Wondering how to date in the Covid era

May 21, 2025

I’m dipping my toe back into the dating waters for the first time in a while. And I’m overwhelmed with trying to navigate this new reality.

When covid* first began, a lot of people did online dates, but those didn’t feel real enough for me. I now wish I’d done it! Eventually it felt safe to be outside with people, so I went on some dates that way. I had a bunch of first dates, and then there was one guy who seemed great, and we went on a couple of outside dates. But things fizzled because he was doing indoor athletics without a mask, so I didn’t feel comfortable being indoors with him and, let’s face it, a relationship can only get so far if you’re never going to feel comfortable being indoors and maskless with someone, and/or kissing them.

Then 2023 came along, and with it, a lot of added fatigue. Dating was out of the question. Just getting by day-to-day was all I could manage. It took a year and a half to feel somewhat better. I’m still struggling with added fatigue, but at least things aren’t as bad as they had been before. So, after a lot of procrastinating over the past several months, I finally set up an online dating profile yesterday.

Now the question is, how do I navigate covid-related risks? I don’t think I need to mention my concerns in my profile, or even in an initial chat – I can suggest a walk for a first date. Honestly, I can’t do coffee dates well anyway, since I worry about gluten in most coffee shops. But then I need to find a way to bring up my concerns. As it is, for many years I’ve had to find a way to mention on first or second dates that I can’t kiss anyone who has been eating or drinking gluten. That’s already sort of awkward, but at least it’s straightforward: if you’ve been eating or drinking gluten, or wearing lipstick or lip balm, then I won’t kiss you. But covid risk is much less direct. Everyone has some risk, including me.

Most people aren’t wearing masks indoors anymore. Should I only limit myself to dating people who mask? Probably. But talk about a small dating pool! Or what if someone doesn’t mask indoors much, but they work from home and don’t have kids and don’t go to big events? Or what if someone masks at home but they have kids who don’t mask at school? The possibilities are endless, and I’m not sure how to navigate them in a way that’s reasonable for myself. And if I don’t know what’s reasonable for myself, then I can’t possibly communicate my needs to someone else. Which makes me feel like I shouldn’t be dating.

I know that figuring things out as I go is probably reasonable in this situation, but it feels unfair to myself and to the other person (whoever that may eventually be.) Sometimes I just want to give up altogether, to stop masking, to stop trying to avoid it. But then, I think about the many people I know with long covid, and I think that I’m better off trying to avoid that.

In the past five years I have managed to not get covid even once. I’m sure that has been good for my physical health, but what about the toll on my mental health? What about the missed parties, the missed outings, the stress, the worry? Has it been worth it? Probably, but maybe it isn’t any more? How much longer can I live like this? I’ve gotten to the point where it’s fairly manageable most of the time, but dating throws a wrench in the works and I just don’t know how to handle it.

If you’ve dated in the covid era, how have you managed it? I’d love some advice!

*I made the decision not to capitalize COVID throughout this post. This is both because it’s easier to type it lower case, and also (mostly) because I find it jarring to read it capitalized in articles and didn’t want that to be a distraction.


The problem with the “don’t make events about food” advice

February 22, 2022

Maybe you have celiac disease or another food restriction like me, or maybe you have another limitation that causes issues for you at social gatherings. If so, you’ll relate to this. And if that’s not you, this may put things in a slightly different perspective for you.

I grew up in a family that made a big deal out of food. Holidays, were always about food. I get it, that’s how Jewish holidays are. Challah, hamentaschen, wine, matzo ball soup, latkes, and kugels were all staples. Thanksgiving had turkey, pies, potatoes, and kugels. When we visited family out of state or they visited us, it was all about the food. We thought about it, talked about it, spent lots of time preparing it, and of course, enjoyed eating it. As I grew up, I often felt sick after (or during) these events, but I often felt sick after (or during) a normal meal anyway, so it’s not like these were any better or worse. It wasn’t until my 30s that I stopped eating gluten.

Image credit Heartland Mom on Pixabay

I have often wondered how my grandmother would have handled things if she’d still been alive when I went gluten-free. She was the stereotypical Jewish grandmother, always cooking and baking, expressing her love through food. We would arrive at her house after a several hours long drive, having stopped for lunch on the way. She would ask if we wanted food when we arrived and we’d say no, we’d already eaten, so she would put out a “snack”. It was a large snack! Then a few hours later dinner would consist of chicken, brisket, at least 2 kugels, challah, salad, and more, along with multiple desserts – for only 6 people! I’d like to think she’d have found a way to adapt her meals for me, but I know she wouldn’t have stopped focusing on them.

The surprising (at first) thing with eliminating gluten is that it doesn’t only effect what we eat, it effects our social lives. Dates are tricky when I can only eat at certain restaurants. Going out with friends is tough when we can’t spontaneously grab food while we’re out. Attending weddings, bar mitzvahs, and other events is frustrating when I can’t eat the food provided. Multiple surveys have shown that the social aspects are the hardest part of living with celiac disease. So the advice that we hear over and over is logical: don’t make events about food, make them about people. And after all, shouldn’t we all be doing that anyway?

