A reckoning with singledom - Part 2

Birds of a feather, flock together

Image by Edd Cottell

I had revelled in my singledom. I was proud of it. It was a badge of honour, to be going against the grain.

And yet, gradually, over time, something didn’t sit right. An uneasiness was creeping in.

My favourite R’n’B jams of my late teens/early twenties had been in praise of the Independent Woman. I had my shit together. I had my own flat in Notting Hill (sure, it was a studio flat the size of a postage stamp, but the postcode was premium), paid all my bills, had a job I was great at and compensated well for. I was ticking a lot of boxes. Destiny’s Child’s rallying cry for Independent Women to ‘throw their hands up at meeehhhh’ sent my hands waving sky high. I was doing it.

Independence is great, until you’re sick. When you’re holed up in bed and just want someone to bring you soup, Independence can kiss your ass. Or when you throw your back out and can barely move, Independence screws you right over.

Outside of work, my alone time was spent, well, alone. I had friends, sure, but I’m also a homebody and introvert and was never exactly at the top of anyone’s list to call for a fun night out. The occasional brunch or dinner date with friends would break up the vast, vast amount of time I was spending alone. I sometimes went days without speaking to anyone. No one would text or call. It was just me and my pup in our one room.

Did I matter, to anyone, at all? If I didn’t reach out and text first, would any of my friendships remain? Would anyone notice or care if I wasn’t here? Well this seemed dramatic. Was this suicidal ideation? I just had a strong sense of not wanting to be here anymore. I wasn’t wanted or needed and was sure I wouldn’t be missed.

Whenever I left the house, all I saw was couples or friends having fun together; park dates, laughing in restaurants, shopping.

I took my dog out for a walk one Saturday afternoon. I got half way around the block and the sight of all these people doing things together made me feel short of breath. My eyes started to well up. I turned and rushed home. As soon as I got in the door, I collapsed in a heap of tears. Big, juicy snot and mascara tears. Breathless, wailing, whole body weakness kind of tears.

It would appear that my flying the flag of independence had given way to soul crushing loneliness.

This feeling of isolation and utter aloneness weighed so heavily I could barely breathe. I was embarrassed that when I was really honest with myself, it was a lack of love in my life that made me feel so worthless. This is what the championing of romantic relationships does. This is what Rom Coms and Valentine’s Day and weird, creepy Bachelor type shows reduce you to; the feeling that if you don’t have it, you don’t count.

While I was mad at the feeling, perhaps it was time to accept the uncomfortable truth that maybe I didn’t want to be alone after all.

To be continued…

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A wee programming note before I sign off: next week will be the last week the Monday edition of The Murmuration will be free. After that, if you’d like to keep receiving the Monday edition, you’ll be charged $5 per month. If you don’t opt for the paid subscription, you’ll still receive the Thursday editions, but the Monday ones (my essays, think pieces, articles etc) will be for paid subscribers only. It’d mean the world to me if you’d make the switch over to the paid option when the time comes. I’ll put the details of that in next week’s newsletter, but just wanted to give you a heads up before that comes into effect.