With my friends, I’ll sometimes joke that I should add “professional third wheeler” to my resume because of my extensive experience tagging along with my friends and their boyfriends. Oddly enough, being the third wheel rarely bothered me—I was just grateful to be spending time with my friends and found comfort in my role as the offbeat middle party. I served a purpose; I knew them both well enough to provide insightful commentary when requested, and humorous side remarks when the tension was too thick. Knowing my best friend’s relationships so intimately from spending extended periods of time with them meant I could usually predict the heartbreak long before they could. I’ve learned it’s a lot easier to see things clearly when you’re standing on the sidelines looking in. Unfortunately, in my own “situationships,” the self-proclaimed “expertise” I afforded my friends fell short when it came to my own love life or lack thereof.
It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when I started telling people I never envisioned myself marrying or being a mother but for as long as I can remember this is the narrative I’ve stuck with. Recently, it’s dawned on me that my fear of feeling chained in a relationship has been so far-reaching that I’ve begun to internalize many of the stories I recited about my disinterest in romantic relationships. We can’t control how others perceive us, but we can control the extent to which we value their opinions.
I think I’d always known I wasn’t the kind of girl that guys pined after or had crushes on; I was loud, opinionated, and unafraid of confrontation. Even in elementary school, when the boys would tease me for being bossy or overly talkative, I thought that if I responded by being even more radically myself, they’d see that their words held no power over me. I was determined not to let them break me—so much so that my internal resentment towards the opposite sex became all-consuming. I was an angry woman, and the more they pointed this out, the angrier I got.
This anger served me well for a while—it helped me gain confidence in my autonomy and ability to confront instances of blatant misogyny. That being said, it’s also been a shortcoming in that I’ve allowed myself to hide behind my anger and hyper-independence because, while I could handle being called difficult, I couldn’t stand the idea of being perceived as needy or too clingy.
Unbeknownst at the time, I believe that my fierce independence and aversion to vulnerability were impacting not only my relationships with others but also my relationship with myself. I had so strongly prided myself on being the “strong” and “independent” woman who didn’t rely on a relationship for fulfillment that I was afraid of what my life would look like if I stopped letting these notions chain me.
Self-reflection allowed me to acknowledge the limitations my fear of being perceived as “too much” or “overly needy” was placing on my ability to experience genuine connections. I decided to challenge my inner narrative and consider how being single has influenced my life in positive ways.
One of the realizations I had was that, despite never experiencing a stereotypical “high school romance,” remaining single during my teenage years afforded me the time and energy to devote myself wholeheartedly to fostering female friendships that have taught me everything I know about love. Girlhood is such a raw and intimate part of any young woman’s life, and the experiences I had growing up with such a close group of girls were transformational in making me the person I am today. The moments we spent together, and the lessons we learned were irreplaceable and, to me, the true embodiment of what it means to love someone else.
Being single doesn’t equate to loneliness or inadequacy. Learning to be alone with yourself is one of the best lessons you’ll ever learn because the relationship you have with yourself is the longest and most valuable one you’ll experience in this lifetime. All of this goes to say that I truly do love being single because it has forced me to pay more attention to who I am, the traumas I’ve endured, and the ways they’ve followed me. It’s forced me to look inward and find companionship through my close female friendships and within myself. Now, rather than viewing singlehood as a sanctuary or defence mechanism, I’ve learned to embrace it wholeheartedly as an invaluable opportunity for self-discovery, reflection, and growth. I encourage you to do the same if you’re struggling with feeling alone this Valentine’s Day, because you just might end up finding yourself along the way.