re still waiting in the Wimpy.”
I sat up, confused.
“You keep waiting for a guy to save you, to validate that you’re worth it. In your mind, you’re still that teenager who got stood up in a greasy booth. It’s been over ten years, and you’re still stuck there.”
Her words left me winded.
Not being asked to prom, needing my mom to find me a date, and then getting stood up — it all reinforced the idea that the romance I craved was actively avoiding me. The harder I fought for it, the more slippery it became. So I asked her, “If that’s true, how do I get out?”
“You have to decide you’re done waiting to be picked,” she said. “You need to stand up and walk out.”
This is the plight of the Hopeless Romantic: the very thing you need is the one thing you don’t want to do. Without a partner, you feel like a kite on a windless day, a lover without a lover, a Princess Fiona in a land full of Farquads. No one fantasizes about strolling down the street, hand in hand — with themselves! No one’s buying that book.
But here’s the truth: no knight in shining armor is coming to convince me that I’m someone special. That’s an inside job.
Lately, I’ve been redefining romance. It’s not just grand gestures or waiting for someone to sweep me off my feet — it’s the daily things I do for myself that say, “You’re worth it.” It’s about meeting the hurting parts of yourself with tenderness and singing lullabies to your anxious heart. Every day, I take my own hand and peel myself out of that sticky diner seat. It’s unglamorous work. But this is the biggest dragon any of us have to slay: the one that convinced me — or you, or anyone else — that someone else holds the key to our worth.
It’s been a long journey out of that booth, but now, if you find me sitting in one, I’m enjoying my milkshake.
And I’m not waiting for anyone.
