Yes, Sometimes Being Single Sucks

I’m proud to be an independent woman…but sometimes I hate being single

I love being single. Usually. I like my freedom. I like being able to stretch out across my bed. I like making whatever I want for dinner. I like decorating my house (a house I bought all by myself) however I like.

But some days, being single just sucks. Some days, I absolutely hate it.

Today is one of those days.

I’m freelancing right now, which means I’m alone a lot. In general, I love that. I’m definitely a lone wolf, a bit of a hermit — I enjoy being by myself. I’m careful to make sure I contact friends and family every single day, even if only by phone, text, or email, and to spend time with them a couple times a week.

But every now and then, I feel especially lonely. I wake up in my bed all by myself for the nth time, get up, start making breakfast…and the silence is palpable. There are no screaming children around like at my sister’s house. No one kisses me goodbye on his way out the door.

It’s just me and my steamed kale and fried egg. (And bagel with cream cheese, okay? Nobody’s perfect!) I eat by myself and then…I get on with my day.

But some days, being single just sucks.

Sometimes, I can shake the loneliness, and other times, it sticks.

Now that I’m blogging about sex (even though I’m not currently having sex with other people), a good portion of my workday consists of reading other people’s articles about sex and relationships.

Sometimes, it is hard to immerse myself in people’s stories about marriage, parenthood, sexual adventures (or really any sex with another person, at all), and emotional intimacy. Sometimes, I have to stop what I’m reading and find something else to do.

But it’s there in the back of my mind, following me the rest of the day — that niggling feeling that I am alone.

I tried to be adventurous today, to shake myself out of this funk. I went out to run errands, sans bra, as free as I could be, thinking it was a good time to work on my “free the boobs” experiment.

I stopped at my sister’s first, to have a quick tea with her and one of our oldest friends. We had a lovely time and I adored every second with my precious nieces and nephews.

But I get jealous every now and then. I wonder what it would be like to have so many kids — or any, at all. And what would it be like to have a husband who works so hard to be a good partner and who can’t keep his hands off his wife, even after 15 years.

When I left, I sat in my car for a moment, thinking about the errands I had to run. I wasn’t in any hurry, I realized. Yes, I had work to finish at home, but ultimately, no one would care when I returned.

I walked through the grocery store behind slow-moving moms and dads with their kids, some of them holding hands as they walked. One kid screamed and hit his sibling. In another aisle, a child laughed. At the checkout line, a couple kissed.

I forgot all about my bra-free experiment. It didn’t seem to matter very much in that moment.

When I finally got home, I walked into my dark house, just like I have for the past five years, turned on the lights, put away the groceries, and made myself dinner.

Sometimes, the thing I hate most about being single is not the loneliness, or the unmet desire of having someone to talk to or sleep beside or, you know, fuck. Sometimes, the thing I hate the most is that no one would notice if I didn’t come home one night. If I was lying in the proverbial ditch somewhere, I’d likely be there for at least 18 hours before my mother noticed I wasn’t answering her texts.

Folks, I could be dead by then.

Okay, fine, let’s take the melodrama out of it. I just miss having someone call me after six and say, “Hey, where are you? Are you okay?” I miss having someone to hug when I walk through the door. I miss having the “how was your day” chat.

Sometimes, the thing I hate the most is that no one would notice if I didn’t come home one night.

I try to remind myself how lucky I am. I’m surrounded by people who love me. My nieces and nephews genuinely adore me — even the 13-year-old boy who insists that we’re the same person in two different bodies. {swoon} My siblings are my best friends. My parents always try to help me. My friends have my back. I even have readers who go out of their way to give me a boost.

And how lucky am I to have a circle of male friends who take extra good care of me? One of them takes me out to dinner regularly. They text or email me every few days to tell me I’m an amazing, strong woman. One of them, from across the miles, tirelessly supports me and my work. Another still confides in me when there are problems at work, even though we no longer work together. And I know that if I really was in a ditch somewhere, they’d be the first ones out to rescue me. They’re my faithful knights, my champions, my…frusbands, let’s say.

I’m not actually alone. I know that.

But as I sit here in this small, quiet house, it feels that way. Tonight, I feel completely alone.

I know I have to ask for what I want and keep trying and never give up.

But I also know that at 43, the likelihood of getting married someday is pretty low. And the likelihood of having the child I wanted is even lower. Sometimes, I’m not even sure what I want, anymore. Husbands, babies…I feel like that passed me by a long time ago.

And so here I am. These are the moments in which I don’t really know what to do. In general, I think I’m pretty optimistic and hopeful.

But there are times like these when I think I cannot go one more step all by myself. I have come so damn far on my own, without the help of a companion, and I just get so tired.

I hate feeling this way. I don’t usually talk about it or share it. I never ask for help. I want to be strong.

On my best days, I think we should strive to feel good about where we are in life. And if we’re single, I think we should be proud of our independence — it is not easy to be single in a world that tends to fetishize romantic love.

But I also think it’s important to be real. Sometimes, we just feel like shit. Sometimes, being single sucks. Pretending that that’s not true isn’t going to help any.

I have come so damn far on my own, without the help of a companion, and I just get so tired.

So yes, I’m sitting here, in my empty, quiet house, with butter on my lip because I just ate half a loaf of french bread. Because I’m lonely. Because no one was here tonight to kiss me hello and ask me how my day went. No one has been here to do that for years.

And in two hours, I’m going to crawl into bed and go to sleep all by myself, when all I want is for someone to put their arms around me, kiss the top of my head, and tell me everything is going to be okay.

Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe I’ll wake up excited to see my friend Sunny, who’s coming over for dinner. Maybe I’ll notice an email notification on my phone while I’m cooking my kale and egg (and bagel, okay?), and it’ll be a sweet hello from a cousin or former co-worker. Maybe things will feel just a little bit better.

In the meantime, I’ll write, take a really hot shower, watch a new episode of The Great British Baking Show on Netflix, work on my knitting…and maybe have some more french bread.

© Yael Wolfe 2019