An old friend got in touch to say she’d be passing through London with her family and would love to catch up. My reply was that I’d love to see her. Of course I would. But there’s also a sadness there. She met a man when we were lived in the same city, and in the ten years that have passed, they’ve got married and had two kids. Me, I have several relationships and no family. I feel like a failure. Not because I’ve failed to meet societies expectations, but because I’ve not met my own.
The narrative around me from the spiritual community goes something like this – don’t listen to societies expectations, you can decide what family looks like for yourself, have a kid on your own, learn to love yourself and then you don’t need others, learn to depend on yourself.
But the truth is, I do love myself. I’m fabulous. I’m loving, caring, kind, supportive, thoughtful, creative, and many other wonderful things. I’m also stubborn and a host of other negative qualities. I’m imperfect, and fine about it. The spiritual community are promoting bullshit. Yes, love yourself. Learn to see who you are. But the idea you should come to depend solely on yourself is nonsense. This isn’t how human beings are. My journey has not been from co-dependence to independence, it has been from fiercely independent to learning how to vulnerably and openly depend on another. Depending on others is one of the most vulnerable, intimate acts we can ever do. For some of us, it takes incredible courage to do so.
I’ve travelled the world alone. I’m 38 and single, believe me, I can depend on myself. I’ve always succeeded. Just not at finding a partner.
The other truth is that just because my idea of what I want from life matches the standard, doesn’t mean it is being forced on me from outside. I don’t just want kids; I want a family. I want a partner I can depend on, someone to love and take care of, someone to support me and to provide support to, someone who my life matters to, who would care if I wasn’t around. Because the truth is, for all friends and my birth family are lovely and people I can talk to, they all, at the end of the day, have their own lives to go back to. I only have me. Just me, to cook dinner for, just me, watching TV alone, just me, searching for someone to go on holiday with, just me, alone, without anyone to share the funny things that happen, or to help me carry the load when things aren’t going to plan.
Because that’s really all any of us want, I think. Someone who it matters to that we exist. Someone who cares if we don’t wake up one day. Someone to lean on when things are hard. Someone to laugh with and share our joy with.
There is great sadness in always being the one who shows up to things alone, year after year. When I was younger, I always thought my day would come. One day it would be me announcing my pregnancy. One day I’d be showing up with a partner I loved. One day is here, and he isn’t.
At what point do you give up hope? Because I used to be so happy for all my friends when they announced they were getting married or pregnant. The big wedding isn’t something I want, but the partner I’m committed to and who is committed to me? That I long for. And when they make these announcements now, all I can think is, when is it finally my turn? When do I get to have someone to depend on? I hear how selfish and resentful this is. It doesn’t stop me thinking it. Even those friends who ended up pregnant by accident – they have a kid as a result. They have that elusive thing I cannot find. Because even though I’m 38 and feeling hopeless, I simply cannot bring myself to have kids with a man I don’t fully love or am not fully committed to. I know women who have done it. I can’t. It’s not me.
So instead, when old friends come to visit, I put on a smile, and play with their kids, the whole time feeling like they look at me like I’m a failure. Someone who it totally unlovable. Someone who can’t even find a man to spend her life with. The most basic thing that everyone else seems to have found by this age. Half the guys on dating sites are divorced; I’m still searching for the thing they’ve already moved past, that relationship where you really think it’s going to work.
Even my friends who weren’t looking for relationships have found them. The lockdown pushed them into settling down in a way that nothing ever would have before.
There’s no shortage of men. There’s not even a shortage of men who are interested in me. Am I picky. I suppose I must be. But I want someone I admire, someone I respect, someone who is able to give me a hug when things go wrong, instead of telling me to “deal with it” (no really, that has happened).
Is it possible to grieve something you don’t have and can’t find? What will my life be if I can’t find someone? What will my life be if I don’t have children?
Emotional pain is physical. It’s like my heart is in physical pain. My whole body grieving this thing I can’t even find and don’t even have.
In the dark moments, when the grief is too much, there’s no-one to hold me. There’s Mum on the end of the phone to say it’ll all be okay. But will it? Because it seems that “okay” will be life without a partner and without my own family. And that is anything but okay.
In my best moments, I know that I can’t control life and that I’ll be okay no matter what life throws at me. But those moments don’t last long. I’m not a person with a big friendship groups. I like intimate conversation with depth and meaning.
Conversations that are worth having with one person who you trust and know deeply. Few people know me deeply. None of them are around on a daily basis.
This is not a hopeful post. But it is an honest one. I’ve spent much of my life searching for meaning, exploring and understanding how best to live. I’ve found out a lot. And I have no-one to share it with. It felt purposeful when I was doing it. In the midst of loneliness, even the most important things can seem entirely meaningless.
