Why I’m Loudly & Proudly Single at 44

I want my nieces to know me as an independent woman who forged her own path

I’m 44 years old, single, and childless. I know that many women in my shoes would be scrambling for a partner right now, and/or an opportunity to experience motherhood.

I, however, am choosing something different. Or rather, I’m not choosing to pursue those particular options with any sense of determination or tenacity. I have put an indefinite hold on any pursuit of motherhood, being very clear about the consequences of this decision. And though my heart is open to love, I am not actively pursuing a relationship — or even sex — with the same fervor I once threw behind such efforts not so long ago.

Why? Because I want something more than that, something I’ve never had. I want an unshakeable sense of self. I want to trust the woman I see in the mirror more than I’ve ever trusted another human being in my life. And I want to experience a kind of love that cannot be altered, diminished, or lost by another person’s presence in my life.

I know the price of not having this. I’ve paid that price for the better part of the past four decades. When you want something you can’t give to yourself, you find yourself grateful for any crumbs that fall into your path. You accept the unacceptable. You allow yourself to be fooled by the illusion of external love when really, all you have is another human being reflecting your lack of regard for yourself right back to you.

It hurts. Terribly. And I’ve decided that I’m never going to hurt myself like that again, no matter what it takes.

It’s also no small thing to model a so-called “alternative lifestyle” to the young people in your life. Women are not here to be wives and mothers. There are all kinds of paths we can take that would bring us satisfaction.

I want to show my nieces what it looks like to be a successful, fulfilled woman whose circumstances have nothing to do with her relationship status.

“I feel sad for you sometimes,” my 6-year-old niece Brynn said to me two months ago, while I was helping her get ready for bed.

“Why is that?” I asked, a bit distracted by the tiny button at the back of her pajama top that my clumsy fingers couldn’t quite fasten.

“Because you aren’t married and you don’t have kids. Your life must be very lonely and sad.”

I turned her around and looked her in the eyes. I wanted to respond with a fiery speech about how women can be happy in all sorts of different lifestyles, and how I mostly loved my life.

In truth, though, I was struggling with it at that moment. I was dreading their move to another city, particularly the loss of Brynn’s little brother, my “surrogate baby,” Alex. I was feeling a lot of maternal grief and feeling particularly lonely, too, wishing I had someone to hold me on those long, sad nights.

I was also just tired of this conversation. How many times have the kids asked me why I’m not married, why I don’t have kids of my own? How many times have they said they worried about me or thought my life was “weird?”

Sure, I want to be a strong example that a woman can be alone and still be happy. (Most of the time.) But for god’s sake, do I really have to put this much energy into it? Does it really have to be a regular subject of conversation after all these years?

All I could muster for her was, “My life isn’t sad, at all, sweetie.”

It was the wrong thing to say. It is sad, sometimes. Just like married women and mothers get sad sometimes. Sadness and loneliness are not the exclusive emotional burdens of single, childless women. Sadness and loneliness are part of every human’s experience.

But I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t have that conversation one more time.

Do you know what the chances are that a never-married woman will marry after 45? No, that whole “she has a better chance at being killed by a terrorist” thing was just a lot of nonsense. In numbers, the chances are .016%. After 55, that drops down to .007%.

Who makes these numbers and how, I always wonder. I really don’t know.

But thankfully, I also really don’t care. I don’t care about statistical data, which are just shadow numbers.

Luckily, I also don’t really care about marriage.

Would I get married if the opportunity came along? That seems like such a random question to me. Like: Would you visit the rainforest? I guess some people would jump at either chance, but for me, I have some serious questions about the circumstances of such opportunities.

Sure, I might go to a particular rainforest at a particular time of year with very particular companions. I need to know the details before I can answer this question.

Likewise, I need more information about the question of marriage. Are we in love? What is our financial situation? Are our lifestyles compatible? Do we want the same things?

I could go on, but you get the picture.

This question, “Would you get married if the opportunity came along?” is so reductive and honestly, so sexist. It’s as if we’re gauging someone, trying to make sure they’re a “normal” female — and a “normal” female would answer yes to that question, right? Without further information. Because a “normal” female is supposed to be want to be married no matter what, right?

That’s the story, anyways.

I think I’d enjoy it under the right circumstances. But I’ve seen what the wrong circumstances can do one too many times. And so no, I will never answer that question with an easy “Yes.”

