GirlBossed Too Close to the Sun: Why I’m Probably Going to be Single Forever

A cautionary tale about healing: authenticity is a worthy ideal, but it will make you very unpopular at parties. 

The more comfortable I become with myself, the more uncomfortable I seem to make others (I’m leaning into it harder than necessary, tbh.) After a lifetime of making other people comfortable at the cost of my own well-being, I’ve developed the surprising habit of saying uncomfortably honest things in any and all company: just letting ‘er rip. That’s what happens when you really get healed: small talk becomes exhausting.

My brilliant friend Robert, who is an expert in this sort of thing, says this is one of my superpowers: my ability to go emotionally deep with people very quickly. I’ve always been this way. In the wrong rooms, it made me the weirdo (in fairness, I already skew kooky). But in the right rooms and here, the right life, those deep conversations and connections are where I feel most alive. Showing up in all my real-ness, being willing to tell the truth and sit with people in the hard stuff…man, that lights me up. So I'd love for this to be a post about how I've become fearless, and without hang ups or insecurities.

I’m not that healed. 

Michael B. Beckwith calls them our thorns; the things that make us feel vulnerable or defensive; those tender, painful places in us people brush up against unknowingly. Mine is loneliness.  

Uggghhh. Can you actually feel my discomfort through the screen?

Somewhere along the line, I learned to associate this normal, expected part of the human experience with weakness. And I haven’t been able to undo it. 

Lonely? Pffft. I am never lonely. I don’t need anyone. I am bulletproof; a lone wolf. I am Main Character Energy (I’m Phoebe Buffay, but still…)

One of my fundamental beliefs is that I am not supposed to need anything from anyone. My childhood taught me I could not trust that my needs would be met, even when the people who loved me were well-intentioned. My marriage taught me that having needs led to abandonment. Now, despite all the work I've done to become an otherwise emotionally healthy, stable, grounded adult, I would rather die than admit that sometimes I don’t want to be alone. So today I’m going to write about it and tell the world. Therapy did this to me, and I’m really having some mixed feelings about it.

I am no stranger to loneliness; my ability to brave it is my badge of honor - the hallmark of my hero's journey. I have faced the darkest part of the night alone, more than once, writhing in what Pema Chodron calls the “hot loneliness.” I have nearly drowned, fathoms deep, in grief and lived to tell about it. My heart and mind both bear permanent scars from heartache, fear, sorrow, and not only did I keep walking through it all, I did it while carrying a grown man on my back (it reminds me of that famous quote from Ann Richards: “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels.”) And so here at the top of the mountain, happier than I have ever been, looking down in awe at my climb, loneliness feels almost like an embarrassing gaffe; like summiting Everest only to realize I forgot my camera. 

I never thought I would like being single or love living by myself, but I do. I created this life thoughtfully and intentionally. I am at home in it. I move through each day noticing how perfectly it is designed, running my fingers along the edges like I would a fine piece of furniture. Everything about it suits me to a T. And yet sometimes I catch a glimpse of an empty, sun-filled corner, one I am certain was not there a year ago, and I think, “A man could go right there. He’d look perfect right there.” 

Just a year or so ago, I equated a man to a wrecking ball through the roof. But contrary to what the podcasters and pundits will tell you about intentionally single women, I do not hate men - or marriage, or partnership (although I’m not convinced marriage has any benefits for women; all I’ve been able to come up with so far is maybe monogrammed linens? It’s a short list). It’s just that, until recently, the idea of being in a relationship felt like having a pillow pressed against my face. 

I was…disinclined to it. 

Recently I found myself passionately extolling the virtues of homemade aioli to my friend who hates mayonnaise; I was trying to explain to her how different they really are, and what happens when the ingredients are handled with care, and how she has to stop confusing aioli with jarred mayonnaise because they are not the same (I said my conversations were authentic now, I didn’t say they were interesting.) After listening patiently, she set down her wineglass, looked me in the eye and said, “This is how I feel when you say you don’t want a partner in your life.” 

Damn, diva. Took me at my word when I said I wanted real. Okay, I see you. 

So, okay. Fine. Healthy, happy relationships are an abstract concept to me. And it’s hard to want things we don’t understand or can’t imagine. But perhaps my friends (and my therapist, and my family) are right and maybe - and it’s still a very great maybe - I’d enjoy having a man in my life, provided the quality and execution were superior to what I’ve previously known. Aoili, not mayonnaise.

My marriage was far lonelier than my single life has ever been. And it’s not just me. Marriage is no guarantee of happiness. According to Psychology Today, about 1 in 6 married adults report feeling lonely, isolated, or disconnected within their intimate relationship. I’ve lost count of how many women I’ve watched grow lonely and sad waiting for a man to be better; to make them feel seen or loved. And it goes without saying that I’ve known some very lonely men (again, sorry; I continue to work on myself). And yet, single women are considered cautionary tales by men and media (though it’s been overwhelmingly my experience that we are congratulated and envied by other women). But because everything about being a woman is a confusing and exhausting dichotomy, I should never need a man, either; I should be an island unto myself: a pitiable, enviable, pillar of lonely, contented independence.

