After Years of Rejection, She Asked: "What Do I Have Left to Offer?"

I'll never forget the phone call I received this week. On the other end of the line was a young woman who, by every outward measure, seemed to have so much going for her. She was beautiful, intelligent, talented, and deeply committed to her faith. Yet when it came to finding a husband, nothing seemed to work out.

“To say the least,” she added, with a sadness I could hear in her voice.

We spoke for nearly an hour. She told me about the countless shidduchim (matchmaking introductions) she had been through, the young men she had met from well-known yeshivas in her town and beyond, and the disappointment that followed each unsuccessful match.

“Something is stuck. It has to be,” she told me. “I feel like I've done everything. What am I even asking for? Do I need to marry some great rabbi? I just want someone who wants to grow spiritually, the same way I do.”

Her pain was impossible to ignore. The frustration, the exhaustion, and the years of disappointment had taken such a toll that she could barely imagine things turning out differently.

And as I listened, I realized that before we could talk about finding her future husband, there was something else we needed to address.

When the Search for Marriage Begins to Affect Your Self-Worth

“There's still so much you can do,” I told her gently. “But you can't plant new seeds in a field that's overgrown with weeds.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. I sensed that she understood what I meant.

The weeds weren't the failed dates or the disappointing introductions. They were the painful beliefs that had slowly taken root within her: the sadness, the self-doubt, and the growing conviction that something must be wrong with her.

I wished she could see herself the way I saw her. Here was a capable, thoughtful, beautiful young woman with so much to offer. How had the matchmaking process, difficult as it was, come to define the way she viewed her entire life?

“You've come to me after a long journey,” I told her, “and I don't intend to give up on you. I want to share everything I've learned through my own 17 years of searching for marriage. But before we can begin, I need you to understand something. You have to want to rebuild yourself from within. If we're going to plant something new, we first have to make room for it.”

Then she finally said what had been weighing on her heart.

“Everyone around me probably thinks I'm crazy or problematic, like I'm somehow beyond repair. I keep trying to strengthen my faith, but there's this enormous emptiness inside me, and no matter how much I pour into it, it never seems to fill up. I feel like I'm withering away. I've lost my dignity, my confidence, everything. Even if I finally meet my other half, what could I possibly have left to offer him?”

Her words sent a shiver through me.

Suddenly, I remembered all the times I had felt exactly the same way. All the moments during my own years of waiting when I had questioned my worth, even though those thoughts had never reflected the truth about who I was.

I wanted to tell her to stop believing those cruel things about herself. I wanted her to understand that she was so much more than her relationship status, that the number of unsuccessful dates she'd experienced said nothing about her value, and that she deserved to feel whole and worthy of love right now, not only after finding a husband.

But how could I help her believe something that years of disappointment had made so difficult to accept?

I closed my eyes for a moment and asked Hashem to help me find the right words.

The Conversation That Changed Something Inside Us

We continued talking. I shared what I had learned through my own experiences, and she began opening up about feelings she had carried silently for years.

As the conversation went on, I noticed something changing. With every tear she shed, I found myself speaking more openly, drawing on memories and lessons I hadn't even realized were still so vivid within me.

I spoke, and she listened. Then she spoke, and I listened.

Gradually, through the tears, a new understanding began to emerge.

There was no dramatic breakthrough, no sudden solution to her years of waiting. No one applauded us for reaching the end of a difficult journey. But something important had shifted, even if only slightly.

We had begun the conversation as two women sharing a painful experience. By the end, we understood one another in a way that only people who have walked a similar path sometimes can.

And then she began crying again.

This time, however, her tears seemed to come from a different place.

“For years, I've been trying to explain what's happening inside me, but I haven't known how,” she said. “For years, I've been asking myself why I'm on this journey and why I've had to experience so many delays in finding a husband. I've never been able to find answers that gave me any peace. Until now.”

I stayed quiet and let her continue.

“I feel as though I've been holding everything back for so long, like a dam about to burst. It took so much courage to tell you everything I've been through. It's not easy to open your heart to someone who doesn't know you.”

She paused.

“But you're not really a stranger, Shira. You've been through what I'm going through. That's why I feel safe talking to you. You understand all the little things that other people don't. You don't judge me for my feelings or the decisions I've made along the way.”

Then she said something I will always remember.

“Your words are like cold water to a tired soul. After everything I've been through in matchmaking, I needed someone who truly understood.”

Why I No Longer Regret My 17 Years of Waiting

After we ended the call, I found myself thinking about something I hadn't fully understood during my own 17-year search for marriage.

I believe Hashem never gives us a challenge without a purpose.

When we're in the middle of something painful, especially when it stretches on for years, it's natural to wonder why it's happening. We may not understand what we're meant to learn from it, and we certainly don't always see anything good coming from it.

But I believe that even the most difficult experiences can shape us in ways we only recognize later.

Sometimes they teach us patience. Sometimes they reveal strengths we didn't know we possessed. And sometimes they give us the understanding and compassion to help someone else through a struggle we know all too well.

For years, I viewed my unsuccessful shidduchim as disappointments I simply had to endure. Today, I see those experiences differently.

If I hadn't spent 17 years searching for my own husband, would I have understood the young woman on the phone so deeply? Would I have known what to say when she told me she felt worthless? Would I have recognized the pain behind her words, or understood how much courage it took for her to share them?

Those years gave me something I couldn't have learned from a book. They gave me the ability to sit with another woman's pain without judging her, minimizing her feelings, or offering easy answers.

Today, through the workshops and personal guidance I am privileged to offer, I meet women who are facing many of the same questions and disappointments I once experienced. I can draw on my own journey to help them find hope, rebuild their confidence, and remember who they are beyond the search for marriage.

That doesn't mean the waiting was easy, or that I would have chosen those years of uncertainty for myself. But looking back, I can see how much grew out of them.

What once felt like a long series of disappointments has become a source of strength, purpose, and connection.

And perhaps that is the message I most want every single woman who is struggling to hear: Your worth is not determined by whether you've found your husband. You have so much to offer, exactly as you are today.

Don't allow the disappointments of the matchmaking process to convince you otherwise. Keep growing, keep believing, and above all, don't lose yourself while waiting for the next chapter of your life to begin.

With Hashem's help, even the most difficult journeys can eventually lead to blessings we never imagined.