The Joy of Being Single after an Abusive Relationship

Freedom has never felt so good

When I left an abusive marriage to a diagnosed narcissist six years ago, I also left the state of Wyoming to return to my home state of Arizona, where the sun and good weather welcomed me back with open arms. Upon my arrival at the place of my youth and good memories, I felt as though I’d finally been released from solitary confinement and was feeling the light on my skin for the first time.

I experienced a kind of dual liberation in that I not only escaped the control and oppression of a man who used pain as a weapon, but I also left the clouds and cold of a state whose winters amplified the darkness of my suffering. Thus, when I returned to the desert I knew so well, freedom manifested in both the literal and figurative light — I knew I was finally safe with each ray of the sun warming my skin.

Beginning with the first morning away from my abusive ex and continuing for years after, immediately after waking I would step outside, stare up at the sky, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. Then I would whisper thank you to the wide-open blue above. My gratitude for being out of his immediate reach was overwhelming. It wasn’t that I still didn’t hurt, but at least now I could breathe.

Those first few years, my newfound freedom was juxtaposed with the trauma of going through a punishing divorce (there’s a saying about narcissists — If you thought being married to one was awful, wait until you divorce one). I was also stalked, bullied, intimidated, and cyberstalked by my ex for years after I left and endured the grueling process of criminal investigations, obtaining restraining orders, and the suffering of my children at the hands of a father who used them as a tool to hurt me, along with a family court system that didn’t care since there were no bruises or broken bones to account for their pain.

Still, not having to wake up to him or come home to him was its own reward.

Though I cried myself to sleep every night, at least now I had the bed to myself to do so. Though I still woke up scared in the middle of the night, my open window to the fresh desert air promised I was now safe. Though my heart was still shattered over having my life stolen from me without my consent (which came in the form of uncovering his double life that included grooming and exploiting young immigrant girls), at least the weather allowed me to walk, run, bike, and hike that shit off.

As the years passed, as the pain abated and my journey of healing brought me closer and closer to the light, leaving the darkness behind for good, I took joy in the smaller aspects of being single, being a single mom, and living on my own. Granted, it wasn’t living without a husband, without a man, that brought me such incredible peace and joy. It was living without him.

What followed was a natural progression to enjoying my life and home as a single woman. I had sometimes fantasized about what it would be like to live on my own (with my kids, of course) and not have to do that dance, make those compromises, that are required for sharing a life with someone else. I am well aware my perspective is skewed considering I’ve only lived with abusive men my entire adult life — along with watching my mother endure my father’s abuse when I was growing up.

So the case could be argued that I don’t know what it’s like to share a home, share a life, share a family with a healthy individual who doesn’t have any ulterior motives to hurt, punish, or control me.

However, having not been married or in a committed relationship for six years now, I’ve yet to have a moment where my heart hungers for something else. Just the opposite — I still wake up each day grateful that I’m single, that I’m calling the shots, that I have the autonomy to design my days and nights as I see fit.

I can’t help it. I just absolutely love being on my own.

I don’t have to spend every waking moment walking on eggshells, never knowing what mood he’ll be in, never knowing if the day would be kind or cruel. I don’t have to fake a smile anytime I’m in his company around others. I don’t have to make a meal not knowing if he’s going to like it, change my hair and hope he approves, or buy a new pair of pants and pray he won’t criticize how I look in them. I don’t have to walk ten steps behind him at airports as if we weren’t even traveling together. I don’t have to do his laundry, pick up after him, or clean our house when most of the mess was his.

I don’t have to have sex when I don’t want to or be coerced into having sex and punished if I didn’t. I don’t have to lie for him, cover up his crimes, or share his stories that painted him as the hero or the innocent one in all endeavors.

I don’t have to fight for my dignity. I don’t have to kowtow or pander or placate in order to avoid his emotional injury (a typical trait of narcissists). I no longer live in fear to speak my mind, to have an opinion that may be in opposition to his, to make a decision based on my needs instead of his own.

Much of what I love about being single is childlike in nature and can be compared to a teenager leaving home and living on their own for the first time. It’s the space, the sound of silence, the absence of no one telling me what to do, how to do it, and what will happen if I don’t.

I spent decades living with men (two husbands over the course of 25 years) who never lifted a finger to help me with housework or laundry or managing a home and yet who never stopped lecturing me on how I should be doing all these things. I spent years raising children I had with men who took no interest in their daily lives, their school, their hopes and dreams, and yet who admonished me at every turn because I was doing it all wrong.

For most of my adult life, I lived with armchair quarterbacks, with hindsight critics who gave orders and reprimanded me from their stationary place on the sidelines. Hence the reason I thrive today in a house and a life where there is no background noise or play-by-play recap of my every move.

A man I met recently and went on a couple of dates with (mind you, I haven’t been wearing a nun’s habit while being single) whose wife left him after 25 years said to me, “No one likes coming home to an empty house. No one wants to be alone.”

I nodded to make him feel better, though what I wanted to do was raise my hand and jump up and down hoping the teacher would call on me so I could shout, “Not true not true!”

It’s been six years since I’ve been coming home to no one and since I’ve been “alone” (I’m not really alone, as any happily single woman knows). As of yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This does not mean I am anti-coupling. Nor am I anti-marriage — though it’d be a hard sell for me to make that legal commitment ever again. I’m not anti-relationship or anti-true love. In fact, if anything I’ve become so much more invested and in touch with love and all that it includes that I never experienced while living — or I should say dying — within the darkness of abuse.

Love is abundant all around me. Life is being lived and I’m an integral part of the whole as I’ve never been before. My home is my refuge where I am reminded of my freedom in my ability to create it as I see fit without someone else’s judgment, criticism, or negative commentary. I am Julia Roberts in Sleeping with the Enemy (without having to kill anyone or hide out in Iowa) — the significance of having messy cupboards is not lost on me.

Maybe the happiness I have in being single has to do with the residual trauma of my past. Maybe it is like coming out of solitary confinement and gazing up at the sun for the first time. I’ve had to both learn new ways to be and also relearn what had been forgotten at the hands of men who stripped me of my power and my voice with the intent to keep me under control and continuing to accept their abuse.

In this new freedom of mine, I am able to be whole. To be me and all that includes. Thus I can live and love on my own terms, which has opened up a new world of opportunity as I gravitate toward others who are also healthy, whole, and free.

This isn’t to say my door is closed to one day not being single. After all, I’m young (only 51) and the second half of my life has only just begun. So it makes sense that at some point I’ll find someone to share space with, to go through time with, to love and be loved in return without those toxic attachments I know all too well.

But that coupling will never again come at my expense (nor someone else’s). Which is what makes the future so exciting. Because I know there is another imperfect but whole, flawed but humble, strong but gentle soul out there who right now is also loving being single but who wouldn’t mind sharing time and space with the right person. Without demands, without having to “complete” another, without assumptions or illusions or expectations that set a couple up for failure.

Until then, I’ll just be here enjoying the sun on my face, the air I can breathe, and the life I am able to fully live. So when that plus one eventually appears, they’ll know where to find me.

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