Originally published October 2022.
I woke up yesterday and took up as much space in my bed as I wanted while giving my limbs a good morning stretch. I watched the sun rise through the shifting light in the window and dicked around on TikTok for awhile. When I finally sat upright, hair akimbo, I realized I had the entire day ahead of me completely free of plans, obligations, or to-do list items more pressing than folding some towels. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a moment to appreciate the freedom and optimism of something like that. But I have plenty of memories in fear of it.
As single women, we’re not groomed to see them as free days. We’re groomed to see them as empty days. I have such clear pictures of Friday afternoons in shame and disappointment, realizing I had no plans for the weekend ahead. How embarrassing! And let’s be clear about why it’s embarrassing: I didn’t fear the calm of relaxing days spent alone, I feared the reflection of an empty calendar. No plans means no one wants you. It took years and probably hundreds of guided meditations to change my perspective on plans-less time, but we get where we’re going eventually. One day it became less about feeling wanted (or not) by others, and more about recognizing what I actually want for myself, and why. A day with nothing can morph from a failure to a goldmine, with no shift whatsoever to external factors. The only thing that has changed is your mind.
Is it shocking that clear patches of time can cause single women anxiety? Not to me. I was led to believe, even before dating and “finding someone” became my responsibility as a single woman, that having nothing to do is lazy, shameful, and a waste of time. Time should be productively spent! Chores, preparations, earning money, doing for others—that’s all you have any business doing, little girl! Pleasure, comforts, enjoyment of one’s own actual life? How utterly selfish. What do you think you were born for, you? Heavens no. You’re here to make other people happy and put yourself last, that’s how you receive praise and love in this life. All anything else will get you is shame. I don’t wonder why I gave so much of my life to the search for someone else. It’s actually a miracle that I’m not still doing it.
Sometimes I think the world likes single women to keep busy so that we don’t have time to notice how fucking fantastic nothing feels. It’s your nothing. It’s your brand of free and open space, your customized agenda, all led by your desires and the things that bring you pleasure, completely void of the pressure to explain yourself. There is no compromise, no defending your position, no harried need to bring someone on board with your ideas and needs. Your ideal day as a single woman doesn’t have to please anyone else. What a concept.
I didn’t do nothing. I went to the grocery store and bought baking supplies, then made the best batch of cookies that’s ever gone into my freezer in pre-rolled ball format. (I made three for myself and froze the rest for my Halloween party. Work smarter, not harder, kids.) I listened to my spooky music mix the entire time. Then I tried to make something with an acorn squash I impulse purchased a week ago while I was in my autumnal feelings but it didn’t taste very good and it hurt my stomach. Instead of forcing myself to eat it because I don’t matter as much as not “wasting” food, I let go of any shame of prioritizing my own comfort and tossed an entire squash flatbread in the trash. I burned some incense I bought at a local arts event earlier in the week. I fired up the ol’ hot glue gun and made a very fun costume headpiece I’ll wear to one of several seasonal events I plan to attend and/or host in October. Then I watched a scary movie (two actually), poured a glass of white wine (two actually), had some spicy noodles and went to bed early in anticipation of a productive week. It was as close to a perfect day as I can remember.
Here’s what I didn’t do: I didn’t use a cesspool dating app to try to find the love of my life. I didn’t go on a date that disappointed me, even with my expectations already beneath the soil. I didn’t remark on or even notice the absence of a romantic partner in my home, because my home is genuinely not missing anything when it is full of me.
You already know what I was supposed to do, if we’re to believe the single woman narratives fed to us: I was supposed to wake up next to whoever I’d been on a date with the night before, then make them breakfast if I was trying to demonstrate my value as a partner. After they left I was supposed to get back on those apps to search for more potential partners, just in case this one ghosts like so many have before him. After that I was supposed to look around at my sad, empty day and empty house and be sad, sitting on my couch under a blanket, crying into ice cream even though I’m lactose intolerant and molting into spinsterhood one eyelash at a time.
They were lying. All the tropes, the cautionary tales, the generational fear-mongering about single women. An entire human species dedicated to telling little girls “you don’t want to end up like her.” Girl. End up like me! I’m having fun here! I’m celebrating my quirks (personality traits) and my weirdness (personal preferences) and customizing my life to feed my soul rather than constantly living in a state of pleasing other people. I don’t live my life looking around to make sure everyone other than me is happy at the cost of whatever makes me happy. I have done the thing they tell us not to do: I’ve centered myself, and I’ve learned that the shame of selfishness that I’m supposed to fear and avoid never shows up in the first place. Selfishness isn’t shameful. Selfish is just another word for not believing other people’s shit anymore.
It was a lie. The idea that a single woman living alone is sad, pathetic, and wrong is a complete piece of fiction that’s been misguiding women into fear for decades on end. I didn’t see or speak to a human soul yesterday and yet somehow my day was blissfully full and satisfying. They pull the wool of singlehood shame over our eyes with the weight of how good it must feel to be desired. They teach us to reject the lightness and joy that can come from the contented desire of ourselves. Being desired by a partner is the best thing ever, pursuit it! Even at the cost of your own sanity! Nothing matters more than feeling wanted, we promise! You can let that go like a helium balloon any time you like. The world won’t end afterward, just the opposite really.
Don’t wait until you’re partnered to take notice of how good it can feel to be alone. Don’t live for their business trips or weekends away with “the boys” just so you can have “time to yourself.” What the fuck is that? Why do we as women view our solitude as secondarily important, achievable only when given permission by the preoccupation of everyone else in our lives? Why do we keep thinking it’s okay to come in last? Claiming the things that satisfy our very valid needs isn’t selfish when you are a whole human self worthy of the comforts and benefits you so readily believe others deserve. The world doesn’t matter more than you. You don’t have to earn your place here. You don’t have to move through life as though you owe it something.
I disagree with the idea that the only way to appreciate what you have is to experience its exact opposite. I don’t think I need a contrasting shittier scenario to appreciate the present moment. There’s no way I’m waiting until I’m married to enjoy being by myself. It’s possible to know something in the absence of reminders of what could be instead.
My ideal day as a single woman had nothing to do with other people, despite of lifetime of being taught that alone equals loneliness, sadness, or failure. Time spent in complete customization and gentle self care, it’s a gift—one we’ve been taught to fear as if it’s really just a consolation prize. I looked around yesterday and didn’t feel like my life was a settled-for version. Instead, I felt nothing but gratitude and peace. It might seem small to someone who has never felt the shame and fear that singlehood is so often sold with, but for those of us who are learning to shed the narratives that never served us, and never told the truth, it’s actually pretty monumental to spend a day at home.
