Being Single

I almost titled this entry "Being Single Again," and then I realized that I'm not Single Again, I'm Single for the first time ever. I got married at 21. Graduated from college a semester later, started my career a few months after that. I never went through the process of becoming an adult on my own. I had always had a husband.

One thing I think most people do not consider when they are contemplating divorce is the fact that they just might be "alone" for the rest of their lives. Particularly for people who were married for many years, I think there is still a little thought in the back of their minds that "something better and more perfect will come along." I think many marriages end because one or the other spouse has already been tempted by "that something better." And when you are in an unhappy marriage, it is so easy to look around and think, "I can do better than this."

There is a reason why so many divorced people find themselves re-married again immediately. For some, it's because there was already "something brewing" before the divorce happened. For others, it's because the feelings of despair and failure propel them to prove that they can "do it right" with someone else (usually, the first person that comes along). This is also why second marriages have an even higher divorce rate than first marriages--people enter into them out of fear and desperation. My ex got re-married to a woman he had met online. They had only been seeing each other for 2 months when he proposed. They were married 3 months later.

I mocked them for this, especially when I learned that his wife had only been divorced for 1 month when she met him. They have been married for nearly 2 years now, but not without problems. I am still skeptical that it will work out, but I also know that my ex is very determined to prove that he can stay married. Maybe they will make it, maybe they won't. It's none of my business.

But, even though it's none of my business, it still impacts me. I, too, made the classic mistake of jumping into a new relationship immediately after the divorce. I told myself my situation was "different," because it was someone I had known and worked with for many years. I thought I "knew" him, and that because we had been "friends first," that it made my situation different.

It didn't.

It was doomed for failure, and I think I always had the sense that it was doomed from the very beginning. I wasn't in any rush to get married right away, but I still treated the relationship as though it would ultimately lead in that direction because that's the only kind of relationship I knew. I didn't know how to "just date." I didn't know how to NOT obsess over the status of the relationship. I didn't know how to just relax and let things be. I, just like my ex, desperately wanted--needed--to prove to the world that I could have a successful, happy, long-term relationship.

And I wound up getting burned--badly--because I wanted too much from someone who was not "the marrying type." I learned some very valuable lessons, though. Unfortunately, they were the kinds of lessons most women learn in their 20s. I learned that I was horribly naive. I learned that men will lie and tell you what they think (or know) you want to hear to get what they want. I learned that sex often has absolutely nothing to do with love. I learned that in my desperation to be with someone who was nothing like my ex, that I wound up with the other extreme, which was no picnic either.

I got my heart broken, and that breakup was far more traumatic and painful than my divorce. When a marriage ends, it generally isn't sudden. There's a long, steady decline, so that by the time the ax falls, both parties aren't really surprised. The hardest part of the divorce process at that point is figuring out how to divide up your lives and start living separate ones. And those new--but ill-fated--relationships are a good distraction that help you convince yourself that you are "moving on with your life." The truth is that you can't move on with your life until you come to terms with a life on your own. All the Self-Help Divorce Recovery books will tell you this. But, you, of course, think you are "different" because the new person you have is "so much better." Turns out that "new person" is just as flawed as everyone else, and probably sought you out exactly because he knew you would be "easy prey." And once he has gotten what he wanted and is "done" with you (probably because you start actually having some expectations of him), he will discard you like yesterday's news and move on to his next conquest.

These men are Predators, and they are EVERYWHERE.

So, I spent a year or so licking my wounds and feeling like a complete fool. And that's a good thing. It is good to recognize my own stupidity. It is good to be cynical and bitter. That cynicism will protect me from falling into the same trap.