I get it. If the focus at Thanksgiving is the people instead of the table of food, then the people who can’t eat all of the food, and who might be nervous about the food, can still have a great time. If the Passover sedar is about the people and the prayers and we let the matzo ball soup and brisket be secondary (or even tertiary) incidentals, anyone with food restrictions will have a better time. It makes sense.

People > Food.

It took me many years to figure out why that advice felt off to me.

I remember a family vacation. We were in a big rented house, and I had been careful to cook food in advance. It was annoying to have to do this, and definitely took away from some of the fun, but it was fine. There was one night when everyone wanted to eat at a fancy restaurant. The family had been to this city many times over many years and loved this place. I’d only been once and, frankly, I hadn’t thought it was so wonderful, but whatever, I’d have been willing to go back. The thing is, they didn’t have anything gluten-free. My choices were to go there and not eat, or not go. I chose to not go. I found another restaurant in town that had gluten-free food and my mom chose to join me. My mom and I had a fantastic time, actually. We walked around town and had one of the best meals we’d ever had together. The food was amazing, the ambience gorgeous, the company perfect. My dad, aunt, uncle, cousins, and cousin’s wife all went to the other restaurant, and I won’t pretend I wasn’t hurt. I understand they liked this place and wanted to go, but it hurt me that they didn’t place my feelings and their desire to be with me above their desire to eat at a specific restaurant. They talked about it a lot in advance and a lot afterwards, too.

Holidays and family gatherings have been different since I went gluten-free. When my mother hosts, she makes sure the meal is either completely or mostly gluten-free, with any gluten foods kept separate and reminders to all to keep their serving spoons away from other foods. Accommodations vary when others host. But either way, it’s still about the food, and food is still stressful. Even when the meal is 100% gluten free, I no longer get any joy from focusing on food. It’s simply associated too much with negative things for me. Plus, the talk about the food isn’t limited to the food on the table, and that’s even more stressful. I am immensely grateful that my mother goes out of her way to make me feel comfortable eating the food at her events, but I still wish we could focus less on the food altogether.

As for me hosting a family event, that’s not likely to happen. For one thing, my apartment is small and I don’t have a lot of space. But for another, I have no desire to host. Some people love to cook, decorate, and have lots of people over for a party. That’s not me, and it never has been. Plus, even if I wanted to do that, I don’t have the energy for it. I can cook a meal OR attend a gathering, but I certainly can’t do both, never mind hosting duties. When I go to someone else’s home and bring food with me, it’s always something that can be prepared a day or two in advance because doing it the same day is too exhausting for me.

But let’s be realistic. Even if I could find a way to host, there would still be the issue that the gathering would be all about the food because I might be able to change the circumstances, but I can’t change the people. As soon as they walked in they would ask what we were eating, and the conversation would often turn back to food throughout the gathering. If I made all of the food then I wouldn’t be worried about that food in particular, but I still don’t like these conversations. Inevitably people talk about other foods and about restaurants, and at best none of this is enjoyable to me, at worst it upsets me, triggering all sorts of past trauma.

I don’t have a solution. This is something I’m continuing to work on for the sake of my own mental health. I can talk to my family about it and maybe they will occasionally make an effort, at least some of them would, but I know that most would not even try, or they would soon forget. This is ingrained and it’s something they enjoy. I just wish the thing they enjoy so much wasn’t the thing that brings me the most grief.


Sometimes the bare minimum is plenty

November 13, 2021

I’ve been wanting to write for weeks but it’s just been too much. I’ve been having a really hard time lately.

Thanks to medication changes, my adrenals aren’t being properly supported, so I have both less energy and lower tolerance for handling stress. And in a few days I have a colonoscopy and endoscopy.

Colonoscopies aren’t a big deal for most people. Not that anyone loves getting them, but you just deal, right? Well, thanks to a decades-long history of medical trauma, medical procedures can be triggering for me. And thanks to decades of undiagnosed gastrointestinal symptoms, GI stuff is also triggering for me. So knowing that in two days I’m going to have to drink a formula that will probably make me throw up, and that will induce the kinds of GI symptoms that I’ve struggled with for most of my life, followed by a medical procedure, where I’ll be up close with people during a pandemic…. yeah, my anxiety is at an all-time high.

Logically, I know it will be all be fine. But logic isn’t helping. My therapist gave me some breathing and thought exercises which help, and I’m just trying to make it through this period. It’s rough.

