Why being single makes me feel so insecure (and why I should probably be single for a while)

While I was travelling, I started drafting a blog on our generation's values. It was kind of like this social commentary on being 20-something in an inevitable world of social media and the toxic new '#goals' that we have thereupon laid out for our bright, bold lives. Unfortunately, that drafted piece spiralled into bitterness. See, I'm not usually a bitter person (and it actually really disheartened me when I realised what had become the basis of my writing) - but, something about the subject matter really hit a nerve with me. So I scrapped it, and I'm here instead writing about the emotions involved in the process.

The prior piece on our generation's values quite carelessly (hypocritically) criticised the seemingly consumption-driven, travel-fuelled, spontaneous lifestyles of my peers. It criticised them because I was angry. I was angry at my ex boyfriend for leaving me to 'better' his life with travel, new people and new opportunities. I was angry because in my own mind I could not even hold a light to the spectacular, adventurous people he was so desperately craving to meet. I was not a bohemian nomad with nowhere to be and all of the world to see. Not at all.

Instead, I am a 21-year-old girl with anxiety who freaks out when her train connections have an interval of less than 5 minutes.

I am not carefree, nor am I entirely spontaneous. I like to see new places, and experience new people and moments... but I also like being grounded, safe - secure. I like home. I like Sydney and my beautiful, caring and extensive emotional support network. I like knowing roughly where I'll be in 5 years. I like that, it's not a lie. I decided on my career at four years old, I'm starting to think it's just a part of who I am.

I liked being lazy with my boyfriend and eating Halal Snack Packs at 2AM. I liked not having to constantly analyse or worry how pretty I was, because I already had someone who adored me even when I've just woken up (I do not look nice at all when I wake up, trust me, it's like a scene from Where the Wild Things are). I liked having someone to share my little anxieties with on an hourly basis. I liked knowing someone was proud of me for trying. I liked knowing I was enough.

Now that I'm single, I could eat a Halal Snack Pack at 2AM but then I'd feel horrible for fattening myself up when I've got no 'safety net' anymore. Gross thought, but it's true, and I know girls out there feel the pain too. I shouldn't have to feel pressured to be thin to attract male attention, but the truth is that more of that attention that many of us secretly adore comes when we are this thin ideal. How can I not convince myself that it's important? My mind knows it isn't, but my irrational insecurities don't.

Therefore, it's hard for me to think I'm at all enough. I know countless motivational Instagram posts tell us to value our integrity and brains over the mainstream idea of beauty - but even more social media posts celebrate it. They celebrate the girl who is toned, boho and seemingly secure. So, on social media, I emanate that girl. Yet - as I said before - I am not that girl. Parts of me have affairs with her spirit - nights out, holidays, festivals - but mostly, I'm just average ol' me, literally sitting in a Kmart shirt and 3-year-old undies with my dog on my lap trying to make sense of who I am and how I will survive this year single.

I make the statement that I should probably be single for a while for 2 main reasons:
1) I would like to really figure out how to feel pretty and enough without male affirmation
2) I would like to see how strong I can be on my own, because right now I feel pretty damn weak

Look, I am a classic maker of grand statements. I can't say what my love life will be in the near future, but I definitely don't think my soulmate will come striding in to commit to me and my big plans any time soon, so maybe this is my chance to work on how I feel about myself. Not myself on a holiday, or myself at a festival. Not how I feel about myself with a hypothetical partner and life.

Myself.

Just me, as I am.

So I can be the one that determines whether I am enough.


x M

As alone as you feel you are - you aren't (trust me, I'm with you)

'Language has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone and the word solitude to express the glory of being alone' - Paul Tillich

I've always loved that quote. A lot of people I've talked to over the years who have gone through break-ups, been bullied, or have undergone bouts of anxiety and/or depression (oftentimes clinical) have expressed the hardest part of the downward emotional plummet is the perpetual feeling of loneliness. For me, when I'm anxious I feel like no one is there to help me with my never ending cycle of thoughts. I feel like my brain smothers me in bleak isolation. For all of us, I feel, the loneliness comes from a similar place. We feel as though no one will be able to embrace our brokenness without judgement - that we will be a burden for others to brush off or resent. 

That is not true. 

Whether it's a simple anecdote you wish to share about a lost loved one, or a worry you have about your future - we, as a human species, aren't that bad at hearing each other out. Sure, you may need to choose your audience, but there's a lot of people out there who are willing to listen. I've been so determined to avoid this loneliness that I've actually approached random people I've never talked to on a deep level (or haven't spoken to in a very long time) and opened up to them about how I'm feeling. And, you know what? The response was refreshingly full of worthy insights, wholesome support and mostly, lots of love.

There's no particularly insightful purpose of this post other than to remind anyone who's struggling that we are here. All of us are here as people, friends, grievers, motivators. Humans inherently will care if you show them you need it. Don't feel scared to share your loneliness, it only makes the attainment of solitude that much harder. Now I'm working on being okay by myself, but I'm so grateful and humbled by the people who have made this transition less lonely. I needed it more than you know. 

Love, M x