On Love

A few weeks ago a work colleague was telling me another story about her husband and children. At the end of her story, and probably in response to my blank expression, she asked "so, do you have someone or...?". I didn't know what to reply - "no, I don't have anyone..." didn't quite seem right. The dynamic of the conversation between this younger colleague with fully-fledged mother and wife status and my single-self seemed strange and uncomfortable and I felt almost as if I was looked upon with pity. It got me thinking, why is being single seen as some kind of fault? Why is 'having someone' considered the ultimate achievement? Why do we prioritise romantic relationships above all other relationships in our life? 

This conversation hit particularly hard considering that a few months prior, I saw in the new year in Ghana. As champagne bottles popped and I watched fireworks exploding in the sky above me, my hand firmly enclosed in someone elses, I thought ' this year will be different for me'. I thought about how things would finally get better now that I had found the loving and dedicated partner I had been searching for, and the prospect of creating the family I’d always wanted was becoming reality. This was the start of big family celebrations and occasions shared with that special someone, the end of awkward first dates and crying over month-long situationships I thought would progress. I thought that this was the start of me being the one announcing news of a new house, engagement, wedding or new baby, and not just clapping for everyone else. I laughed inside at all the times I thought it might never happen for me.

But almost as quickly as I had accepted this new reality, it was gone again. My relationship broke down, in a pretty brutal way. The new family I had just met and been welcomed into would no longer be mine.  All the promises of love, security and a future together lost all their meaning and I was forced to re-adapt to being on my own again.  

There's a difference between being alone and being lonely. And this time, the sadness that came with being alone was overwhelming. Everything felt heavy. For months, I didn’t feel like myself and I was just getting through each day, breaking down the second I was behind a door separating me from everyone else, whether it was the front door of my home or even the door to the bathroom at work. I couldn't quieten my mind to sleep or concentrate on work. When you're consumed by these negative feelings, it's difficult to imagine a time when things will be better. 

As I came to terms with the heaviness I was feeling (with a timely week in isolation after catching COVID and the help of the people closest to me who spent hours listening to my worries, asking questions on why I felt how I did and offering endless support and advice), I realised that my reaction to the breakup was much more than just that. The situation had made me aware of all the other weight I had been carrying around; all of the experiences I hadn't healed from and all the external pressures I had internalised. I started questioning why I wanted certain things so badly and why I was taking the loss of the potential of finally having them so hard. 

Even though we are largely unaware, our past experiences and exposures influence how we see things and there are so many external factors which shape our behaviours and perspectives on life. For me, struggles with my sense of belonging, my own family experiences and subsequent obsession with creating a 'conventional family' to overcome  my own challenges, and my preoccupations with achieving certain things by a certain age, had warped my reasons for even wanting a relationship in the first place. I had come to think that having a partner and my own family would affirm my belonging and worth; as I said before, that this would 'make things better'.  

The pressure that comes with being a woman nearing your 30s also played a huge role.  This patriarchal society teaches us that we are somewhat 'devalued' as women after the age of 30; that our attractiveness, likelihood of being desired and ability to bear children will inevitably decline. As women, we are taught that having children is necessary to affirm our existence and give us purpose. For us, being single and having children are topics which go hand in hand. 

A few months ago, a report was released stating that for first time ever, half of all women aged 30 in the UK are childless. Times have changed. More women are choosing to have children later or not having children at all.  I would love to say that the reason for this is largely due to the increase in career, travel and the many other options out there which don't just involve becoming a wife or mother, but as well as the increasing cost of living in this country and sometimes depressing state of the world, I think a huge factor that has been neglected in this conversation has been the fact that it's just so difficult to find someone to have a child with. When I look at the strong, intelligent, kind, beautiful, career-driven and financially-independent women around me who are currently single or have not yet had a child, the inability to find a good-enough partner seems to be the most plausible explanation. Although this seems a bit man-hater-ish, it's true! (Obviously we also can't ignore the myriad health and fertility issues which we are often insensitive to in these conversations and I'm also clearly not talking about those women who have no desire to be in a heterosexual relationship and/or have children).

