Blog 7: Dating: Cupid Meets 22q

Not in the obvious way — but in the quiet way. The way it sneaks up on you. The way it makes you question yourself when you didn’t plan to. It can bring loneliness, comparison, and that aching feeling that you’re somehow behind, watching life happen for everyone else while you’re standing still.

When you live with 22q, love doesn’t always follow the timeline people expect. It hasn’t for me. And there have been moments where that reality has hurt more than I knew how to explain. Over time, I’ve learned that love isn’t just about having someone to hold your hand or sit across from at dinner. Sometimes love is learning how to sit with yourself. To accept yourself. Especially on the days that feel heavy and lonely and unfair. Love looks different for everyone. It isn’t one-size-fits-all — and sometimes it doesn’t look pretty at all.

Dating isn’t talked about enough in the world of 22q. There’s a silence around it, like it’s something we’re not supposed to want. Like love is a luxury we’re not meant to reach for. Growing up, the focus is survival — appointments, therapies, milestones, making sure we’re okay. And that matters. But the older we get, the more that silence starts to hurt. Because we grow up. We change. We want companionship, intimacy, and to feel chosen — just like anyone else. Avoiding the conversation doesn’t protect us. It isolates us. And isolation is already something many of us know too well.

This post exists because of my own experiences. I’m still single. I’ve gone on dates. I’ve talked to guys. I’ve let myself hope. And the truth — the part people don’t always want to talk about — is that not everyone is open or comfortable with me having 22q. Sometimes that rejection is quiet. Sometimes it’s obvious. Either way, it hurts. It can make you question yourself in ways you didn’t ask to. But some people are open. And those moments matter.

And even in singleness, I am not unloved. I have a strong group of friends — especially my girls — who love me deeply and consistently. Their love has held me together on days when dating made me feel small. They remind me that my worth has never been tied to whether someone chooses me romantically.

Dating with 22q has forced me to learn how to hold confidence and vulnerability at the same time. I can be excited about connection and still scared of being rejected. I can want love and still protect my heart. That doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human. Having 22q doesn’t make me less worthy of romance. It simply means my path looks different. And different does not mean broken — even when it feels lonely.

People ask me where I even go to date. Do I use dating apps? Yes — sometimes. I’ve tried them. Some experiences were hopeful. Some were disappointing. Some just faded away. I’ve also met people through friends, which can feel safer and more natural. What I’ve learned is that there isn’t one right way to meet someone. Some things work for a season. Some don’t. And that doesn’t mean you failed — it just means you’re still learning.

There’s also no perfect moment to share that you have 22q. There’s only what feels safe. For me, I wait until trust is built. I don’t lead with it. I don’t owe that part of myself to everyone. When I share, it’s because I feel respected and emotionally safe — and that matters.

When I do explain it, I keep it simple and honest. I usually say something like:

“I do have a syndrome called 22q. It can affect some things if the relationship becomes serious, and I wanted to be honest. I hope it doesn’t change anything.”

That moment — how someone responds — tells me everything. And I remind myself that I’m not obligated to educate everyone or convince anyone of my worth. Sharing isn’t about proving myself. It’s about honesty.

People also ask if I would date someone else with 22q. My honest answer is no. That choice isn’t judgment — it’s self-awareness. I understand why some people want to date someone with similar differences. There’s comfort in shared understanding and not having to explain yourself. Those things matter. But I’ve learned that a diagnosis doesn’t equal compatibility. You’re still two different people with different needs, personalities, and dreams. Connection matters more than diagnosis. Always.

Dating in high school felt normal for me. I had crushes. I felt excited. I felt rejected. I felt included and left out — just like everyone else. Back then, 22q didn’t feel like it followed me into every part of dating. I just wanted to belong.

As I’ve gotten older, dating has become heavier. More intentional. More honest. I’ve had to confront fears, unlearn expectations, and figure out what I truly deserve.

Some of the best advice I’ve been given came slowly. I was told to love myself before searching for validation in someone else — and that hit harder than I expected. Dating can quietly make you forget your worth. I’ve learned that no relationship can fill a space you haven’t learned to hold for yourself.

I was also reminded that love isn’t on a deadline. A woman once told me about her friend who is 42, single, and genuinely happy — traveling, laughing, living a full life. That story stayed with me. Because it reminded me that being single isn’t failure. And waiting doesn’t mean you’re behind.

And the advice that stays with me the most: the right person will never see 22q as a dealbreaker. They won’t see it as something to “get past.” They’ll see me. Fully. And they’ll choose me anyway.

Dating has taught me that growth matters more than perfection. That rejection — as painful as it is — does not define my worth. Someone not choosing me doesn’t mean I’m unlovable or too much. It just means they weren’t meant to walk this part of the journey with me.

Most importantly, I’ve learned that my story makes me more, not less. 22q is part of me. It has shaped me, strengthened me, and given me depth I didn’t ask for but carry anyway. My journey is different — and that difference deserves to be honored, not hidden.

So as Valentine’s Day comes around, I want you to hear this — especially if you live with 22q. Love is not only romance. Love is growth. Love is friendship. Love is healing. Love is choosing yourself when no one else is choosing you.

If you’re single, waiting, dating, or healing — you are not behind. Your path doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s to be meaningful. Living with 22q may make your journey different, but it does not make it less worthy of love.

This is your journey.

And you are allowed to love it — even on the days it hurts.

Especially on those days.