“You’re Too Picky”

There’s a very particular look people give you when you say you’re still single in your twenties and that you have standards. It’s a strange cocktail of sympathy and confusion, as if you’ve got a rare condition that could be cured if only you’d agree to go out with Steve from accounting because “he’s nice” and “owns a dog”. You can almost hear the unspoken sentiment: “Poor girl, still waiting for Prince Charming while all the good ones are gone.”

I used to explain myself. I used to give the polite little chuckle and say things like, “I just haven’t met the right one yet,” when what I really meant was: I’ve met plenty. But I’ve also done the work. I know who I am now, and I’m not letting loneliness make decisions that love should be making.

Recently, a friend of a friend, who quite frankly had the emotional depth of a teaspoon and the fashion sense of a tea towel, told me, “Maybe you’re just too picky.” I didn’t even fake a laugh. I just smiled and thought, Ah, there it is. The classic response when a woman refuses to accept crumbs. Being labelled “too picky” is the world’s way of shaming a woman into lowering her standards until she fits neatly inside someone else’s comfort zone. But darling, I’m not here to be convenient. I’m here to be covered.

See, I don’t want a man who just wants me. I want a man who’s equipped to keep me. Who understands that choosing a wife is not like picking a sofa, comfortable, pretty, and easy to move around when life changes. I want the man whose heart beats to a divine rhythm. Whose hands will protect our home, whose morals will raise our children, whose faith will walk beside mine even when I’m too weary to lift my own prayers.

When I say no to someone, it’s not because of his taste in music or how he pronounces “croissant” (though if you’re going to butcher the French language, please at least do it with confidence). It’s because I look at a man’s lifestyle before I look at his smile. I pay attention to his fruit, not his flirting. I know that lust is loud, but peace is quiet, and I’m done mistaking butterflies for red flags.

A few months ago, I went on a date with a man who seemed promising. Polite, tidy, even knew the difference between linen and cotton (a green flag in my book). But somewhere between the mains and dessert, he hit me with the classic line: “I’m not really into labels like boyfriend or husband. Why does everything have to be so serious?”

I nodded, smiled, excused myself to the loo, and sent a swift text to my best friend:

“Abort mission. He thinks ‘husband’ is a vibe.”

Look, I’m not out here asking for angel wings and a halo. But I am asking for vision. For intentionality. For someone who knows that dating isn’t a hobby, it’s preparation. I’m not giving Proverbs 31 energy to a man spiritually stuck in Genesis 3. I refuse to marry someone who’s allergic to accountability but deeply committed to brunch.

Some of you reading this aren’t picky enough. I say that with all the love and sisterhood in the world. But hear me: too many women are out here calling red flags burgundy and hoping they’ll look different in better lighting. You’re entertaining men who don’t even pray over their food, let alone over your future. You’re bending to prove you’re low-maintenance, chill, “not like the other girls”, when the truth is, you were never meant to be easy. You were meant to be exceptional.

Stop calling discernment “being picky”. Stop shrinking your vision to match someone else’s lack of direction. We’ve been told that expecting a man to lead, to love, to protect and to pray is asking for too much, when really, it’s asking for the bare minimum from someone who claims to be ready for partnership. Let’s be honest, “he doesn’t cheat” is not a compliment. “He supports my calling, leads with humility, and prays for me without being asked”, now that is a man worth your time, your tears, and your testimony.

The right man will never call you too much. He will recognise your standards as clarity, not criticism. And when you meet him, it won’t feel like effort or force, it will feel like peace. Like rest. Like the calm after a storm you didn’t realise you’d been weathering for years.

So no, I’m not too picky. I’m prayerful. I’m particular. I’m protective of the woman God has grown me into. I’ve cried, healed, rebuilt, and waited, not to settle at the finish line, but to thrive in the covenant.

Next time someone tells you to “just give him a chance,” smile sweetly, tilt your head like a Disney princess, and say, “I don’t need to give him a chance. I’m waiting on the man who was chosen.”

You’re not asking for too much. You’re just asking the wrong people. The right one will say, “I’ve been preparing for you.”

And until then? Keep your standards high, your spirit soft, and your eyes fixed on the One who never fails.

You’re not too picky. You’re just finally seeing clearly.