I skipped work the day after I got dumped (in a Panera Bread, no less) because I felt physically ill from the ordeal. But a day later I was fine, if a little prone to weeping. Sure, I was gutted by my sudden breakup, but I wasn’t really worried about my future: I would heal better than a friggin’ starfish, I told myself; I would become, to borrow from Fiona Apple, a better version of me. I was going to pull a Breakfast at Tiffany’s and have a tiara, a fancy cigarette, and a dog named Dog (I don’t like cats). I was going to be JUST FINE.
And I was. But the world didn’t seem to think so: Little did I know, that day in the Panera I was about to enter four years of real-life quarantine because I had been infected with a dreadful ailment—SINGLEDOM!!
And you’d think it was contagious: For countless dinners, weddings, and holidays to follow, I would be seated in life’s equivalent of the sick-patient waiting area at the doctor’s office. My acupuncturist even said to me, seriously, that I probably wouldn’t feel truly OK again until I found someone new. Things were looking bleak, even in the opinion of medical professionals.
Despite all that, I flew solo for four great years. I learned to ignore the looks, the comments, the over-the-top sympathy. It wasn’t until I met my now-boyfriend, James, that I got infuriated all over again. After I updated my relationship status, the Facebook kudos poured in: “You deserve it!” “Good for you, it’s brutal out there!” It was as if I’d kicked meth or gotten my Ph.D. For weeks people showered me with praise and well wishes, and just like that, I wasn’t a sad mutt in the pound any longer.
OK, world. We are in the year 2016 here. It’s crazy that we still live in a culture that sees less value in a single woman’s contributions than in those of a woman who has chosen a sexual and emotional teammate. Being in a relationship (my current one gets two thumbs up so far!) can be beautiful and come with moments that will take your breath away, but guess what? So can single life. In the four years I spent as a single woman, I achieved more than I had in my entire adult life up until that point. I’m not talking, “I read 47 books and watched every episode of Dance Moms.” This was real: I started an acclaimed podcast with my comedy partner, was signed to the biggest talent agency in the world, appeared on TV multiple times, got out of debt, lost weight, became a happier person.… I mean, I gave a f--king TED Talk.
As a single woman I became, just as I had promised myself, a better version of me. And it was the first time in my life that I knew exactly what I wanted to contribute to the world. I was more emotionally whole than ever before. I was whole…solo. Damn!
I was succeeding so much that, when I met James, I was actually kind of annoyed. Why did the cosmos send me someone so wonderful in the middle of my career hot streak? (Also: Where had Cupid been all those weekends I was eating Domino’s Philly Cheese Steak pizza and Netflix-ing Californication because masturbation isn’t really my thing?)
Listen, I’m certainly not hoping James dumps me in a Quiznos, but the facts about single life should not be classified any longer. I suppose the reason for all the shade is that as long as we keep straight, single women questioning their value, men will always be a hot commodity and the family unit will remain safe and sound.
But the truth is this: Being single isn’t better or worse than being in a relationship. It’s just different. I love James and am grateful that someone came into my life who is dry-witted, unapologetically himself, and able to recognize that the fast-food chain with the best Diet Coke is definitely McDonald’s, but every now and then, I reflect on that time I went to see Spring Breakers alone on a Friday night. It was great—both my elbows had armrests.
Corinne Fisher is a comedian and cohost of Guys We F--ked: The Anti Slut-Shaming Podcast.
Source: http://www.glamour.com/story/stop-pitying-single-women-please
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