Women, I think, are especially vulnerable to traps. We're conditioned to be wives and mothers. We are NOT conditioned to be single. It bothers me that my ex has found someone new that wanted to marry him. I haven't; therefore, it means I must be the one with the problem--the one who caused the marriage to fail. Nobody wants me, after all. And if a man approached me today and seemed interested, I know I would immediately start over-analyzing the relationship and evaluating its potential for "forever" instead of just taking things one day at a time and seeing where it would lead. I would--again--be doomed to rush into something that might not be good for me, just so I could prove to the world--and to myself--that I wasn't a completely dysfunctional screw-up incapable of making a relationship work.

After a few months of this self-defeating crap, I realized this line of thinking was NOT helping me to move on with my life. What I had to do was face--and accept--the possibility that I may just be "alone" for the rest of my life. That doesn't mean I am a failure. It means that I am smarter, wiser, and better than I was before. I am also older, fatter, and busier. I have primary custody of 2 kids that require my time and attention. My career has taken off, and I spend my non-working hours running errands and catching up on chores that I am too busy to take care of during the week. When my kids go to their dad's for the weekend, I learned to appreciate my "alone time," and I spend it doing solitary activities that I can't do with kids in tow. I started doing things for myself, by myself. I watch movies that my ex would never have watched with me. I go shopping and buy things for the house that my ex would never have liked. I put pink sheets on my bed. I eat chips and salsa and call it dinner. I spend 2 hours browsing in a bookstore. I painted my nightstands yellow. I realized that I prefer tea to coffee and packed up the coffee maker because I never use it anymore. I started making my life--and everything in it--mine and mine alone. And it's fun, and I like it that way.

Ialso recognize that I am alone partly because I no longer lead a lifestyle that is conducive to meeting single adults. It has nothing to do with my worth or value as a person. It has everything to do with my circumstances. I never go anywhere or do anything that would increase my likelihood of meeting men. I go to church. Single men do not go to church. Married people go to church. Divorced women go to church. Men do not go to church unless their wives make them. I have co-workers that are men, but it's never a good idea to date people you work with (and in my situation, most of the men I work with are either 15 years older than me or married). The internet option is unappealing because it's not a natural way of connecting with people. I'd be judged by "how I look" and there isn't a single man out there that represents himself truthfully or will "settle" for someone who is overweight and not particularly pretty. It doesn't matter how smart, funny, talented, successful, or kind I am. They say that is what they are looking for, but what they really want (especially if they are divorced) is a "Trophy Girlfriend"--one who doesn't have stretch marks and cellulite and thunder thighs like the ole wife had. They want the Male Fantasy, and they actually believe "she" is out there, so they'll exchange emails for awhile, maybe meet for coffee, and once they meet me in person and realize I am not Playboy Centerfold material, I never hear from them again. Reject, reject, reject. I don't need rejection--I need to be accepted for who I am and all my strengths. No one recognizes those strengths better than I do. That makes me my own best company.

I know there are plenty of "nice guys" still out there, but they are hard to find and hard to meet because, like me, they are busy being responsible parents and employees. Like me, on the weekend, they settle in, doing housework and yardwork, attending their kids' soccer games, catching up on a project at work. They aren't going to bars. And they are usually so discouraged by women, that they just don't even try anymore because they've dealt with too much rejection and disappointment in their past. They have accepted their "being alone" status because it's better than being hurt.

So, I guess that's where I am at now, 3 years since my divorce. I'm alone. I may very well be alone for the rest of my days, and that's okay. Because I would rather be alone than still married to my ex. I don't regret getting divorced. I don't want to be in a relationship that is wrong for me, just for the sake of being in a relationship. I call my own shots. I make my own choices. I spend my money how I want. It is GOOD to be in this place. I have my kids, I have my career, I have my family, and I have new friends. My life is full.

Yes, deep down, I would still like to meet a decent man someday. But that time will come when it comes. There is no sense in trying to force it. I don't want to be with a man who is wrong for me. I'd rather be alone than hurting. I'd rather be alone than wondering where I stand all the time. I'd rather be alone and doing things for myself than losing myself trying to be everything to a man who doesn't appreciate me.