On my last and final day, I set out for my most daring feat yet — a solo date. Typically, if I have a self-care night on the calendar, my go-to would be a good book in bed (glass of vino in hand and sheet mask on, of course), but this time I hit up my local sushi joint and brought along my journal. What I hoped to gain from a night out on my own wasn't just inner confidence but also a better understanding of who I am. So I started writing down what I hoped to see in my future relationships. After evaluating my list of "wants," I realised — there, over spicy tuna rolls — that the friend-zoning men of my past just weren't a match and that it was the sense of rejection I had prescribed myself that had been chipping away at my confidence, not the way I looked or felt in a pair of jeans.