At 35, I realized I'd never been in a significant relationship and felt embarrassed. Now that I'm happily married, I'm glad it took to so long.

• When I turned 35, I realized I had never been in love and felt like a failure.
• In my 20s, I struggled with being gay and had trouble opening up to others.

On my 35th birthday, I looked around the room and noticed that I was the only uncoupled person at my own party. For added insult, my birthday is Valentine's Day. I was often OK being single, but suddenly realizing that I was getting closer to 40 and had never been in a significant relationship made me feel ashamed.

Years later, and happily married, I wish I could tell my younger self to be patient and hold out for the right guy.

I had to learn how to love myself first

Coming to terms with being gay was a bumpy road. Growing up in a conservative Irish Catholic family, I spent years listening to priests condemning homosexuals as the worst kind of sinners, and just thinking about kissing another boy made me feel like I'd go straight to hell.

After I left the church, the guilt and shame lingered. In my 20s, I continued feeling conflicted about my sexuality and stayed in the closet until my father, a hypermasculine construction worker, surprisingly intervened.

"We all know you're gay, and we all love you," he said. "Seems like the only one who has a problem with it is you."

Looking back, I'm grateful Dad prompted me to come out and saw what I couldn't: I had to love myself before I could give my heart to others.

I had a hard time getting past a first date

After embracing my sexuality, I felt conflicted about dating. I was skittish about opening myself up to strangers, but hookups left me emotionally unfilled. Jealous that my siblings always had someone to bring home for Thanksgiving, I decided to put myself out there.

I looked in bars and online chat rooms and asked everyone I knew whether they had single friends. Thankfully, I got a lot of dates. Unfortunately, they were all first dates.

It would be easy to blame the other men, especially the optometrist who brought his wife on a coffee date or the stockbroker who asked whether I liked being tickled. The answer is no if you're wondering.

But it was mostly me. I was terrible at flirting and small talk. I often came on too strong: One time, I wrote a guy a love poem after just one night together. I also asked someone to go to a family party before we'd even finished our appetizers.

The constant rejection made me feel like a failure. Yet now I see that each date was an opportunity to start over, learn from my mistakes, and better recognize the kind of person I wanted to be with. To my younger self, I'd also ask them to be more open-minded with others. Just because someone isn't a prince doesn't make them a frog.

I kept giving my heart to the wrong guy

In my 30s, I felt more pressure to find a boyfriend. As same-sex marriage became legal, seeing my friends tie the knot made me happy, yet not having anyone to slow dance with made me sad.

I somehow managed to up my game (except for the flirting) and was excited to make it past a first date with a few guys. However, I was so hung up on heading toward a relationship that I kept putting others' needs first. I went hiking, even though I'm clumsy and don't like to sweat. Another time, I said I'd be OK with an open relationship when I favored monogamy.

Given my best efforts to please, I was surprised when these guys abruptly ended things. It felt like more wasted time, but in retrospect, I needed to focus more on my needs and understand that there wasn't anyone who could, or should, complete me.

The right person was worth the wait

Just after my 36th birthday, I had dinner with Michael, a charming public-health professor. I liked that he wore a pen in his pocket and spent his spare time volunteering for animal-rescue groups. And it didn't hurt that he was really handsome.

As we dated, I appreciated how his pragmatism complemented my impulsive behavior. We supported each other but weren't clingy. We could go days without talking or weeks without seeing one another and not feel insecure about it.

If my hang-ups flared, Michael gave me the space to be myself and figure out what I wanted. When the answer always led me back to him, I knew I was in love. We moved in together after a year and were married after three.

I waited nearly two decades for this moment, and I'm glad it took so long. Sometimes, I wonder what would've happen if Michael and I met earlier in life. Would I have been into him or somehow ruin our first date? And then I realize it doesn't matter. I'm grateful that I found my first love, and we're happy together. It was totally worth the wait.