Over the holidays, I found one of my old journals from 2012/2013. I turned to a page that had “My Fears” written across the top. Beneath it, I scribbled, “I'm so afraid of being alone for the rest of my life. I'm 26 and I've never had a serious relationship, and it makes me feel like something's wrong with me. I'm afraid that the years will pass by and nothing will change.”
I see a lot of this exact sentiment from twenty-somethings on social media these days. It honestly makes me laugh a little when I think about how horrified my twenty-seven-year-old self would be to know that ten years later, I'm still single. But today, as I turn 37, I can look back at that version of me with so much compassion and zero fear. Younger me was desperate to be loved—not only for what it would feel like but for what it would say about her to others. That she was desirable, that she was worthy, that she had been chosen. Deep down she thought a relationship was the key to true happiness.
Nothing about being single scares me now.
I am, however, acutely aware that each year we get older, there is an increasing expectation that all the parts of our lives should come together like a perfect puzzle. I should have this all “figured out” by now, shouldn't I? I still question myself from time to time. When one little piece (or maybe a big piece) of the puzzle is missing, it suddenly feels like everything we do have is still not enough. For me, it's the relationship piece. Maybe for you, it's the financial piece, not being able to buy a home, or feeling fulfilled by your career piece. It can feel nearly impossible to fight the feeling of missing something, especially when we live in a world that thrives off of us feeling insecure. If we are looking for a reason to feel bad about ourselves, trust that we will find it—or someone will point it out for us.
I can say from experience that it feels fucking radical to love yourself in a world that doesn't want you to. And double that if you're a Black woman because not a day goes by that we don't receive reminders, covert or otherwise, that we are unprotected, and undervalued. So, yes, I am going to speak up about my self-love. I want others to believe it's possible and okay to like yourself—it doesn't mean you only care about yourself. I did like myself in my twenties, but it was based on more surface-level factors. That's another perk of getting older: learning to understand who you are, your values, and why you think and see the world the way you do. In my twenties, I wasn't living as firmly rooted in my purpose as I am now, and that sustains me in a way I never would've understood back then. I am happy with what my life looks like. I mostly trust the decisions I make for myself and that, ultimately, my life is unfolding how it's meant to. I don't think living a conventional life was ever in the cards for me.
It's taken years, a lot of tears, therapy, spiritual readings, and books to get me here. And I won't lie, of course, I still hear that negative voice that says, wow, another year, and you're still alone. I imagine the men who will swipe left on me on a dating app simply because of my age or the people who think my happiness is actually just a farce. The reality is that two things can be true at once. You can want a relationship, but you can also be happy without one. I know that no one else is going to “complete” me, but I also know that I am someone who wants to share their life and love with someone else.
At 37, I know I am not here to play by anyone else's rules but my own. Finding true love and acceptance of who you are and your place in the world is the ultimate energy source. I am filled with gratitude for the life that I have, and that this journey, filled with bumps, has empowered me to share these stories and connect with you all. And I am so thankful for all of you who continue to read this newsletter and share it with others.
