Rebranding Single
I am a cliché; mid-fifties and living alone with three cats, ergo a sad, lonely single woman destined to spend her nights in a flannelette nightie tucked up in bed with only a book for company.
Then again, I am blonde, addicted to jeans, Converse sneakers and leather jackets and have been known to frequent the occasional wine bar. Supposedly, I terrify married women, as I am almost guaranteed to jump their husbands, which, in most cases, begs the question; have they looked at their husbands recently? Sorry, that’s mean, but I do sometimes feel exasperated by the attitude that, just because I’m single, any man will do.
So, who am I? Sad, cat loving spinster, or ravening cougar? Weird how a feline parody is associated with the vernacular of being female and single. Oh, and let’s not forget desperate, as if the only possibility of a healthy, happy existence is by hanging your identity on another human being.
On my last birthday morning, I sat alone in bed (with the cats, obviously) and opened two solitary cards. That evening I gave a party for twenty friends, which (please save your tears) I organised myself. The inconvenient fact, or inconvenient for some because it sounds the death knell for every fairy tale, is that I love being single. I am not looking for a man. In fact, I’d rather not find one. Not because I’m emotionally retarded but because I really do love living on my own.
I love the freedom; the luxury of setting my own timetable – when (and what) I eat, what time I go to bed, which friends I see. I like going to the movies on my own (no tedious post-film analysis). I even like going to parties alone; no looking over my shoulder to make sure the other half isn’t bored.
I have been married and I have a child - who’s away at university - but I have to say that I’ve never been happier. Then again, I love solitude, which some people find strange; particularly men. “You’re so self-sufficient.” Cue, vaguely accusatory tone; sub-text, you’re not feminine and needy enough.
It’s not that I’m ruling out relationships. We are social creatures with a primal need to love and be loved but there are more forms of love than the socially acceptable norm of coupledom. Single is not the same as solitary. I have a wide network of friends, who I love very much and who pick me up and dust me down in times of crises. If I feel lonely (rarely) I pick up the phone but it’s a momentary impulse; a form of bored restlessness rather than the pain of existential angst. I have been infinitely lonelier in bad relationships than I have ever been on my own.
So why the perpetual stereotyping that we cannot be as fulfilled on our own as we can in a relationship? Is it the scourge of Bridget Jones who, despite witty asides about smug marrieds, was desperate to be wed to Mr Darcy? Is it those fun loving gals in Sex and the City who could only exit stage right once they’d landed their men? Note how both story-lines were blown straight out of the water with the happy ever after.
It seems that being single is only interesting if it has a final scene of happy resolution. As a way of living – particularly a way of living that is actively enjoyed – it is somehow suspect. I canvased a few women of varying ages on what infuriates them most about the stereotyping. Here’s Anne, 42. “That it’s somehow inferior to coupledom. I think it can’t be overstated enough that being single isn’t an affliction, or a failure, or “brave” (yes, I have actually had that said to me). After my last relationship ended I made a conscious decision that I wanted to stay single for a while and understand what I did and didn’t want for a relationship.”
Quite, which is why I think the old adage, “in order to get over somebody, you have to get under somebody,” is a fast track to unhappiness. If we don’t take time out to heal and examine why the relationship failed (and it takes two, so the blame game is another dead end) we are likely to keep repeating patterns which are corrosive to our emotional wellbeing. As the agony aunt of a national newspaper, I get rather too many letters from women who feel like failures because relationship after relationship has bitten the dust – usually because they are so desperate to find somebody, they have forgotten to find themselves.
My response is always the same. Spend some time on your own. Get to know yourself. It’s a tough call but necessary if we are to know ourselves sufficiently well to form solid, intimate relationships, which is why the stereotype of single women is so irksome; a pathetic state imposed on us because we are somehow lacking in the looks/charm/pulling department rather than a healthy decision we choose to make.
Then there’s the pity vote, which tends to come from strangers more than close friends. Anne says, “Workmates and family make what I call the “pity” face, telling me I’ll meet someone soon or ask if I’ve considered internet dating. Sometimes it’s funny; sometimes I have to bite my tongue.”
It’s the preconception that women are lesser beings if we aren’t coupled up which is so tiresome. God knows how many millions of column inches have been devoted to Jenifer Aniston’s love life. “Jen Alone Again!!” She may be beautiful, talented and successful but there’s something wrong with her if she can’t land a man. As Rose Redman, 31, puts it, “Every stereotype of being female and single is presented as women just waiting to get together with some guy.”
Louise Stanhope, also 31, agrees. “There’s something wrong with you; you’re a commitment-phobe or you’re too judgemental. The real problem is not being single; it’s trying to stay sane when there’s all this babble going on in the media.”
Singledom, according to the tabloids, is somehow a dereliction of duty – punctuated by another S- word; selfish. Apparently we’re too picky. A generation of women is refusing to conform so if we end up desperately sad and lonely (which, of course, we will if we’re not cozied up to a man) we have only ourselves to blame. The fact that men don’t attract the same opprobrium says much about social attitudes - unless, of course, said man is an MP, in which case a wife is a necessary accessory. Or perhaps, in a different way, it is a perfect example of why singledom is seen, in some way, as abnormal. If you are single you are not fit to govern.
Then there’s the perception that the older women get, the lonelier they become, hence the need for cats. This, despite studies that show, statistically, that the biggest group of people suing for divorce is women in their fifties. Somewhat hilariously, given the context, Louise told me that being single is, “much more difficult in your 50s and 60s.” I am 56. To be fair, she was referring to her divorced mother about whom she worries, but I suspect she worries more than her mother does.
Some of us choose to be single; others have singledom thrust upon us. Lesley Cookman, who is in her sixties, is a widow. “I always thought of widowhood as being confined to the very elderly, until it happened to me.” Bad enough to lose a beloved husband through death but curiously (and this really does say something about age-old stereotyping), Lesley attracted more pity than sympathy. “A widow is a pitiable thing, and almost a second class citizen. But as time went on, I realised most people were happier to forget my circumstances, and in some cases, forget me. Gradually, the dinner invitations drop off. Of course, people don’t mean to be hurtful, but it is an uncomfortable reminder to those still happily coupled up to have you sitting there, single.” A few years on, and she is content. “I would of course, have preferred not to lose my husband, but on the whole, I am happily single.”
The only mention of loneliness was about physical intimacy; not so much sex, as touch. “Sometimes it would be lovely to have someone wrap their arms around me when I’m feeling vulnerable and lost, but I’m not frightened about being without companionship,” says Rose. As for wanting a relationship in the future, naturally the women in their 30s said an unequivocal yes but it seems that (contrary to popular opinion about young women being too picky) the older we get, the more demanding we become. Anne, who is 42, says, “If I met someone who enhanced my life and I felt I was enhancing theirs too then, yes, I’d love a relationship but I don’t feel the need to look for someone.”
Nor, indeed, does Lesley. “Maybe if there were to be a semi-detached relationship on the horizon, I might reconsider, but somehow I doubt it.”
As for me, I doubt it too. Not because I don’t believe in relationships (there is no greater blessing than a happy union) but because I am quite simply, very happy in my own skin, and I don’t believe that either relationships or labels should define us. Single? So what?