To make it a little easier, I’m doing a few things that I don’t usually do:

  • I cried. I spent a lot of my life learning not to cry because if I did, people thoughtI was just trying to get attention. (Yup, as a 12-year-old with chronic pain, that’s what I was told by several doctors and teachers. Thankfully, my parents never thought that.) Now, I don’t cry easily. For a week I really felt the need to cry, but I couldn’t let it out. Finally, though, I cried. And then I sobbed. And then I sobbed some more. I cried a lot that day, and it helped a lot. I cried a bit yesterday. I’m still having trouble crying as much as I need to, but I’m working on it. It helps to let it all out.
  • I asked for help. I don’t do this often enough. I posted on my Facebook page, asking friends to make phone calls to manufacturers for me. I was trying to find a gluten-free version of the easier colonoscopy prep. I had made a few calls, but it’s so stressful. For one thing, making any of calls for gluten-free stuff is stressful and exhausting and I’m tired of doing it. But then, doing it for this purpose…. it was just too much. A fabulous friend did the research. She called everyplace on my list, then did more research to find more to add to the list. She struck out, but if she hadn’t called for me, then I would have felt like I had to, and I would have been upset with myself for “failing”, thinking that maybe if I’d made the calls it could have been easier.
  • I asked for help again. Several friends had volunteered to help with the calls, so when that friend struck out, I asked for more calls. Since I couldn’t get the easier prep, I wanted to get an anti-nausea pill to help with the one I’ll be doing. Again, I needed something gluten-free. Three people called pharmacies all over my area to ask which manufacturers they used for this med (there are quite a few who make it), and then called those manufacturers to ask if the med was gluten-free. Again, they struck out. But again, if they hadn’t done it then I would have felt like I had to. It was so great of them to make those calls.
  • I asked to borrow a puppy. No, really! I have neighbors with two of the sweetest, most adorable puppies. Both are house-trained and don’t chew on stuff, so they’re not too hard to watch. I asked if I could borrow one, and the timing worked out that I took one for an hour. He cheered me up SO MUCH! Dogs are great medicine. Normally I would have felt silly asking, but I’m glad I did. And they were glad their dogs could help.
  • I’m giving myself a break. My to-do list is short right now. Really short. And even then I know it’s ok if I don’t get most of it done. In a typical week this amount would be easy to do (my list is usually twice as long), but not now. For example, today’s list is: laundry (already in the machine – win!), vacuum (if it doesn’t happen, that’s ok), prepare some work for my volunteer gig (they know I’m struggling and that I may have to cancel tomorrow’s meeting if I can’t get it done, but I think it will be doable), walk (fresh air is good for me), and watch YouTube videos while relaxing with my knitting. My hope is to get everything done before lunch except the last two. That way, I won’t have anything I need to do this afternoon except enjoy a walk and relax on the couch. And honestly, the vacuuming is unlikely. And that’s ok. The rest of my week is even easier than today.
  • I’m avoiding anything emotionally taxing. When a friend brings up a stressful topic that isn’t necessary to discuss, I ask to change the subject. Stressful movies and books are on hold. I’m keeping it as light and easy as possible. Last night I watched an animated Disney movie and that was perfect.

Is this all enough to make me feel great? No, of course not. But it’s enough to make me not feel worse, and that’s a win. I’ll keep spending time with dogs, watching easy movies, doing my crafts. I’ll keep my to-do list short. I’ll ask for help. I’ll spend time with dogs. (Oh, did I say that twice?)

In a few days, after the colonoscopy, I’ll feel better. Once my medication is back to working properly, I’ll feel even better. (I tried to time things so that it would be back before the colonoscopy, but my doctors were really slow to get back to me about how to proceed after we got the test results.) This isn’t the post I planned to write. That one has to wait. And again, that’s ok. But it’s one that felt right to write. We all have times where we’re struggling more than usual, and it’s ok to do the bare minimum for a while. That’s definitely my plan for now.


Update on the trip dilemma

September 17, 2021

Several weeks ago, I wrote about my Covid-related anxieties about attending an event for someone very close to me. I so appreciated all of your helpful feedback, and wanted to give you a quick update.

I spoke with so many friends and family. I spoke with my therapist. And you know what eventually helped me make up my mind? It was the comments on my previous post. Hearing from folks with chronic illnesses who are also extra nervous about Covid was so different from the many other conversations I’d had. And finally, I knew what I was going to do: I went to the event.

I was very nervous about it beforehand. I was nervous on the way there. I was nervous throughout the event. I kept my mask on. I only took it off twice to drink some water. I kept my distance from folks. I wanted to dance, but didn’t (which was better for my knees, but even with the knee pain, I would have gladly danced if not for Covid fears.) Of course people were talking loudly over the music, and I kept trying to keep my distance, which only made folks speak even louder. When everyone ate, a couple friends and I stood outside of the tent, away from everyone else. I felt bad. We were at the hosts’ table – an honor – and I wanted to spend time with them, but I just didn’t feel comfortable. The whole thing was stressful, but I’m also glad that I went. At the end, I briefly hugged my friend and her daughter. And it felt amazing.

Ideally, once I left then I would have felt 100% fine, but I have to admit that a tiny part of me was still nervous. I was definitely glad when a week passed without news of any problems. And then I forgot about it for a while. At one point I happened to realize it had been more than 2 weeks since the event and I breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was ok.

Thank you so much to everyone who helped me make this difficult decision. I’m glad I went, and I’m glad it’s over. I wish I could relax at a party with friends, but I’m just not there yet. Meanwhile, another friend is planning the same type of event for next year and none of us an even begin to imagine what things will be like that far out. I only hope it’s easier to make these decisions.