Why Do We Seek a Partner?
We have never been truly alone. Since prehistoric times, our very existence and survival depended on being together with others—back then, solitude meant death. We lived in small communities, relying on one another for shelter, food, and protection against threats. Today, things aren’t all that different: studies show that lonely individuals are more prone to illness, and those who report feeling lonely tend to live shorter lives compared to those who are well-accompanied. This is one of the key conclusions from the most landmark study ever conducted on human development: The Harvard Study of Adult Development.
Today, it is no surprise that the fear of loneliness is one of our most common anxieties. Biology and evolution have likely reinforced this fear over time, as being alone was once tied directly to nonexistence—and the deep-seated fear of it. So, if being alone borders on nonexistence, and existing requires being together, you could say we come together out of a fundamental desire to live, to stay alive, to enjoy, and to build a life. But clearly, we don’t just come together to avoid solitude; we also come together to make life better.
There are two types of loneliness we fight fiercely against. While both can wreak havoc on us, they also propel us to search for companionship: group loneliness and romantic loneliness.
Intimate Loneliness
Loneliness caused by the lack of a romantic partner is a very specific kind of solitude—one I call “intimate loneliness.” Naturally, it stems from the absence of an intimate companion. In adulthood, intimacy at its most basic level is who we are when no one else is watching. But we aren’t born with a self-contained sense of intimacy; originally, intimacy is something shared, not solitary. From the very beginning, we are woven into the intimate life of our family, sharing it with our parents and siblings. It is the ultimate expression that we exist alongside others—a feeling of wholeness and belonging to a group. As we grow, we begin to claim this intimacy outside the family unit, to the point where even being unclothed around our parents starts to feel strange. Yet this path toward purely personal intimacy is an illusion that doesn’t last long. By the time we are adult enough to crave erotic closeness with another person, we are already longing to return to that state of raw, natural synchrony with someone else—only now, we seek that bond outside our family. This renewed need for adult intimacy, for an intimate companion, is met by that person who isn’t always easy to find, whom we usually call a partner.
Social Loneliness
Often, people who feel lonely don’t understand why they feel that way—frequently, they aren’t even aware that loneliness is what they’re experiencing. This happens because, in our daily lives, we are rarely physically alone; we usually have friends, family, or coworkers nearby. Realizing that what we are feeling is, in fact, loneliness requires an introspective leap that doesn’t come easily. “Why do I feel so lonely when I’m always around my friends?” is a far more common question than you might think.
Feeling accompanied isn’t simply a matter of being around people. I’ve heard many people describe feeling profoundly alone in the middle of a crowd or at a party, surrounded by friends or family. Loneliness is less about the number of people in your life and much more about the difficulty of expressing what you genuinely feel. It arises when you cannot show up emotionally in front of others. Social loneliness, then, refers to lacking a core group—whether family or friends—with whom you can share life’s emotional landscape: the highs and lows, the trivial and the everyday. Those who experience this kind of isolation feel truly destitute when, on top of that, they lack a partner as well. And while a partner often steps in to fill that need for social connection, what I’ve observed in my practice is that having a partner can compensate for a lack of social group connection, whereas no amount of general social connection seems to make up for the absence of a partner.
Why Can’t I Find Someone?
The Imagined Reasons
Some people have tried over and over—they’ve dated here and there, been with this person or that one—and they just feel exhausted by the effort. Others are exhausted by their inability to even try. In both cases, a haunting question begins to take root: “Is there something wrong with me?”
Is it really that these people can’t find a partner because they aren’t interesting enough, beautiful enough, sexy enough, or lack character, personality, charm, or extroversion? Is it because they don’t have the right teeth, the perfect earlobes, or pristine fingernails?
None of those things are the problem. Our tastes when it comes to attraction are so vast and diverse that there truly is someone for everyone. The stories of successful couples are filled with “surprise attractions”—that classic realization: “I never imagined I would fall so hard for someone like them.” There’s a fundamental reason for this: we are attracted to another person because of what we perceive as good or appealing. And the one who decides what is good is the person feeling the attraction, not the one being admired.
It’s easy to buy into the societal script of what we should find attractive. But when push comes to shove—when it comes to genuine feeling—that social template isn’t enough to strike all the delicate chords of taste, passion, and falling in love. Falling in love takes far more than conforming to a cultural ideal. Despite heavy social conditioning about what ought to attract us, what is beautiful to one person leaves another cold, and vice versa. Our taste is built over a lifetime; it is shaped by subtle experiences of satisfaction, an intricate dance between pleasure and displeasure. As we move through life, we quietly gather countless small details that unintentionally end up defining what will win our hearts. It is so much deeper than a commercial blueprint selling an ideal of beauty to whoever can afford it. So if something feels “off” regarding your difficulty in finding a partner, it’s likely not whatever flaw you think you have in yourself—because those insecurities are largely dictated by social standards anyway, and fitting into that box won’t make someone truly fall in love with you.
