When I first started swiping right, I was a marketing director for one of Milwaukee’s largest construction firms, juggling grad school, and cultivating what I liked to call my “professional presence” on LinkedIn. My calendar was color-coded, my inbox was a battlefield, and my love life? Well, that was the one project I kept pushing to next quarter.
I treated dating apps like a CRM system. Swipe, match, message, meet—rinse and repeat. My first dates were always at the same coffee shop, squeezed between meetings like a dentist appointment. One hour, max. In and out. Check it off the list. Move on.
When guys complained about my constant rescheduling—and there was a lot of rescheduling—I’d think, “If he can’t handle that I’m ambitious and busy, next.” I wore my packed schedule like a badge of honor, proof that I was important, needed, going places.
Then I matched with someone who changed everything.
He was a little older, recently took his startup from scrappy to successful, had kids, and wrote messages that actually made me laugh. We set a date. I canceled. We texted back and forth—him patient, me distracted, always cutting conversations short because I’d “get to know him properly” once we actually met. We rescheduled. I canceled again. A pitch deck emergency, I explained. He understood.
Three more reschedules later, we finally met two weeks before Christmas. I’d taken the day “off”—which in workaholic speak means “working from my laptop at home in pajamas”—and agreed to squeeze in a quick coffee before diving back into my inbox.
He was gorgeous. Funny. Smart. I liked him immediately.
Then he hit me with: “I just had to meet this girl who thinks she’s busier than everyone else.”
He said it with a smile, not mean, just… knowing.
“Excuse me?” I managed.
“You, my dear,” he said, leaning back in his chair like he’d solved a puzzle, “are a workaholic.”
I stammered something about my demanding job, my impossible boss, but he just shook his head. He challenged me to one real date after Christmas—no canceling, no rescheduling. Just show up.
I couldn’t do it. A month passed. I was too embarrassed to reach out.
But here’s the thing—he was right. And that realization sat heavy in my chest like bad takeout.
Plot twist: two weeks later, I got laid off.
The job I’d sacrificed weekends for, answered Slacks at 11 PM for, canceled dates for—gone in a fifteen-minute Zoom call during their “restructuring.” Suddenly I had all the time in the world and nothing to show for it except an empty calendar and a bruised ego.
I kept dating, but differently this time. Slower. More present.
Three weeks later, I had a date scheduled. He texted that he was running late. Old me would’ve canceled immediately—too inefficient, too inconvenient. New me ordered another tea and actually sat there. Relaxed. Breathed.
And then, like something out of a romantic comedy I definitely didn’t have time to watch before, my original date—the one who’d called me out—walked in.
He laughed when he saw me. “How’s the busy lady?”
“I got laid off,” I admitted.
He studied me for a moment. “You seem different.”
“I am.”
He left just as my actual date, Andy, arrived. Instead of my usual one-hour escape plan, I stayed for three. We talked. We laughed. I didn’t check my phone once.
A year later, I married Andy.
Which made me wonder: Could I have found love if I’d still been that girl who treated her personal life like a performance review?
Spoiler alert: absolutely not.
So if you’re someone who thinks “work-life balance” is something other people do, let me share what I learned:
1) Are You Actually a Workaholic, or Just Really Good at Avoiding Things?
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: sometimes we hide behind our careers because it’s easier than being vulnerable. Are you genuinely passionate about your work, or is it just a convenient excuse to avoid putting yourself out there? Do you panic-check Slack at midnight because you’re needed, or because you don’t know who you are without your job title? If your work disappeared tomorrow, what would be left? Once you figure out the “why” behind the busy, you can start to fix it. Set boundaries. Turn off notifications. Say no. Revolutionary concepts, I know.
2) “I’m Too Busy” Really Means “You’re Not a Priority”
Harsh? Maybe. True? Definitely. We make time for what matters. You find time to scroll TikTok, stalk your ex’s new girlfriend on Instagram, and watch an entire season of The White Lotus in one weekend. But you can’t text someone back? Please. If you’re using work as an excuse to avoid dates, ask yourself why. Are you scared? Burned out? Not actually interested? Be honest. If someone isn’t a priority, that’s fine—but own it. Don’t blame your inbox.
3) Put. The Phone. Down.
When you’re on a date, be on the date. Not mentally drafting emails. Not sneaking glances at Slack. Not doing that thing where you flip your phone face-down but still somehow check it every five minutes. Turn on Do Not Disturb. Make eye contact. Listen like their words actually matter—because they do. During work hours? Sure, send a cute text. Leave a voice note. Show them you’re thinking about them even when you’re busy. But when you’re together, be together. Groundbreaking advice, truly.
4) Stop Letting Work Control Your Life
I used to watch coworkers with kids leave at 5 PM sharp while I stayed late, resentful and self-righteous. They had “real” obligations. I just had laundry and a Netflix queue. But here’s what I missed: my time was just as valuable. You don’t need kids to have boundaries. You don’t need a partner to protect your evenings. You can simply say, “I’m not available.” No explanation. No apology. Try it. It’s terrifying and liberating in equal measure.
5) Get a Life Outside Your Job
If all your friends are coworkers and your idea of a hobby is “optimizing my LinkedIn profile,” we need to talk. Join a book club. Take a pottery class. Go to trivia night. Do literally anything that doesn’t involve a Zoom link or a shared Google doc. You’ll meet people who don’t care about your Q4 projections, and you’ll remember that you’re more than your job title. Plus, you might meet someone interesting who’s also really into sourdough or vintage records or whatever it is normal people do when they’re not working.
The truth is, I could’ve kept being that girl—the one who was always “on,” always hustling, always just one meeting away from happiness. But I wouldn’t have Andy. I wouldn’t have this life.
So ask yourself: what are you really working toward? And is it worth missing everything else?
