Soft Life, Hard Lessons: Swipe Left on My Spirit

The Evergreen Echo

Let me bring you into my soft-life laboratory, because post-divorce dating has a sense of humor I did not sign up for. I told myself I’d try something new. Stretch my faith. Dip a toe into modern romance.

So I downloaded Bumble and Hinge.

Yes. Me.

A grown woman with three children, all my edges, rooted faith, and a therapist who said, “We ain’t taking this ish into 2026.”

I paid $32 for a weekly subscription, which, looking back, felt like tithing to chaos and told myself, “This is field research.”

I cannot stand how Bumble lets folk bypass prompts with one-word answers, serving up small talk so dry it needs lotion. I wish Bumble would pop up with, “Try again, beloved,” every time someone types fewer than five characters. The bar is already at subzero levels; y’all are tunneling underneath it and training these men to be lazy.

Little did I know I was logging in just in time for the Great Fade-Out of 2025.

The Week of the Great Fade-Out

In seven days, three grown men vanished from my life like some fire baby shower meatballs.

Only one came from Bumble. Each exit came with revelation. Each revelation came with comedy. And each comedy came with a soft-life reminder I heard on IG and felt in my spirit: A lustful man will be nice, patient, present, and poetic just for access to your body. Then vanish, once he’s denied or obliged (paraphrased).

Jay-Z said it best in “Takeover”: “There’s only so long fake thugs can pretend.” 

Mr. Allegedly Separated

Emphasis on allegedly.

This man hugged me tenderly, kissed me softly, told me our moment had been silently brewing for years…then turned around and posted family photos with his “ex-wife” giving matching pajama realness. Did I mention those hugs had me in a chokehold?

I didn’t cry. I thanked God for early detection.

A man who wants intimacy in private but reconciliation in public deserves neither.

The Evergreen Echo

The Hinge Hiccup

Talks chemistry, delivers overcooked convenience.

We had a week of texts and one phone call—just enough dialogue to think we might have a plot, but not enough to justify the sequel. We met at a restaurant that felt like a set from a low-budget sitcom.

No flow. No flavor. No follow-up. Just vibes, overeasy eggs that were hardboiled twice, and a kitchen staff experimenting like they were in a chemistry lab instead of a bistro.

The server told me the lemon chicken soup was nasty. I should have believed her. Instead, I asked for a sample. One spoonful and my stomach signed its resignation.

The ego on the plate matched the energy across the table. When I started feeling sick from the "chef’s experiment," he didn’t offer a glass of water or a moment of concern. He didn’t want a connection—he wanted a quick exit.

He got up abruptly like the bill was a subpoena. "Don’t you think we should go?"

Not "Are you okay?" or "Let me get you home." Just a hasty retreat from a leading lady who was suddenly too much for his limited range.

Then he delivered his final line via text. Not a check-in—a jab.

"Sorry about your lemon soup lol." He didn’t want a partner; he wanted a perfect performance where nothing goes off-script. And I am not auditioning for "Girlfriend #1" in a production where the leading man breaks character at the first sign of a plot twist.

I’m a five-star experience, and he’s just a bad review at a mid-tier diner.

The Bumble Burger Bachelor

We thank him for the meal, and that’s where the blessings end.

He bought me a burger, salad, and Coke.

We talked for hours…about mutual astigmatisms, his successful LASIK, tattoos, divorce, his imported Ukrainian guard dog named Zeus, and absolutely nothing resembling romance.

Sleep hijacked my eyes.

I told him I was tired and going home. Eight minutes after he walked me to my car, I received: “You wanna come over for drinks?”

Sir, WHAT in the 90-minute romance special is THIS?

I don’t drink.

I don’t drive at midnight.

And I don’t meet large European war dogs on a first date.

I deleted Bumble immediately. Not the next morning. Not after prayer.

Immediately.

Soft Life Lesson of the Month

Here’s the truth my heart keeps circling back to: Men don’t fade when you’re aligned, they fade when you’re protected.

What walked away wasn’t mine. What acted inconsistent wasn’t meant for me.

And what invited me to his house eight minutes after a burger wasn’t my calling.

I’m thankful for clarity. I’m thankful for discernment. I’m thankful for the version of me that doesn’t overexplain her worth.

Eight years after marriage, one thing remains unchanged: I loathe dating apps with my entire spirit. My kingdom spouse is not hiding between a shirtless selfie and a man holding a fish or scaring me away with some intimidating-looking dog!

If love wants me, it can find me in daylight, with intention, effort, and a plan that requires zero Oscar nominations.

Closing Thoughts

I’m stepping into 2026 with stronger boundaries, quicker discernment, and a healthier sense of humor. The soft life isn’t fragile; it’s firm, peaceful, and built on choosing myself first. And the right man? He won’t fade, fumble, confuse, or lecture me. He’ll move with clarity.

Until then, I’ll be here…glowing, laughing, healing, and living a life that does not require an app.