*Edit: This blog was written from my single self-perspective. While my man is the most beautiful human on this planet, I have complete confidence in women and believe that choosing to be single is a very viable life choice, so I hope you enjoyed the rants of my single self.
“Don’t worry,” they tell you, “you’ll meet the right one.” “They’re right around the corner,” they tell you. From the age of 13, I became obsessed with the show Sex and the City. Seeing a little of each character in myself: Carry’s neuroticism, Miranda’s sarcasm, Samantha’s out the gate sexuality, and then there’s Charlotte, the eternal love optimist! “I’ve been dating since I was 15, I’m exhausted, where is he!?” To my 13-year-old self, I wasn’t particularly bothered, thinking yeah, I’d get around to it, meet the “right one” if you will. 20 years on from that, a divorce and a string of diabolically busted up relationships later, I began to feel my inner Charlotte thinking, ok the joke’s up now, loudly followed by my inner Miranda telling me the joke will never be up.
In my life, I like to consider myself a pretty open person. I have dated men, women, couples even, so you could say I am pretty well-rounded. When it comes to relationships, we make decisions based on (sometimes) temporary impulses that we rationalise through passion; else, we settle for a complete lack of passion (but essentially, you’re dating/married to your best friend). A friend once said to me, a sexless relationship is the equivalent of owning a Ferrari but crawling to work because you can’t be bothered finding the keys. This brought me to pondering the logic behind arranged marriages, or why those of us who got married so quickly when they all said “they’re crazy,” make it last, yet those of us who make “informed rational choices,” and marry the “one we love,” find we’ve actually made a complete and utter 💩 sandwich of a decision.
Being a woman of psychology, I have analysed the heck out of my relationships, and my thoughts around myself and those relationships. I can tell you why each and every one failed. Some my fault, others, a shambolic mess of mutual dysfunction. But the outcome? Always the same: they end. Every time. I’ve delved into studies of high-achieving women and research on longevity, and a trend emerges—those who appear happiest and least stressed? Often the ones who remained single, no kids and skipped the traditional path altogether. Colour me cynical but I’m beginning to wonder if there is any point to dating or getting married if it’s all going to end in tears, disaster and valium (along with the possibility of having half your 💩 taken).
You invest so much time, energy, soul, and yourself into these relationships and be it 7 years (my longest) to 1 month (don’t laugh), you put so much into it and for what, anxiety, tears, and liver problems due to alcohol consumption. I really feel I’m at a point of indifference, whereby yes, I see some benefits to a relationship, but is the allure of cheaper rent, and possible frequent (if you’re lucky) and decent (if you’re really lucky) sex, worth losing yourself for? cause, I don’t know about you, but every busted up relationship has chipped a little more away at me to the point I’m pretty sure I can’t afford to lose anymore.
So, off with ya, Charlotte, I’m 35 and “he” probably doesn’t exist! … What’s next? Read “Go it alone” for the instalment about donors and taking your fertility into your own hands, if that is the path you choose.
