Telling people you are single is more frustrating than being single itself. I am not a serial or casual dater. After my ex and I cut contact, I vouched to spend one year: 2020, dedicated to falling in love with myself again. After one year, I am open to falling in love again, but this time in my life is all about me. In order for me to date someone, it has to feel right. Despite how it turned out with my ex, he was the only man I was sure about. He was “the one.” Being back into the dating force is weird, only because I never thought I’d be and I don’t want to date anybody.
I now have somewhat of a social life outside of my former life. The number one question I get is: Are you dating? Every time I say no, I am met with confusion. It’s the most awkward thing. When I tell people, “I am doing a year of singleness”, I might as well have told people that I was becoming a nun and dedicating my life to celibacy. Everyone questions whether or not this has any real purpose in my life.
There are so any reasons why I am advocating for a year of singleness. When I met my ex, we used to have conversations about needing versus wanting someone and how we should heal before entering in relationships. I had this philosophy before it was a trend.
I was afraid of entering a relationship with someone who projected the past onto me. I had no previous relationships and I had done work to recognize and work on my past pain. My ex hadn’t started that part of his healing journey yet, and our relationship was destroyed because of it.
I had been through a lot because of that relationship and it has changed my sense of self, outlook on love, trust in people, and has created a lot of fear. When I think about what transpired up until the day we stopped talking, I get an overwhelming sense of anxiety. I’ve accepted what happened, but I am shocked, horrified, confused, and frustrated. While much less than I used to, I still ask myself, “Did he actually really love me or was my relationship was one big joke?”
I cannot imagine myself jumping into another relationship unless I have sifted through the layers of that first relationship. Keep in context, I believed that I would spend the rest of my life with him, so I spent the last three (almost four) years of my life dedicated to building that relationship. I did everything possible in my power to save it.
It became clear to me about two years into the relationship that I experienced a great deal of trauma and it took its toll. I remember in the middle of arguments, my body used to shut down, and I couldn’t talk. Whenever I tried to open my mouth, I would stall. It wasn’t on purpose, but I learned that I coped with traumatic experiences by numbing myself and shutting down. It was my body’s way of protecting myself from the pain.
At the end of my relationship, after being subjected for so long, I was enraged. I knew I wasn’t thinking straight and I was suffering from PTSD of some sort. I was under constant distress.
By the end of my relationship, I wasn’t myself. I had been working for some time to get back, but I also knew that my leaving the relationship didn’t end the attachment I had to my ex. It also didn’t cure what I experienced, or the triggers it brought upon my healing journey. All it did was finally put me in a space where I could just focus on me and my pain, and finally begin to pick up the pieces.
So here I am, picking up the pieces. I’m giving myself space, after almost four years of shattering, to rebuild. Until my days are stable, I won’t be in another relationship. Some days, I feel withdrawn, some days, I’m ready to take on the world and love again. I know I am going through the ebbs and flows of healing, and I am okay with that. Around January of this year, I finally hit a stride and began to truly accept my journey for what it was, though I am not yet near where I want to be.
Giving myself space has been amazing! I am progressing and truthfully healing. I am happier than I have ever been, less self-conscious, more authentic, more open, less angry, and more forgiving. I appreciate and understand boundaries, and I don’t feel like a burden by asking for my needs to be met and setting expectations.
If I spent 25 years of my life building me with the tools I had, almost four years in a relationship hoping to spend the rest of my life with someone, I can dedicate one year of my life to falling in love with myself, heal and recover from the relationship, break the attachment, and become a better person. I have new tools, and I am building a stronger, healthier foundation with them.
So I don’t want any more questions about my year of singleness okay? It’s necessary and it doesn’t feel like torture to me. When it’s time for me to marry the man of God that God has for me, I’ll be ready to love with every ounce in me, without fear, doubt, frustration, self-sacrificing, or confusion.
This Girl's Worth 