I’m alone.

Now, I don’t mean alone in the literal sense. I have a great family, loving friends, a blue heeler that will herd me forever, colleagues that genuinely care about me, buddies at the gym, mates at ceramic class, etc. But, emotionally, romantically, spiritually, universally….I am alone, or at least feel it.

Why does this bother me? Well, it just does.

It’s been four years since my last stable long term, devoid of any serious red flags, relationship. Dating is brutal; nothing short of a battle that requires so much armor it gets tiring just making sure it doesn’t rust so that you can continue the fight.  You must be wondering what’s wrong with me; trust me, I sometimes wonder the same. But I’d consider myself a catch, certainly not without my faults and weaknesses, but still a big tuna someone should want to reel in. Side note, I am pretty hilarious in a dry and existential sort of way.

Boldly admitting that I want a partner is a vulnerable and honest statement that nobody wants to really talk about, especially in today’s culture of strong and independent feminism. Babies and business ventures seem more widely suited for girl talk and camaraderie, but talking about wanting a partner just evokes a certain sense of desperation and neediness.

There’s something about loneliness that feels so deep and heavy that it’s often hard to describe to those that have been in relationships most of their adult lives. Much different than aloneness, something I certainly crave and undeniably need in order to be my best self, loneliness is different. It’s having a migraine all day at work and not having anyone to make sure your lavender bath salts are waiting for you. It’s going to the emergency room alone in the middle of a pandemic and hoping you make it through coronavirus so you can share all that love that is pent up inside of you.  It’s running errands alone, drinking your morning coffee alone, it’s watching scary movies alone, it’s being tangled up in bed with a book…you guessed it, alone. All of those things are fine done alone, but sometimes the option of a companion is more alluring.

I am craving this now more than ever, on the heels of a global pandemic that is forcing us all to do the shadow work. Those shadows are telling me that it’s okay to want someone to lean on, to laugh and grow with, to evolve separately but remain united with. It’s okay to want someone’s attention and energy. You can still be a strong woman and want that for yourself; I do.