The Spaciousness of Being Single

Posted 23 hours ago23 hr

I’ve always said that I was never a person overly affected by peer pressure. It didn’t seem to faze me. But societal pressure? That one got to me.

When I was younger, I followed the blueprint I’d been taught to follow. I went to college after high school. I got a job. After being in a relationship for a few years, I got married. I went to grad school. I got another job in a more “valid” field. I had children. I put one foot in front of the other, but I was walking through my early adulthood like I was in a trance.

It wasn’t bringing me joy. The best part of most of my days took place when I could spend time in my rich inner world of daydreams that bore no resemblance to my real life. I read books and watched movies, escaping the monotonous routine of the life I had constructed exactly as I was told to do.

Breaking down that life didn’t feel good. It felt necessary. I quit the job I’d studied long and hard to achieve. I filed for divorce. I planned a move to a town I’d visited once but loved. I stopped living life only inside my head. I’d be braver this time.

But still, societal messages creeped in, as they often do. I needed a soulmate, didn’t I? I dated. The first date after the divorce was beautiful, but the relationship was messy. I was messy. The next person I dated for any length of time reminded me that I needed to get my life together. It wasn’t just messy; it was disastrous. But I rebuilt my life again. I lived my dreams in a way I never had before.

And I fell in love. This beginning was beautiful. But the end? Oh, that’s a heartbreak I’ve told so many times that I’ve bored myself with it. I loved, I lost, but — finally — I healed. Not just from him. I finally healed from all the old baggage I’d been carrying for so long I didn’t even notice it anymore. I unpacked it all in therapy. I finally got to know myself in a way I never had before.

After the healing, there was a curious sense of rest and peace. I was happy in the life I was building — even when that life was hard. I made peace with the past, and I wasn’t going to let society dictate my future. This time, I was going to live my life for me.

There’s a beautiful spaciousness in being single.

I always assumed it would be lonely to spend year upon year unpartnered. Instead, there’s abundant space. I’ve filled it with friends and pets and adventures with my children. Still, I feel this wonderful stretch of possibilities.

It almost sounds silly to articulate, but I can watch anything I like and read what and when I like without commentary. I can listen to my playlists without any sense of self-consciousness on how it’s being received. I can sleep in my bed and not worry that my restless turning will disturb anyone else.

In relationships, I won’t say that I felt crowded exactly. Not physically. But my head was crowded with thoughts of the relationship. I would wrap myself up in it. I know there are reasons — trauma being primary — for why I did this, but I can also acknowledge that there wasn’t a lot of balance for me in the relationships I chose. Not for a long time.

It wasn’t just my thoughts that felt crowded. My interests seemed to get pushed out by theirs. In fairness, I let that happen, but I noticed that the partners I chose were more than happy to let my interests give way to their own with no true interest expressed in exploring the things I enjoyed.

And I couldn’t quite be myself. Not without criticism. Not without being treated like just being me was somehow deeply flawed.

But in that singular spaciousness of being unpartnered, I had room — room to explore interests new and old, room to fully embody myself, room to think thoughts that had nothing to do with some woman’s son’s inconsistent and baffling behavior.

Being single doesn’t have to be lonely.

While I have moments of loneliness, they are fleeting. I don’t dwell on them. I feel them, acknowledge them, and let them pass the way they always will.

I’ve found that while loneliness does happen on its own, it’s more often encouraged by our thoughts and frame of mind. When I first lost the relationship I had foolishly thought would last, the loneliness felt excruciating. I felt his absence all the time. I was afraid I always would.

I can’t count how many nights I spent on what-if scenarios. What if he came back? What if I had done something different or been someone different? I would trace the trajectory of that relationship like a meteor across the sky. From start to finish, I would replay it, and sometimes, I would give it new endings or chart a different course in my mind.

As I healed, I stopped playing the game of what-if. I stopped dwelling on that slice of time in my life. I stopped making one man the whole world.

And my world got bigger. It wasn’t lonely anymore. Time to myself meant time to luxuriate in my interests and spend time with my friends. I stopped seeing it as an ending and saw it instead as a transition into a new way of living and being.

I also stopped trying to find someone to blame. Me. Him. Circumstances outside our control. I forgave everyone involved — myself most of all. I let love exist without trying to tie it to a single person.

And I became a happy single person.

I’ve grown in unanticipated ways.

When I see happy couples, I don’t begrudge them their happiness or wish it were my own. That’s growth. I don’t disparage love stories or mock the idea of soulmates. I can be happy single and happy for every single one of my friends who falls in love. I can wish happiness to them — and to every ex I’ve encountered along the way. Instead of imagining happy relationships for myself, my mind has space to roam free of the confines of societal urgings to be coupled.

In that sense of spaciousness, I began to consider my impact on the world around me. It was a strange and beautiful transition. I’m not sure exactly when I became this person who would negotiate with spiders to build their webs a bit higher around the doorframes rather than knocking them down with a sense of entitlement. I don’t know when I woke up and decided that fostering dogs and cats to give them a sense of love, safety, and stability was something I felt compelled to do. I just know that I became more thoughtful, intentional, and compassionate, and I didn’t need to be in love with one single person to achieve it. I could be in love with everything and everyone — and most of all, this one life I’m living.

I can’t remember the last time I went on a romantic date, but I can tell you the last time I went to lunch with a good friend. I can talk about experiences I’ve shared with my children. I can even list animals that were adopted that I was privileged to foster.

I don’t feel sorry for myself. I don’t feel like I’m missing out. Being single doesn’t have to mean being lonely any more than being in a relationship automatically has to mean that we’re loved and at peace. My life is what it is, and I am happy in it. And when I am unhappy, I feel that, too, but I don’t try to hold onto it or give it more meaning than it deserves. It is, and I am, and it’s all okay.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.