In truth, I don’t think it should matter. What should matter is that we feel empowered to fulfill ourselves romantically and sexually — whatever that looks like. Maybe it means we’re alone. Maybe it means we’re unmarried but have a few lovers. Maybe it means we live with a partner, but never marry.

None of the details matter, after all. The only thing that matters is whether or not we are happy and satisfied.

“Let’s come up with a backstory for your character,” my 14-year-old nephew said to me on our recent FaceTime chat. He’s been planning our first Zoom Dungeons & Dragons game for the past few weeks and is so excited to teach me how to play now that we’ve created my half-elf druid character named Flora.

“You have to have a boyfriend,” he said. “She’s 21. That’s basically a given.”

“Oh no,” I said. “Flora is a single lady. Let’s say she ran away from an arranged marriage and is looking for adventure. She wants to see the world.”

Ben made a dubious face. “How many women in your life are married or dating right now?” he asked.

I knew where he was going and I started feeling irritated and tempted to fudge the numbers, but I decided to face the conversation (yet again) head-on, in honesty. “About 70%.”

“So you see, it’s normal for people to be married. Most people are. I think Flora should at least have a boyfriend.”

“No,” I insisted. “I want her to be like me. She’s trying to find herself and make a good life for herself all on her own.”

“But,” Ben persisted, which surprised me, “this is a great opportunity for you to imagine a dream boyfriend. You know…for the future…”

I realized yet again that he and his siblings felt uncomfortable about my lifestyle. That they didn’t know what to make of it and I suspect feel worried that I’m not happy. I know they love me and want that for me. But I dug my heels in. “I don’t need a boyfriend — or girlfriend,” I added, trying to politely correct his hetero-sumption. “And neither does Flora.”

He reluctantly agreed and we moved on with the conversation.

After we hung up, though, I felt disheartened. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of people asking me how my love life is going with slight cringes on their faces as if they think I’m going to start crying just because they know I’m “still” single. I’m tired of my dad suggesting that I should date my bestie Frank even though we are not in love because it “isn’t normal for people to not be in relationships.”

But you know what? The older I get, the more I feel sorry for people who have so little imagination. And I feel sorry that our culture perpetuates that lack of imagination in our young people.

Did you know our glass ceiling-shattering Vice President-Elect, Kamala Harris, didn’t get married until she was 50? It makes perfect sense. How do you think she accomplished so much in her life? She was blazing her own trail and getting shit done.

And you know what she includes in her Twitter bio? “Auntie.” That’s right, the first female Vice President who happens to have no biological children openly celebrates and owns her roles as stepmother and aunt, totally defying the expectation that a successful woman is one who has been pregnant, given birth, and raised her own children. Take that, patriarchy!

Clearly, we don’t need to be married to kick ass in this world. We don’t need to have a traditional family. We don’t need to follow the recipe. We are making different dishes, after all, each one just as good in its own right.

What’s most important here? Don’t believe the propaganda. The answer to that question is not marriage and not motherhood.

The answer is: You.

It’s true that human beings are social creatures. Yes, we need companionship. Yes, we need touch. All of these things are (usually) essential to our health (for most of us).

But there are plenty of ways we can accomplish this. And getting it by way of unsatisfying relationships, abusive situations, or partnerships that make us feel lonelier than we felt when we were actually alone is not going to help. It’s counterproductive, I’d argue. Win here, lose there, and you’re at a draw.

I’d rather be in love with myself than twist myself into someone else for the love of a partner. I’d rather be lonely alone than lonely with the wrong person. I’d rather have some sad nights than those nights of pure despair when you realize the person lying next to you will never, ever understand you.

Sure, I would love to have more nights of coming home to a partner who is happy to see me. I would love to regularly feel someone’s hands on my body as a gesture of love and an expression of our sexual connection. And I most definitely long to lie in someone’s arms, our legs entwined, as we talk about our day before drifting off to sleep.

But — despite what people might think — I’m actually okay on my own. I’m excited about the possibilities of my future (if this pandemic ever ends…). I’m intoxicated by the realization of my sexual freedom and overjoyed at the adventures that await me.

In fact, if I do happen to find myself on a traditional path, meeting someone and building a monogamous relationship together, or even getting married, I might just have to keep my partner a secret from the world — only because I am so determined for those in my life to accept and celebrate single women’s lives.

We have so many interesting stories to tell. It’s about time we got our chance.

© Yael Wolfe 2020

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