You guys, I’m so tired.

Netflix made a fantastic, deliciously watchable documentary about Martha Stewart. It was fasincating and inspiring for a million reasons, but this line hit me hardest: “Martha expected to always be married. She was embarrassed by it [her divorce].”

I feel you, Queen. 

Also…whaaaaaat?

With everything she’d accomplished to that point - and it was a lot - she was embarrassed to be divorced. Not just divorced, but divorced from a man who'd had an affair with her assistant and friend on her own property, no less.

I have felt the same shame and embarrassment; the same fear of how the world would view my divorce. Which is wild because leaving that marriage is the decision of which I’m perhaps most proud. It’s only Western culture that judges the success of a marriage by its longevity, not its happiness.

Women are judged not by their strengths and achievements but by their softness, and their tethers (mother, wife, daughter, caregiver…). We forget that softness is a privilege; soft women can only exist in the presence of safe men. 

I am not a soft woman. To tell the truth, I don’t really know how to be. It has never been safe for me. Perhaps that’s why I find weakness in women so contemptible; I can’t seem to separate the two. And I would rather be lonely than weak any day. 

Whether it’s because of the ways my partner failed me, or because this is simply how I am, I have always needed other women more than I ever needed a man. It was women who found me in my grief and carried me back to the surface, to the air and light. It was women who lifted me when I could not stand, who held me up so I could hold up my children, who fed me on their strength, healed me through laughter and joy so I had them to give to my children. It was women who gave me safety, who created the feeling of home for me; women to whom I turned in fright, in fury, and in celebration. Women are the reason I was able to survive that marriage as long as I did. 

The Red Pill men will tell you that this reliance on my friendships (plus all this raging feminism and independence) is why I’m still single; an insurmountable hurdle in the race to the altar (a race I will never win because I am on the sidelines in high heels eating girl dinner). It’s hard to imagine that when I look around at them: the people who are my community and my family, as I try to raise healthy, happy children without the support of an emotionally available co-parent. My resilience and my tribe are what saved me. After my children, they are what I treasure most. That it is not otherwise speaks solely to the failures of men. 

Either way, here I am. And here, perhaps, I will stay. 

There is no obvious “reason” for me to be single if I don’t want to be. As wary as I am of legally formalized partnership and the system it upholds, I am not broken, or “bitter.” I am beautiful. I am smart (although this is a tricky one; smart is as great a deterrent to the wrong men as it is a virtue to the right ones.) I am funny and fun. I am loving. Affectionate. If I wanted one, I could have a man much the same way my suburban neighbors all have golf carts despite living in tract housing: because they can. 

So why don’t I? 

“As iron sharpens iron, one person sharpens another.” - Proverbs 27:17

I am made of iron; forged in the flames. A soft man will never be enough for me. But it’s not just my romantic relationships; the ability to strengthen and sharpen each other is my expectation of every relationship in my life. I do not need companionship; I have it in spades. I am available only to someone capable and willing to build with me. If we don’t inspire one another, push each other, help each other, I am uninterested. I am not sitting next to you on a barstool (unless we’re waiting for a table), or slowing down because you can’t keep up (also, if your therapy bill doesn’t look like mine, you’ll need to fill out quite a lengthy questionnaire.) I will not disrupt my life or bring anything less into my children’s lives than the kind of person and the kind of dynamic I’d want them to emulate. Nor would I respect a man who didn’t move the same way. 

And hey, I get it: I’m also a difficult product to market. I’m tall, I make a lot of money, and I talk back. I’m not for everyone. And that’s okay. My life is also extremely full. (When I announced recently that I might be ready to start dating, Stacy said, “Al…where the hell are you going to put him?” Fair question.)

And while it should go without saying that I can spot an angry man, a “victim”, an emotionally unavailable, emotionally abusive, or substance-abusing man at twenty paces, what I find most challenging - and most uncomfortable - is that most men don’t really seem to see me. Time and again, I find that men want to hold me like I am the answer; I am not the answer. I am a person. Men who find me pretty and sympathetic are sure they’ve found the woman they’re looking for. But they don’t really want me. They want another big dose of how I make them feel. I’ve already lived that relationship. My love is not meant to be squandered redirecting careless grown men toward their glory.

And then there are my children. 

There has never been a question in my mind that remaining single was better for my children. Those children have been through so much. Introducing more change in those first post-divorce years? Unthinkable. I have been committed to staying single first and foremost because I wanted them to have stability; to have a mother who was fully present, whole, healed, and healthy, and I wanted to provide them the same opportunity. I believe it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It’s a controversial opinion, no doubt, but when it comes to dating after divorce, I believe that parents should be single for a long, long time.* There are many reasons, not least of which is that one of the greatest predictors of abuse (physical, sexual, and emotional), substance use, and academic and behavioral problems in children and teens is the presence of a step-parent or romantic partner in the home. It is a widely accepted fact in social work and criminal justice circles that predatory men seek out women with children. Specifically, they choose moderately attractive, man-centered women: the type of woman who cannot or will not be without a man in her life. 

