“Why are you single?”
It’s not always this blunt. “Are you seeing anyone right now?” is a personal favorite; very Sixth Sense. “And you...live...by yourself?” puts a suspenseful little twist on it. “So, it’s just you, then?” accompanied by some pointed glances, is pure chaos.
I’m single, and I’ve been single my whole life. To some people, it’s an accomplishment. To others, a threat. But I’m frustrated and exhausted by the constant need to define my relationship status to myself and to others...to everyone who asks. And if you’re chronically single, like me, I’d wager that you feel similarly.
“Why are you single?” is a question that doesn’t make sense to me. We’re all single until we choose a partner, so isn’t single the rule, and partnership the exception? We never ask people “Why are you in a relationship?” which I fully support doing. The question that would actually be more insightful is “How does it feel to be single?” But that only works if you are genuinely interested in hearing the answer, and not on pitying or pathologizing the person answering it.
How does it feel to be single? My own feelings have wavered over the years. And there is a lot more nuance to being single than any of the writing on being single would ever dive into. The current media landscape values writing that has a clear outcome, usually a thing that you have to purchase. This is why the majority of writing about Being Single pretty much falls into one of two camps: here is how to not be single, you poor miserable thing, why don’t you buy this self-help book and yas queen! Look at you slaying your single life, you don’t need anyone!!!!!! Go on a singles-only vacation to this island!!!!
To be single is, essentially, to be lacking. And the thing is, it’s true. And it depends. And it doesn’t matter.
It is very hard to be single. And no one wants to admit that. If you say that it is hard to be single as a single person, you are blamed for not trying hard enough to find a partner. And you open the floodgates for a bevvy of advice that at best is condescending and worst, downright insulting. I have never had a conversation about being single that did not end in someone suggesting that I make a fundamental change to who I am, how I feel, and the space I take up in the world. No one thinks this is weird or bad, and that makes me really sad.
It’s impossible for me to yas single queen my way through a wedding that is full of couples when I don’t even get a plus one. I can’t visit any of my friends without visiting their partners as well, because they all live together. I can’t travel without taking all of my shit to the bathroom with me because there is no one to sit at the gate with my suitcase. I can’t lay in bed when I’m sick and have someone else walk the dog. I bought a house and the phrase HAYLEY SCHUENEMAN — UNMARRIED WOMAN appeared in my closing paperwork. I had a late night heart-to-heart with two of my friends that resulted in all of us crying and each of them saying to each other “At least you have [insert partner’s name]” and then looking at me and saying nothing, the silence thick with what was implied: you have no one.
My singleness is only going to become more and more relevant — and more jarring — the older that I get. Maybe these things were less important when I was 25, but now that I’m 32, I see all the gaps in the ways we talk and write about being single. My friends have all partnered off and live together, many of them are married, a few are starting families. I don’t feel a sense of jealousy or inadequacy about this — I am genuinely happy for all of my friends. Which, I guess is another reason why it’s hard to write about being single, because people expect you to feel jealousy or inadequacy. I love my friends, why would I besmirch their happiness?! People assume that everyone who is single is desperately, bitterly resentful. Last night, someone called into Delilah’s radio show and talked about how much she loved her husband. It was sweet, really, and it seems like she really found someone who loves and supports her. I started getting emotional. Then she said, and I quote, “I feel bad for all the poor single women out there still looking for their perfect husband—I found mine!” It was like someone poured ice water over my entire body. There is always a need to otherize singleness. It’s insidious.
If you say its hard to be single, then you are a BAD FEMINIST who is relying on on outdated heteronormative patriarchal norms to live your life when you should be ABOVE THAT BY NOW. Do you think that I do not fucking understand this jigsaw puzzle of sociopolitical, economic, and cultural factors at play here? And I’m a cisgender, straight white lady! It’s a privilege to even write about this shit, when it affects me so much less than it does other people. One of the best books I’ve read, ever, on the subject of modern relationships is Hard To Do: The Surprising, Feminist History of Breaking Up by Kelli Maria Korducki. If you are interested in this topic at all, I highly recommend reading it—it’s just 127 pages long, but packs an incredible punch. She looks at the history of romantic relationships, and the socio-economic factors at play. It is very radical for a woman to be able to live her life outside the confines of a relationship, and the concept of singleness is a relatively new economical oddity that we are still trying to figure out.
If you say it’s hard to be single, then you are automatically asking for advice. My god, stop giving your single friends advice. Stop it! Truly, if you want to know how insidious and automatic this instinct is, think of your closest single friend, and think about their dating life. Now, tell me that an assumption about their behavior, or a “if they just did X/stopped doing Y, they would be in a relationship” didn’t just pop into your head. We create narratives around our single friends that they never asked for. I say this lovingly, but if you think that you have the full scope of your single friend’s dating life from what they have shared with you, you are wrong.
If you say it’s hard to be single, then you are codependent. Listen, if someone craves a romantic partnership in a world where that is the only goal that has been forced down their throat since they were born, and you think that admitting that this is something that they want indicates that they are codependent, or desperate, or a mess, I really urge you to rethink this. And not to be like, “we live in a society” but we do, in fact, live in a society. One that was constructed specifically for couples.
I’m not some paragon of strength and clarity. I’ve spent a lot of time lamenting my singleness, assessing what could possibly be wrong with me, and why I’m so unlovable. This isn’t hyperbole — these are the late night anxiety spirals that have kept me awake for years. But recently, something has started to change. I’ve gotten angrier. More frustrated. I’m exhausted with the mental gymnastics, and I think a lot of single women are. When you do even the tiniest bit of unpacking, you realize that we do not listen to single people as experts on their own singleness, because the very fact that you are single indicates some sort of flaw.
“Why are you single?”
This is just who I am.
Read more of Hayley's thoughts on singleness in her series, The Single Woman in Hollywood. Follow Gold-Plated Girls on Twitter and Instagram.