What is a Late Bloomer?
If you consult the Miriam-Webster Dictionary, a "Late Bloomer" is: "someone who becomes successful, attractive, etc. at a later time in life." It's a turn often conflated with being chronically single or an adult virgin.
I first heard the term "late bloomer" in 2020 when I was 30 years old. A TikToker named Britt Belwine posted a video talking about how isolating and lonely she felt as a romantic late bloomer in her 20s—someone who'd never hit "typical" romantic milestones as an adult (a first date, first kiss, first sexual experience, etc.). I resonated so strongly with that explanation. It felt like the shape to a question I'd been trying to form for my whole adulthood as I watched friends and siblings all begin to couple up, get married, and start families while I'd never so much as held someone's hand or been asked out.
Am I a Late Bloomer?
Have you ever felt that hot blush on your cheeks when well-meaning friends or complete strangers ask "if you're seeing anyone?" or that creeping feeling you've missed the "Romance Masterclass" that everyone else in the world seems to have taken? You know, the one that explains how to go on a date, have a first kiss, do something about a crush (the list goes on)?
Regardless of your age, being a romantic late bloomer is a feeling of being left behind, of deep shame and embarrassment about that fact, and some degree of despair in the helplessness to do anything about it. I remember feeling that as a teenager and throughout my twenties. Why was I so invisible, apparently, to everyone? What made me so unapproachable or unappealing? Because it must be me, right? What else could explain why younger siblings years younger than me were getting married when I'd never so-much-as held someone's hand. The deep shame of that unfamiliarity is crippling. It's like being adrift at sea, and you wish someone would just throw you a life preserver. Why is this so hard for everyone, except for you?
And, worse, to the trusted few I chose to disclose my secret shame of inexperience to, everyone just assured me there was nothing wrong. I just wasn't "putting myself out there" enough or I "didn't know anyone worth dating anyway." But their attempts to make me feel better, somehow, only made me feel worse. Because something was wrong, maybe not with me, but absolutely with how I felt about myself as time wore on. The longer I went unwanted and unapproached, the more undesirable I felt--to the point that it felt absolutely mortifying even attempting the briefest stints on dating apps. Because how could I, at 17...22...25...29...32 years old explain why I'd never been asked out, on a date, or been kissed?
The "What Now" Instead of "Why?"
I found most of my late 20s consumed by the question of, "why had this happened to me?"
What had I missed? What had I done wrong? How had I caused this?
It wasn't until I turned 32, after over a decade of trying a dating app for a week or two, getting overwhelmed or creeped out, and deleting it, that I started asking myself a different, more productive question: What Now?
Yes, being a late bloomer had been a painful part of my adolescence and adulthood. No matter what other personal, professional, or creative achievements I accomplished, the fact that I'd never experienced any romantic milestones felt increasingly crippling. Shameful. But I got tired of being ashamed of not having the opportunity to experience something others had. Instead, I wanted to focus on what the hell I was going to do about it.
I'd built a life I loved, surrounded by people I loved, but if I changed absolutely nothing about my life, I'd wake up 30 years from now and my life would look exactly the same. So what now? What was I going to do differently than I'd done for the last 15 years?
I decided on two things.
Step 1: No More Secrets
I couldn't let my own fear hold me back anymore. I was afraid of what people might think of me. Why?
Why this when I cared so little about what people thought of me in all other aspects of my life? I'd always wished someone had just told me that yes, what I was going through was hard. They were right, nothing was wrong with me, but not acknowledging how difficult or painful this life experience was made it harder for me to verbalize.
I had nothing to be ashamed of. I needed to make my brain accept that, and I was the only one who could. So Step 1? I decided that my lack of experience could no longer be a secret. It was just a part of me, just like my hair color or favorite foods. It didn't define me. And anyone who belittled me or thought otherwise wasn't worth my time or energy.
Step 2: Season of Bravery
Dating is hard and scary. It is hard to do a hard and scary thing, without any guarantee of a positive outcome, for an extended period of time. Unlike, say, professional or educational pursuits—you can put all the energy into dating and still come up emptyhanded. You can burnout on bravery, and it's hard to work up the nerve to even start in the first place.
Instead, I decided to commit to a specific period of time to be brave for dating: a "Season of Bravery."
I would pursue every possible conversation, say yes to any valid (and safe) opportunities to date in person, and I would give it my all for 4-8 weeks. If nothing positive was happening in 4-8 weeks, I'd enter a "Season of Rest" and then try again later. That decision changed everything for me. If any of this resonates, remember, there is nothing wrong with you, you cannot be late for your own life, and I'm rooting for you. ♥