Go ahead and guess why - and what that does to children. 

I am not man-centered, we’ve established that (I fear perhaps too emphatically.) And I fully trust myself to choose a healthy partner when the time comes. But time itself is the other factor that has kept me single. The time we have with our children is so short. My eldest is about to leave the nest, and the last five years traveling together, laughing together, just lying on the couch together, the three of us, have been precious beyond words. I am so grateful I did not give away a moment of it. Beyond wanting to create stability and minimize the risks to their health and happiness, I simply didn’t want to share them. I am more certain than ever that it has been the right decision. 

But now that we are here, now that they are older, and we are all healthy, happy, and whole, could the presence of a really good man be a benefit to them? Could it - long shot, but dare to dream - perhaps even fill some of the cracks and holes created by their father? I don’t daydream about romance. I think about what it would mean to my son to have a strong male role model and a good man actively participating in his life and looking out for him (as of this writing, Aunt Stacy is the closest thing he has to that, and honestly, she’s kind of killing it; she even tries to throw him off the tube when she tows him behind the boat.) I think about those things, and they relieve some of the fear I have around our future as a family, and how I’d merge someone into our lives. Glimmers of hope; of possibility. 

Because there are wonderful men in our lives, I’ve made sure of it. Good, kind, nurturing, smart, energetic, funny men of ethics and integrity. Men who are wonderful fathers and loving, devoted partners. They are my family, my friends, my neighbors (even the golf cart owners). They remind me of the good in all men, and emphasize for me the tremendous disservice we’ve done men as a whole; patriarchy has harmed men just as much as it has women, and left them far lonelier. Where patriarchy has tried to wrest the power and autonomy from women, sought to diminish our gifts and contributions, it has stripped men of community, emotion, intimacy, empathy: the truest and greatest elements of our humanity. Perhaps it is why so many men want to hold women like we are the answer. Perhaps it’s why so many want to hurt us. 

But alas, someone - I think it was Joe Rogan - said I am not allowed to denounce the failings of men or society or rail against the patriarchy and also say that I respect men or want one in my life. I should probably just delete this whole post. My head is going to get so big my handmaid veil won’t fit. 

Maybe it’s true, and I have grown too independent to easily meld my life with another. I’m not sure there’s anything wrong with that. It’s not my autonomy I fear losing; it’s my peace. 

From the day I decided to leave my marriage until this very moment, sitting here typing these words, I have not had a moment’s grief or heartbreak for the end of that romantic relationship. Losing my family? Seeing my children’s lives blown apart? Brutal. Almost beyond endurance. But the breakup? No. I fear going back in that cage more than I will ever fear a life alone outside it. Other than my need to protect my kids, it’s that fear that holds me back. I do not trust a man to come into my life and bring with him anything other than misery and chaos. But I want to.** 

There was a time when I feared I’d be alone forever. Which is kind of funny when you consider that the idea of being in a relationship simultaneously filled me with revulsion, but conditioning dies hard. That doesn’t scare me anymore. Instead, I wonder things like what city I’d like to move to, or how I can do better by my kids, or (let’s be honest) what I’m going to eat for dinner. 

If you’re willing to count work trips (and I am because my career takes me to cool places), I have taken more than 40 trips in the last five years. I got back in the gym. I started seeing 1:1 therapy clients again and started running my own therapy groups. I learned how to DIY around the house, how to care for a pool, and a hot tub. I changed jobs twice and found a professional home where I am appreciated and valued, working among people I admire and who mirror my values and work ethic. I have seen my children grow and flourish. I have laughed until I cried more times than I can count; happens all the time. I’ve read hundreds of books, typed over a million words, and been highly active (my Apple Watch says so.) I have learned to do things that once scared or overwhelmed me. I jumped out of an airplane for God’s sake. I wake up delighted in the morning, and go to bed grateful every night.

I don’t know what’s around the next corner, but I know it will be good because I will make it so, just as I have always done for myself and for my babies. And if that corner holds a partner to build with, to have adventures with, to inspire my kids and strengthen our sense of family, that’s amazing. If not, I’ve got it. I am my own soulmate, and I have somehow managed to have not just one or two, but at least a dozen platonic soulmates of worth and character and strength. 

I’m not sure it gets any better than that. But I’m willing to find out. 

_____________________________________________________________

*Obviously, there are exceptions, but I said what I said. And if you feel the need to loudly and vehemently argue why you are the exception, cool. I love that you have the courage of your convictions. But that’s between you, your God, your co-parent, and the civic institutions that oversee children’s safety and legally binding custodial agreements. Tell them.  

**Do not DM me. Do not DM me. DO NOT DM ME.