Dopamine Dating and the Thrill of Unmasking

Dopamine Dating and the Thrill of Unmasking

BY MEGAN LOONEY

In my 20s, I was the queen of serial dating. A tease, really, and I loved the thrill of the chase – or more accurately, being chased. 

Back then, I had no idea that I was getting high on the endless supply of new crushes. It’s no surprise, really. My ADHD brain, wired for novelty and driven by impulsivity,  was fixated on lust, limerence, and those quick hits of validation. 

But the comedown was coming.

There was the Silver Fox, an older man I met while working at a swanky steakhouse who tipped me 100% and slipped me his number. 

Then there was the surfer from my poetry class. Our study sessions at his beachside studio somehow always ended with us in the shower – together. Our poetry didn’t improve much.

The Bible study boys were a whole different flavor of temptation, as I hid my true desire to find someone to break the rules with under a (very thin) veil of holy vibes. 

With each of these men, my entire body would buzz with excitement when I first felt their attention — those early flirtations, the first kiss, the moment their fingers brushed against mine. It was like I could finally relax into knowing I was lovable because I had proof that someone wanted me.

Those first moments? Pure. Electric. Thrill.

But then, the reality always hit: they didn’t know me, not really. 

They only knew this masked, flirtatious version of me who had been busy masquerading as the vixen of their dreams. And just like that, the rush would start to fade, replaced by the familiar grip of invisibility — the kind of loneliness that hits hardest when you’re surrounded by people. 

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Dating as a dopamine-chasing neurodivergent person often feels like this: exhilarating… until it isn’t. 

Once the novelty fades, so does the happy high. This can lead to an addictive cycle of seeking new partners to recapture that initial thrill, only to lose interest once the "honeymoon phase" ends. This pattern of “dopamine dating” often mirrors the behaviors seen with insecure attachment, which is more common among people with ADHD. 

While this can make it difficult to build lasting connections — since the allure of newness and unpredictability often overshadows the steady, grounded emotional work required for healthy relationships — there is good news.  

“Regardless of your current attachment style,” says professional dating and relationship coach Melanie Abrams, founder of To Be Connected, “it's important to know that someone can change from an insecure attachment style and develop secure bonds in future relationships.”

But in order to start cultivating more meaningful connections, we need to understand these tendencies and learn healthier ways to manage our brain's neurochemical needs.

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By the time I hit my 30s, the thrill of short, lust-filled flings began to fade. I realized that my knack for inevitably finding something "off" about the people I dated (thanks, avoidant attachment) wasn’t helping me build anything with significant depth. Especially with the next option always being just a swipe away.

After a particularly brutal breakup with a toxic partner – a situation that people with ADHD are unfortunately more prone to – I knew something had to change. The red flags were waving in plain sight: gaslighting, verbal abuse, constant negativity, a relentless need for admiration, lying, controlling behavior, lack of empathy, boundary-crossing, negging. When I left, I promised myself this would be a one-and-done situation. 

But to make that promise stick, I had to dig into why I’d tolerated it for as long as I did.

I got the best EMDR therapist I could afford. Together, we worked through inner child wounds, the trauma of having been bullied for years in school, and the belief that I wasn’t smart enough, pretty enough, or successful enough.  Come to find out, fueled by a deep fear of rejection and hypersensitivity to criticism, my ADHD brain turned to escapism, first through intense unrequited crushes, then through validation-seeking clothing and serial dating, all as a way to avoid confronting the painful feelings of inadequacy.  Ouch.

And, of course, we talked about what a healthy relationship looks and feels like. (Hint: it’s not panic.) 

At the same time, I devoured writing on relationship psychology from people like Alison Armstrong, Esther Perel, and The Gottmans. I threw myself into studying attachment theory, narcissistic abuse, and non-violent communication. Now, I can spot the signs of a toxic relationship faster than I can find my keys.

And that meant it was time to put my newfound relational skills to the test. 

At first, every time I swiped, it felt like sitting alone on a smoke-filled casino floor, pumping nickels into the slot machine, pulling the lever over and over, watching the lights flash and hearing the noises ricochet in my dissociated head. The only reward? A tiny twinge of joy when I got a match or message.

To keep my brain from going into autopilot, I learned to set limits on my dating apps. And when that impulse to ghost did hit, I reminded myself: there were real people on the other side of the screen.

I started doing a lot of filtering on the front end. I set up my profile to showcase my true self, my varied hobbies, my sense of style, my love of spontaneous travel – and that I was looking for something serious.

But letting my dates see the real me — the unpolished, sometimes awkward, not-constantly-flirting version — was trickier than I’d expected. Turns out, shedding the hard-to-get persona I’d perfected in my 20s was a bit more of a challenge than I anticipated.

“Authenticity is so important when it comes to building connections,” says Abrams. “My advice for women who want to practice unmasking more on their dates is to remind themselves that they are doing the choosing [as opposed to] hoping to be chosen. This mindset shift allows people to show up more authentically in dating and stay true to themselves.”

For me, unmasking meant letting go of the curated, performative version of myself — whether that’s asking the “out-there” questions or wearing a quirky thrifted jacket. It’s about showing up as I am, even if it feels a little messy sometimes.

A mix of choosing to be in relationships with safe people and leaning into the things that I truly enjoy, not what I think will look good on a dating profile, has made living a mostly mask-free life much easier.

From Lily Womble’s book Thank You, More Please, I got the idea of tracking my dates on an Excel spreadsheet. After every date, I answer these questions in my handy spreadsheet: What did I like about them? Was there anything that felt meh/bad? What did we talk about that made me come alive? Did they ask good questions? What did I learn about myself/my preferences? What does my intuition tell me about what they felt? Do I want to go out again? What's the most beautiful and true next step?

I was surprised by how much clarity this gave me around what I actually like, want, and need in a partner: calm energy, humble intellectualism, good style. And it turns out, I like dating other neurodivergent folks.

Over time, I have figured out healthy ways to stave off boredom (which is much easier when I'm not masking). I don’t ask that my partner be a constant source of entertainment. I’ve also developed tools to navigate the tension between my expectations and the reality of a relationship. I have learned how to manage relationship anxiety, regulate my nervous system during conflict, and train my brain to focus on the good stuff when dating a good person.

Dating is still a bit of a rollercoaster, but at least now I know which ride I actually want to be on. I’ve learned to navigate the highs and lows with a little more grace and while I’m still figuring out how to not let my brain fall out when there’s cHeMiStRy, I’m making progress.

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