I swear we’ve all been trapped in the same bizarre dating purgatory for the last few years, pretending it’s normal. It’s that specific kind of situation where you talk every day, you know exactly what song makes them cry and what their coffee order is – you’ve even met their mum over FaceTime – but as soon as someone asks what you guys actually are?

Total blank. No idea. Yet, somehow, we’ve just decided that’s acceptable.

If you think about it, modern dating doesn’t even really end in heartbreak anymore. It suddenly just comes to a halt. Or worse, it never really starts at all, which is honestly more unsettling because at least a breakup is something you can point at and say, okay, that was real. Now it’s just this weird, permanent limbo where nothing technically ends, but nothing ever begins either.

We’re skipping the hello and heading straight to the trauma

Everybody’s flirting. Nobody’s fucking. 

And I don’t even mean the obvious. I mean commitment. Risk. Actually saying, “this matters to me” out loud, knowing that same feeling might not be returned. 

It’s a paradox, really, because we’re actually closer than ever – at least on paper. We’re skipping the “get to know you” phase entirely and diving straight into the deep end, and at this point, you’ll probably know someone’s deepest fear before you even know if you’re allowed to leave a toothbrush at their house. 

It feels so strange, though, because it goes against everything we were told growing up. We were raised to believe effort was never wasted, right? That if you went for something – whether it be a dream, a job, a person even – the outcome was secondary to the attempt, and the true victory lies within the trying itself. 

We watched our favourite on-screen characters hover in the “maybe” for years, only to be rewarded for finally risking the embarrassment of caring. Look at Bridget Jones: she was unapologetically a mess – gaffes, giant knickers, and all – and she still found her happy ending. Wanting someone openly and loudly wasn’t “cringe”, but more often admirable. 

I was genuinely under the impression that was the deal. That it was as simple as being “just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to choose her.”  Now? That version of love feels like a relic.

Practically married by 3.a.m, strangers by breakfast time 

Take someone like Izzy, who is 20 and has been stuck in this blur for eight months. She describes it as having the emotional intimacy of a fifty-year marriage – minus the label. 

“We’ll be up at 3 am having the deepest chats known to man, and then we wake up 7 hours later, and it’s like someone hit a reset button. We just act like it never happened. It’s exhausting.”

We’ve managed to collectively master this bizarre kind of emotional gymnastics, where you share everything but name absolutely nothing. This whole setup has basically built a world where you get all the lovely perks and closeness of a relationship, but have to deal with zero of the responsibility. You miss each other, you’re in the absolute weeds of each other’s lives, but the second you try to put a label on it, the air just seems to magically leave the room, as if you’ve accidentally broken some unspoken rule.

This, what I like to call the “in-between space”, has become so normal it barely registers anymore. But Dr. Kate Sherratt, a clinical psychologist, says that while these “ambiguous relationships” aren’t exactly emergent, modern dating has supercharged them.

“Ambiguous relationships aren’t new – versions of this dynamic have always existed – but modern dating has changed the way they play out.”

“From an attachment perspective, ambiguity can feel safer than clarity for different reasons. For people with more anxious tendencies, there’s often a fear that connection is fragile – that asking for clarity might scare someone off, make them seem ‘too much,’ or risk losing a relationship they value.” 

That fear of being ‘too much’ is such a heavy thing to carry, and I believe it’s honestly why the whole dating scene feels so suffocating right now. We’re already terrified of breaking something fragile, but then we have to deal with this constant “options” culture that makes it incredibly easy to never actually choose anyone. 

Catherine, 56, recently re-entered the dating world after years of marriage and finds the new rules almost unrecognisable. 

“If you were spending four nights a week with someone, you were a couple,” she says. “It didn’t need a big conversation – that’s just how it was. Now everything feels like a negotiation.”

Relationship counsellor Jindriska Harris believes our phones are feeding this hesitation. 

“Online dating creates this feeling that there’s always another option, so people stay half in and half out. Some people want the closeness of a relationship but without fully committing to it. It’s a bit like wanting to have the cake and eat it too.“

“You get the connection, but you keep your options open just in case something better comes along,” she said.

We’ve all turned into Sherlock Holmes

Think about the sheer amount of energy we waste just trying to keep these “non-situations” alive. It’s exhausting. We’re out here living in this weird contradiction where we’re hyper-connected but yet so totally isolated. For instance, we’ll track someone’s location or re-watch their Instagram stories like they’re some kind of cinematic masterpiece. We’ll sit there and analyse the literal gap between a sent message and a blue tick – yet we’re too terrified to ask a simple, “Where is this actually going?” because we’re scared of “ruining the vibe.” It’s dumbfounding, right? I’m guilty of it. You probably are too. We’ve traded five minutes of awkward, honest conversation for the agonising, months-long slow-burn of playing digital detective. 

Chill is just another word for terrified

We’re essentially just letting our egos play it safe. Saying “I want you” carries the risk of a “no” – I know, scary – especially when rejection feels less like a private sting and more like a public humiliation these days. So instead of being brave, instead of taking the leap, we drop miniscule  hints that give us an exit strategy the moment things feel too real. It’s a calculated way to ensure we never have to lose face. 

However, the reality of it is: ambiguity isn’t some neutral safety zone. It’s actually a very slow drain that just keeps you agonisingly suspended in all these “almosts.” Almost chosen, almost secure, almost loved.

I stayed in that warm blur because, at the time, it felt safer than being seen clearly. I kept telling myself I was “chill” and that I didn’t even care that much, but really? I was just avoiding the exact moment I’d have to risk being rejected.

Counsellor and Relationships Coach Montserrat Holloway says this kind of uncertainty keeps your nervous system stuck on a loop:

“The thing is, this ambiguity reduces short-term fear, but it increases long-term anxiety as our nervous systems don’t fully relax in uncertainty, so we are more likely to be hyper-vigilant, over-analyse things like messages, tones and even the silences.”

I realised ambiguity wasn’t protecting me the night it finally stopped being theoretical. After months of this “hanging out” dance, on a random Saturday night, he came over to me in a club with a girl standing right behind him and said, totally casual: “Can I have my pyjamas back? She needs them.”

There was no betrayal, and no rules were technically broken, either. I couldn’t even be mad – because we’d never actually set any rules, and by never saying what I wanted, I’d signed a contract to never be a priority. There it was: my eureka moment. Ambiguity never actually stopped me from getting hurt; it just took away my right to be surprised when it finally happened.

As Dr. Sherratt puts it:

“Secure relationships aren’t built on walking on eggshells. They’re based on mutual respect and communication. The right relationship isn’t so fragile that it collapses because someone expresses their interest or asks an honest question.”

So let me ask you… are you in something you can’t name – not because you don’t care, but because naming it feels riskier than losing it? Are you calling it “going with the flow” when you’re actually terrified of being honest? 

We didn’t stop wanting love. We just got bloody good at avoiding it.