Men have the choice to be ambivalent on this topic. The difference in the fears and anxieties of my female friends who are turning 30, compared to the complete nonchalance of my male friends is stark. There are no external pressures for men to 'settle down' or have children by a certain age (although sometimes there are familial/cultural expectations) and generally speaking, having a life-partner or children doesn't shape their worth in the same way it does for women.  From my experience at least, a lot of men of the same age bracket appear reluctant to settle down and are pre-occupied with the notion that they must have everything in order before they can move onto this next step. 

My friends and I recently laughed (to stop ourselves from crying) over the apparent impossibility of finding a partner meeting our main criteria - deciding which areas we were willing to lose (FYI - emotional intelligence, care, respect and maturity were non-negotiable - but also seemed to be the areas most difficult to find). But why should we?? Let's not lie, dating is emotionally draining and for me, has involved a stream of men who come into my life and say all the right things which I later realise they did not actually mean or were unable to commit, due to their own immaturity or internal struggles. We have normalised the process of intensely (maybe falsely?) knowing someone we've probably met online, becoming involved in a situation which gradually fizzles out, ends suddenly or without any real explanation - yet every time we pull ourselves back together and log back onto our dating app of choice for more. There is something so important about finding a romantic partner that no matter the intensity of the heartbreak, we are always willing to risk it again.  

In All About Love, bell hooks questions why we prioritise romantic love over platonic love - asking why romantic relationships always take precedence. We accept things in romantic relationships that we wouldn't accept from friends and we almost immediately prioritise communication and time spent with a romantic partner than we do with our friends and family who have proven their love for us over years, sometimes our whole lives. We quickly show romantic partners our most intimate selves and expect them to understand us completely and serve all areas of our lives. Hooks also states that "It is more fulfilling to live one's life within a circle of love, interacting with loved ones to whom we are committed...to love well is to task all the meaningful relationships, not just romantic ones". Going back to the question I started with - it would've been weird if I had answered with what was really in my head and told her about all the other great people I have in my life, instead of addressing that one specific role she was enquiring about. But why? Why do we question those who don't fit into the outdated norms of what is expected of women? Why do we feel the need to ask single people if they have yet managed to find someone? Why do we start questioning reasons why people might be single - ultimately considering their sexuality or other 'issues' that might explain their status (i.e. they're too obsessed with their career)? Why do we feel like others' romantic love lives are any of our business and why don't we ever ask about other forms of love in their life, or even their general wellbeing and happiness?

So this year, my New Years resolution came a little late. In March I sat down and  decided to be intentional about the change I wanted to introduce in my life. This year I am prioritising self-love, self-care and self-compassion. I am valuing the many forms of love that surround me, without placing undue emphasis on romantic love. Instead of living life thinking 'if I can just get x, y, z - I'll be good', I am practising gratitude daily for everything I already have and how good things already are. I am dedicating time to my wellness, focusing on my mental and not only physical health; this has included investing in the process of working through some of the 'weight' I had been carrying and letting things go through therapy. What is not processed is not healed and maybe it's true that 'everything happens for a reason', because I genuinely feel happier now than I did before, after letting go of that baggage and re-assessing my thoughts and perspectives. As Erykah Badu says in Bag Lady - "I guess nobody ever told you, all you must hold on to, is you". Many people love themselves through the process of being loved by another, but knowing yourself, doing the work to process and let go of troubles, insecurities and negative experiences,  not comparing yourself to others, creating boundaries, self-care, rest and enjoyment is the start of truly loving yourself. 

I am lucky enough to be surrounded by a circle of people who love me, care for me and support me, and who I show a mutual commitment to. These relationships are as fulfilling as any romantic relationship could ever be and they mean just as much. If someone comes along who adds more to my life than I already have, who elevates the already fulfilling and affirming relationships I have and who provides a genuine improvement to the comfort and happiness I gain from spending time alone or with loved ones, then great - but until that, and even without that, I'm good. 

I have the most incredible Mum and hope that one day, I will have the opportunity to live up to the mothering skills she has shown to me. But I don't have to be dependent on finding a partner to do that; it's 2022 and there many options I can explore to become a parent or caregiver, if and when that time comes. 

So now, I am 'alone' but I am most definitely not lonely. Yes, I am single and despite the fact that I can see the big 3-0 on the horizon, I am no longer pressuring myself to find someone or have children by a certain age. There's nothing wrong with me. I am surrounded by a circle of amazing friends and family, I am fulfilled through my work and all the other things I do for myself and others.  I don't need to make things any better, because they are already pretty great. I am enough and I have enough.