Being in a Rush
What often is an issue for people struggling to find a partner is an intolerance for the process itself—the patient waiting required in searching for that longed-for other. For most, this search is tinged with frustration. But frustration is a natural part of any learning process; it ought to feel normal. Yet people who are in a rush want immediate results. They don’t want to go through multiple attempts, and they often fall prey to hopelessness. We’ve all felt this to some degree when we long for a partner; the difference lies in whether we can navigate that space with inner calm. Statistically, the odds of finding someone with whom you share a deep, authentic affinity are quite low, so this search naturally requires many tries. You have to get comfortable with that reality. So please, my friends: trying repeatedly is the secret. There is nothing wrong with that; you have to keep putting yourself out there, trying and trying again. “Till I get it right,” as the jazz singer Diane Schuur sings.
Whose “Type” Am I?
Most people are hyper-focused on finding their ideal partner—their perfect “type.” This creates a hidden trap: during their search, they often do cross paths with someone who fits their ideal, only to realize that they themselves aren’t the right partner for that person. When this happens, it reinforces their sense of frustration and deepens the belief that there is something fundamentally wrong with them, feeding insecurities and making future connections feel even scarier. That’s why the search itself shouldn’t be the main priority; working on becoming the right partner for the person you seek is. You gain nothing by finding the love of your life if you aren’t the love of theirs.
The traits we dream of finding in a partner can actually serve as a roadmap for who we want to become. So instead of waiting around for someone else to bring those qualities into your life, you can work on them in the meantime: learn to cook better, pursue your dream job, get more active, travel, cultivate a sense of humor, or practice being calmer, less selfish, and more genuine. Along the way, you do something essential: you build self-confidence, cultivate peace with who you are, and come to recognize your own worth. The goal is to be the right person when what you’ve been waiting for finally arrives. This is the single best foundation for building healthy future relationships.
I Finally Found You
At the Pinnacle of Companionship
When we finally find someone capable of lowering all our defenses while simultaneously opening their own, we step into a wondrous, intimate world. It’s a tiny universe—a quiet bubble—where, despite our flaws and insecurities, we can simply be who we are while watching the other person do the same. This moment of intimate connection is what I call the pinnacle of companionship. It is the highest level of togetherness we can experience in life. It means finding someone with whom life simply unfolds as it must: happy, sad, bored, smiling, disappointed, exhausted, hopeful, messy or neat, hungry or full. It is the threshold where everything feels possible with another person. Statistically, we only encounter this a few times in a lifetime (a recent U.S. study suggests an average of just twice). It is the moment when loneliness dissolves, because this is companionship in its purest, highest form.
We Don’t Partner Up to Stay the Same
Once our life becomes intertwined with someone else’s, challenges inevitably arise. Perhaps the most revealing of these is the clash of identities—the collision of who each person is. After spending countless hours listening to people navigate their relationship struggles, I came to a conclusion that I believe is essential for any couple to grasp: we don’t choose to be with someone just to remain unchanged.
Relationships offer an infinite array of relational dynamics. Some people engage through stubbornness countered by a calm, passive partner; others operate from selfishness met by generosity. These traits tangle, play out, and clash when two people meet. Within these dynamics, each person naturally resists losing their sense of self, holding onto their deeply ingrained ideas or preferences, even as they delight in sharing and exploring common ground. But joining your life with another always demands a degree of expansion—and that is precisely what makes relationships so deeply valuable. We become someone new—not a completely different person, but an expanded version of ourselves: a self that is more. This is exactly what we miss so intensely when someone leaves: we miss who we were when we were with them.
Yet at the root of this expansion—this gift of being with another—lies a necessary compromise. To receive the wonderful things a partner offers, we have to yield a little (and sometimes a lot) of the rigid parts of ourselves that make it hard to accept the other person. A shy person will have to stretch their comfort zone to socialize with their new partner’s circle, and someone who dislikes eating out will need to visit a restaurant now and then because their partner loves it. But a crucial distinction must be made here: healthy, enduring relationships are those in which both people are capable of expanding and compromising enough to solve the daily challenges of life together.
So, once you overcome the hurdle of finding the right person, a new chapter begins. The hard part isn’t being alone; what is truly challenging—and demands continuous growth and learning—is acquiring the skills and maturity needed to share a life with someone else.
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Finally, one thing should be made clear: understanding all this isn’t simply a matter of changing your strategy or “trying harder,” because what is at play isn’t always obvious to the person living it. More often than not, it stems from a relational pattern that keeps repeating itself below the surface.
It’s possible that your difficulty in finding a partner isn’t solely about circumstances or the people you meet, but rather about a subtle, consistent pattern in how you choose, connect, or pull away.
These dynamics are rarely easy to spot from the inside, and they seldom change just by trying to do things differently on your own.
So if you ever want to gain clarity on these patterns and work through them more directly, you can explore this further in therapy. I offer psychotherapy in English in Medellín and online.