Still Single After All These Years
By jessd0727 on July 25, 2012
I think everyone hits a point where they think, “Really? Still single?!”
For the most part, I’m happy and complete the way I am. Or at least, I work towards that every day. I’d be a big fat liar if I said that being alone was my preference. It’s not. But until they invent this thing where you can snap your fingers and out pops a great boyfriend, it’s up to me to find a wholeness in my current being. It’s up to me to not worry about loneliness, or other people’s engagements or weddings, or those irrational fears that I’ve used up all my chances. I’m the only one who can cut the rumination.
And most of the time, this works.
But I’m not, like, a robot. I can’t operate in perfect stasis all the time. And I think, the longer one stays single, the harder it becomes to imagine that you’ll ever be able to reverse the tide. So then I start to have small moments of panic: “Really? Still single?!”
There are a few huge reasons why I’m not coupled up at the moment (I’m ignoring my “fear reasons,” which are that I’m crazy and ugly and lack any type of sex appeal). The largest being A) I just moved and B) My last experience left me a little shell-shocked so I did things like “stay at home whenever possible” and “run away from any guy’s advances” for the last two years. Dating experts are shaking their heads. But because healing was more important than drinking drinks in bars and finding someone to marry, I did these things. And I’m not sorry. Still single, but not sorry.
…Then again, just because I did what felt right doesn’t mean part of me isn’t like, “So? This is still lame.”
Being OK at any given phase in life is achieved by accepting what’s in front of you, but also by accepting the dissident feelings. They make you cringe, but they’re there. They’re part of my experience of being on my own. So, “Really? Still single?!” and “This is still lame,” aren’t feelings I can swat away or pretend don’t exist. Turning my back on feelings like this just allows them to grow indefinitely until they’re these Frankenstein insecurities that throw me against a wall and force me to wear fat pants while eating ice cream out of the carton.
Feelings are a big deal. They can crush you if you’re not careful.
So I set them free when I can; writing them down here, talking about them (briefly – my tolerance for “single talk” is super low) and simply allowing myself to feel whatever comes up. I’m not a mopey or a wistful person, but sometimes you gotta mope wistfully, you know?
It keeps the fat pants safely tucked away.
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