At the age of 50, I thought my relationship status would be completely different from what I’m navigating right now.
When I was younger, I just knew that by this age I would be settled. I thought I would have a husband, a best friend, somebody to laugh with at the end of a long day, somebody to sit with at family cookouts, holiday dinners, and random Tuesday nights when life feels heavy.
I thought I would have somebody who chose me in a way that felt safe, clear, and consistent.
Instead, here I am.
Still single.
Still trying to make sense of over 25 years of dating, disappointment, false starts, almost-love, breadcrumbing, confusion, bad timing, red flags, I must admit, I ignored, people who wanted my body but not my heart, people who loved the idea of me but not the responsibility of loving me the right way.
And if I’m being honest, I’m tired.
Not bitter. Not angry.
Just tired.
I know people love to tell women like me to stay positive, love ourselves, travel, buy ourselves flowers, take ourselves out, practice gratitude, pour into ourselves, and trust that love will happen when we least expect it.
And listen, I believe in all of that.
I believe in self-love.
I believe in healing.
I believe in becoming whole.
I believe in not centering your life around a relationship.
I have a whole YouTube channel on dating yourself & loving yourself in the process,
But I also think two things can be true at the same time.
I can love myself deeply and still wonder why I haven’t been loved the way I deserve.
I can be grateful for my life and still feel sad when I come home to an empty house.
I can be strong, independent, accomplished, self-aware, healed, emotionally available, and still feel the ache of not having somebody to share life with.
People act like loneliness is something you’re supposed to outgrow if you love yourself enough.
I don’t think that’s true.
I think some of us genuinely desire partnership.
Not because we’re desperate.
Not because we’re incomplete.
But because we’re human.
And after a while, it starts to wear on you.
Especially when you look around and realize you are one of the few women in your peer group who is still single.
All of my first cousins are married or in relationships.
Most of my friends have somebody.
Even if their relationships are not perfect, they still have somebody to call, somebody to vent to, somebody to split life with.
Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to figure out if I’m ever going to experience that kind of love for myself.
And before anybody says it, yes, I know being single is better than being in a bad relationship.
I’ve known that my entire adulthood.
I know some people are married and miserable.
I know some people stay because they’re afraid to leave.
I know some people who are carrying entire relationships on their backs while pretending they’re happy on social media.
I know all of that.
But knowing that doesn’t erase the fact that I deserve something real.
Not the misery.
Not the settling.
Not the fake smiles.
I want the real thing.
The kind of love where somebody sees you, chooses you, protects your heart, and makes you feel like you do not have to beg for consistency.
The kind of love where you are not confused.
Where you are not overthinking every text message.
Where you are not wondering why somebody can spend hours with you in private but refuses to claim you in public.
Where you are not constantly asking yourself, “If he says he loves me, then why does this feel so lonely?”
I’ve spent too many years trying to decode mixed signals.
Trying to understand emotionally unavailable men.
Trying to convince myself that crumbs were enough because at least it was something.
Trying to act unbothered when I was absolutely bothered.
Trying to be the cool woman.
Trying not to ask for too much.
Trying not to come off needy.
Trying not to scare people away by wanting clarity, honesty, effort, and intention.
And maybe that’s part of the problem.
Maybe too many of us have been conditioned to act like we do not need much when deep down we need what everybody needs: love, safety, consistency, affection, honesty, and reciprocity.
I have a heart of gold.
I really do.
And sometimes I wonder if that’s my problem.
Sometimes I wonder if I give too much, care too much, forgive too much, stay too long, hope too hard.
Sometimes I wonder if people see my softness and mistake it for weakness.
Sometimes I wonder if I keep ending up in these situations, because I believe people can become who they said they were going to be, instead of accepting who they have shown me they are.
That is a painful truth to sit with.
Because when you are a loving person, you always want to believe there is more underneath the surface.
You want to believe people mean well.
You want to believe that if you just love them enough, communicate enough, support them enough, wait long enough, they will eventually show up the way you need them to.
But some people never do.
And that is heartbreaking.
So maybe love and relationships are just not for me. Or maybe the version of love I’ve experienced just has not been for me. Maybe I am finally getting to the place where I would rather be alone than keep accepting half-love. Maybe I am finally learning that loneliness in solitude feels better than loneliness in a relationship.
I know one thing for sure… being wanted is not the same thing as being valued.
And maybe that is where the healing begins.
Not in pretending I do not care.
Not in acting like it never mattered.
Not in telling myself I am fine when I am not.
But in telling the truth.
The truth is, this hurts… I wanted more.
And if it never happens for me, I am going to have to find a way to make peace with that.
But until then, I’m allowed to grieve the love I thought I would have by now.
I’m allowed to admit that, sometimes, being strong gets exhausting.
I’m allowed to say that I’m disappointed.
And I’m allowed to stop pretending that self-love completely replaces the desire to be loved by somebody else.
Because it doesn’t.
It helps, but it doesn’t replace it.
And I know I’m not the only woman who feels this way.
At the same time, I also know my life is not over just because I do not have companionship.
There is still so much left for me to build, experience, create, and become.
I am learning that while love may not be showing up for me in the way I hoped, there are still other parts of my life asking for my attention.
My healing.
My peace.
My purpose.
My business.
My writing.
My yoga journey.
There is something beautiful about realizing that even if one part of your life feels empty, the rest of your life does not have to stay empty too.
I still have goals.
I still have dreams.
I still have things I want to do that have nothing to do with waiting around for somebody to love me.
I want to build my yoga career.
I want to create spaces where people can breathe, soften, release, and feel safe in their own bodies.
I want to teach restorative yoga in a way that helps people heal emotionally, mentally, and physically.
I want to write more.
I want to keep sharing the parts of myself that other women are afraid to say out loud.
I want to grow my platform.
I want to travel.
I want to laugh more.
I want to take myself out without feeling guilty about it.
I want to romanticize my own life.
I want fresh flowers in my house because I bought them for myself.
I want good candles, soft blankets, peaceful mornings, and music playing while I clean my kitchen.
I want more moments where I feel genuinely excited about my own life.
Because maybe that is what this season is really about.
Maybe this season is not just about grieving what I do not have.
Maybe it is also about finally pouring into myself the way I have poured into everybody else.
And maybe one day love will find me.
But if it does not, I still want to be able to look back over my life and say I lived, I created joy, and I chose myself to love.
