A familiar face, but different a response

Navigating loneliness

A lonely tree, still it grows

I think I’m becoming more settled with the thought that romantic love might not be in my future.

And I’m not saying this to elicit pity or for you to picture me dramatically curled up in bed crying over how single I am. Though, if I’m being truthfully honest, I’ve actually done that a few times.

When I think back and imagine how I wanted my life to be, by now I was supposed to be happily married, living in a cozy home with my husband and our two beautiful children. That was always part of my “ideal life.”

To be fair, I’ve done one of those things. It didn’t quite work out. So… yay me? I guess?

I’m honestly not sure how I got here. And though sometimes I don’t mind, the longer I stay single, the more I begin to realize: maybe this thing called love—this concept I’ve long been infatuated with—maybe it just isn’t for me.

The truth is, there’s a growing number of women struggling to find meaningful romantic relationships. If you keep your ears close to the ground, the contents of the dating pool and how lackluster they are is a very hot topic. So my situation isn't exactly unique, especially when you come to the realization and acceptance that men are often more focused on having sex with you than getting to know you. (Men are going to read this and say “Not All Men”, perhaps.) 

And society has often told women that if we really do desire to be mothers and wives, or to have long-term, fulfilling romantic relationships, then we will have to settle. While I don’t see settling as inherently a bad thing, I believe there is some grace in compromise, but I think you do yourself a grave injustice when you force your heart to buy into something just because it might look good on paper.

If I have to overly convince myself to want it, then I don’t think it’s for me.

A big part of living with my singlehood—God, I make it sound like a disease—sorry, a part of being single, especially as a woman in her 30s, meant that I had to mourn the future I envisioned.

A big part of living with my singlehood—God, I make it sound like a disease—sorry, a part of being single, especially as a woman in her 30s, meant that I had to mourn the future I envisioned.

Mourn the husband I thought I’d have.

Mourn the children I planned for.

Mourn the life I so carefully curated in my head as “perfect for me.”

That mourning, for the most part, has passed. Because while I still want those things, I’m no longer fixated or obsessed with having them. They’re not checklist items anymore. They’re desires I hold loosely, and I believe that if I am meant to have them, I will.

Still, there are days. Days when I feel like my life as it is just isn’t “enough.” That feeling particularly comes around during holidays, when there is no family or friend to escape into.

And this Easter weekend was a looong one.

I did find time to revel in the word of God, to acknowledge the true meaning of the season, and to reflect. But there was this… void. Something I couldn’t quite shake.

There’s something about drawing closer to God that forces you to reflect on your inner workings. If you do it genuinely, you’ll often come face-to-face with the truth about yourself. And in that moment, though content with my singleness, I felt something else. The truth about the void, the something I couldn’t quite shake.

Loneliness.

Loneliness isn’t new to me. She and I are well acquainted. I’ve known her for years. There were times I didn’t make the best decisions for myself, simply to silence her. She has shown up in ways that made me question my worth, settle for less, or reach for temporary fixes just to feel something other than her presence.

But she is fleeting. This I know now.

So, what did I do to navigate the loneliness? I poured into myself.

Now, I wish I could tell you I spent the long holiday romanticising my life. That I lit candles, drank wine (I actually gave up alcohol for Lent, so this was definitely out of the question), and watched the sun set as some soft instrumental played in the background. But no—there was nothing romantic about it.

I acknowledged my loneliness. I sat with her. I let her be heard. But I also let her know: She wasn’t welcome to sit with me for too long. Not this time. Because this time, I chose me.

So I kept myself busy. I gave myself a pedicure because I was in desperate need of one and figured now might be a good time.

The next day, I cut half my hair off—a revolutionary move, if I’m being honest. I felt so much weight fall from my shoulders when I did that. I feel lighter somehow.

Then, I decided to treat and re-loc my hair myself. A tedious, arm-hurting task that took me well over 12 hours.

And then on Sunday, resurrection day, I wrote this article. I cried a little bit trying to structure the words on my page. My thoughts were often disjointed and confused about what truths I wanted to bring to the surface. My heart knew what I wanted to say, but my mind had a hard time cementing those words into something that would make sense. And so I wrote. No breakfast, four hours in, I just wrote. Every emotion, every fear, every self-doubting thought that challenged me.  As I wrote, I realised loneliness was okay this time around. 

This time, I didn’t reach out. I didn’t chase the temporary.

I didn’t fold.

I stood still.

And I held myself.

And maybe… that’s a kind of love too.

Truthfully Yours, 

Rasida

Isaiah 58:11

The Lord will guide you continually, And satisfy your soul in drought, And strengthen your bones; You shall be like a watered garden, And like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. (Isaiah 58:11)