the one where she talks about being single

There’s nothing I hate more than a blog post, book, podcast, self help-y what have you dedicated to the topic of singleness.

But I have some words that I’ve desperately wanted to type on the topic, yet I’ve avoided it solely because I don’t want to sound “cringe.”

That, and also recognizing that my demographic is primarily women who no longer carry the “single” Scarlett letters plastered on their foreheads anymore.

Well, oh well. May these words find the right audience anyway.

This morning I woke up to a social media post of a friend who participated with a community event celebrating 7 years of God’s faithfulness.

My immediate thoughts were full of “I wonder” statements about what that 7 year journey may have looked like.

Probably lots of challenging moments.

Probably lots of heartbreak.

Probably several “at the end of my rope” moments with a few glimmers of hope and some lifelines tossed in just in the nick of time.

These were the thoughts that immediately came to mind because I find that when life is incredibly effortless, you take less intentional time to express gratitude.

In my experience, that’s been the last 7 years. Challenge. Heartbreak. Glimmers of hope and lifelines.

And yet, even though what seems to be some of the deepest desires not yet fulfilled, there is still so much goodness and faithfulness sprinkled throughout my story.

I remember in my early twenties, there was this guy. (Get ready for an amazing plot for a rom com.) I was about 80% more awkward than I already am and about 100% less aware, so it was a recipe for heartbreak.

He was kind and cute, and that was pretty much all it took to win me over at the time. We worked together, so we spent a lot of (forced) time together. We became really close friends.

It was the typical hallmark story of the girl who is completely clue-less and loved attention, and the guy who was completely clue-less who also loved attention. Another recipe for heartbreak.

I picked up on his every move, his every smile, his every gesture to hang out with me and go out of his way to be around me. I was dead sure we would get married. It was 0 to 100 in my mind. And we were part of such a weird church culture at the time that the “dating” title immediately meant marriage. And even for my 0-100, 20-year-old self, I was still petrified of labels and titles that meant public commitment. (Even though I was legitimately planning our marriage already in my head.)

I remember the days where my instincts started telling me the age old dreaded cliche “he’s just not that into you.” I remember, after celebrating a holiday together, waiting for that next step asking me the question of anticipated exclusivity “wanna be my girlfriend?”

But it never came. And anxious thoughts increasingly began to swirl.

I remember saying to myself “I will never recover if this doesn’t work out.”

Now, I know this sounds dramatic. But two things:

First, it’s me we’re talking about, so what do you expect? And I was much more dramatic in my early 20’s…

Second, I had just come out of 2 different deep situation-ships where I got my hopes up for a guy, only to watch him date my best friend at the time (other stories for other days), on top of suiting up for 7 weddings I was a bridesmaid in by the time I turned 20. TWENTY. These were rough times for a single gal like myself. It was a place no one in my inner circle wanted to be.

Anyway, here’s how this particular relationship unfolded.

It’s Valentine’s Day. I’m feeling hopeful. I put on a red top and my most red lip, because today was going to be a good day of flirting and further inching my way toward being the gal of this dude’s dreams.

I get to work. He’s very chipper.

Not more than an hour later, his girlfriend of a few weeks (hopefully you didn’t see that one coming, because neither did I) shows up to meet the crew. I’m withholding tears and shaking her hand, “nice to meet you” I muster up the courage to say, as I lie through my teeth.

My friend brought me flowers because she heard it was a hard day. Another friend picked me up and drove me to Starbucks to help me escape from the torture of small talk with a stranger who stole my dreams of exclusivity. I remember bawling the entire car ride. I think I took two sips total of my macchiato because I didn’t have the appetite.

I remember crying a lot those days. Because I had believed that this would be the hero to save me from former heartbreaks. I had built an entire life in my mind and, worse, I had constructed brain pathways telling myself “you’ll be ruined if this doesn’t play out the way you thought it would.”

I was beyond crushed. And it would take a lot for me to fully recover.

And there would be even deeper heartbreaks to come.

But 10 years later, I really, deeply feel like I could celebrate 10 years of God’s faithfulness.

Have I lived out the distant dreams of marriage? No.

Am I married to a hero who saved me from heartbreak? No.

Do I have children that I get to nurture and watch grow up? Also, no.

But my dreams and desires have evolved.

I have lived life to the fullest.

I have healed, time and time again.

I have thought, many times “this might be the end of my rope,” and every damn time there is a major lifeline that comes to save the day to bring restoration and fill my heart with hope again.

I have laughed my deepest belly laughs and cried my hardest, I have felt deep joy and deep grief.

I have watched my deepest hopes and dreams burn to the weary ground, scattered with ashes.

But like a perennial I have watched new life, new hopes, new dreams sprout up, much stronger than they ever were before.

So, why do I hate reading blogs, books and bogus articles about singlehood?

I think it’s because they all feel hopeless. It’s all showered with the societal pressures for women to be married, have children and keep her dreams limited to the home and kitchen. They don’t leave space for the both-ness of wanting something, yet also deeply loving where your feet are.

The older and single-er I get, the more I discover my true value as a human. Why do I only set the table and whip out the fancy plates and silverware when I have guests? Why do I eat my dinner over the sink with The Office playing in the background as I simultaneously clean at the same time?

Why not start setting the table for myself, too? I don’t have to wait to live until someone else is in the room to serve.

I remember the day I had the thought of treating my life like a single person family.

It was the most lonely and liberating thought, all at the same time.

When I truly sit down in solace and reflect, I don’t despise the title of being single. I love being single. I just wish other people loved it as much as I do. I don’t feel lonely because I’m not married. I feel lonely because all too many people are growing up, getting hitched, having babies - at a faster pace than me.

And that brings us to the concept of time.

According to society, I should have been ready for these “grown- up” things about 10 years ago. But I wasn’t. And I’m still not. And what if I still won’t be ready, or what if it gets to be too late?

My worries and tears have much less to do with the discomfort of my current life and state of singlehood, and much more to do with the fact that time just might be a losing battle as the biological clock keeps ticking.

But what if there is a new path being paved ahead of me that is completely different than I ever anticipated? What if there is a new value system for myself? Is a woman only valuable if she has a partner to come home to? Is a woman only valuable if she has children to take care of?

What if I’m allowed to not prioritize marriage and motherhood as the top tier desires of my heart?

There are fistfuls of women in my story that have mothered me who have never been married or birthed a child.

I’ve come to this place where I desire nothing more than the people around me to succeed. I want the community around me to grow, to experience a sense of belonging and to believe, deep in their hearts, that they are loved.

And this is the mothering energy.

I have so much of it oozing out of my pores and bursting from my spirit, and I don’t want anything to go to waste.

I don’t want anything I’m given to dry up, unused.

I can stop fighting the clock. I can give myself permission to grieve and heal from the heartbreaks. I can give myself permission to be fully present, laugh my deepest belly laughs, and excuse the judgments of others who believe my life is not fully full without a ring on my finger or a child to call me “mom.”

I can adapt to this new full life. I can grow. I can continue to become my best self,

not in spite of never living out an old, dead dream,

but because of it.

“We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, she was important and beautiful. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There is nothing to do but salute her from the shore.” - Cheryl Strayed