Ok, so that grabbed your attention, but the last time I wore a suspender belt, I didn’t know it was the last time. I carefully washed it, popped it back in the ‘occasions’ drawer (come on, we all have one of those, don’t we?) and expected to see it again soon.
As the weeks wore into months and then into years, I began to realise that perhaps I wouldn’t be wearing it again anytime soon. Little did I know, I’d never wear one again. Initially I kidded myself that ‘hold ups’ were the better option, but in reality, I just wasn’t dating, or dating to a level where intimacy was required, and let’s face it, who actually wears a suspender belt for every day wear (certainly not me, I’ve never found that the ‘sussie’ was that comfortable and usually felt it was more of a torture garment that a tool for pleasure but hey ho, it always seemed to work for the chap in question!)
Had I known that the last time I wore the suspender belt, it would have been my last time, would I have celebrated or mourned that moment?
So, is the ‘death’ of my suspender belt my metaphorical full stop on the dating front, or is it just a hiatus? I’ve been single now for the majority of the last 20 years and whilst I’ve dated sporadically during this time, I’ve never been in love or taken anyone home to meet the parents (always a tell tale sign of me being ‘serious’ about said chap).
Until recently I didn’t consciously mean to be single. I was always on the look out, embarking of different dating apps and joking with friends that surely they must have a brother, father, uncle, friend that they could hook me up with. It became my party piece. Always joking about my single status was when I began to realise it’s no laughing matter. Singledom isn’t something to be ashamed of, yet so much of life is geared around coupledom even in today’s fluid, non-binary world in which we live, openly declaring you are intentionally single is a big step, not taken by many.
I’ve begun to note all the areas of our lives where we are expected to be a plus one. The most obvious place being in restaurants or bars. As I write this, I’m currently on holiday in Spain, alone in my first Airbnb (feeling very grown up about the AirBnb despite solo holidaying for years). I went out for dinner last night. I’m gluten free having been hospitalised by acute food poisoning many years ago, so I’m pretty sensitive to only visiting places with clear gluten free choices.
On entering this rather up market Italian restaurant I enquired whether or not that had gluten free menus. They said they did and kindly phoned down to the kitchen to check what was left. They responded with the choices available and I enthusiastically asked for a table for one. I was shown to a table for 2, offered the menu and then left alone to make my choices. After what seemed an exceptionally long time, I summoned the waiter over and asked if I could order. He explained that he was waiting for my dining companion so I explained it was just me. He apologised profusely, cleared away the other place settings and I was allowed to order. This is not an unusual occurrence and I’m seriously thinking about having a ‘Just me’ badge made (you know, like the baby on board badges pregnant women wear on the tube?) I guess if I was super daring, I’d have a tattoo done, but a) I’m not good with needles b) I’m not a fan of tattoos and c) my mother would throttle me if I came home with a tattoo.
But I digress, was the mothballing of the suspender belt, my watershed moment? If I’m honest, I don’t actually remember what the occasion was, or who the lucky chap was, but on clearing out my drawers recently, I stumbled across my unused collection and felt somewhat wistful.
Those belts had brought many happy moments, moments of hope, joy and expectation but also some pressure to perform. A bit like life really. We are expected to perform, perform the role of girlfriend, wife, mother, father, husband, partner, son, provider, carer etc and sometimes when we don’t or can’t’ we feel like we have failed. I’ve never felt a bigger failure when I had to tell my parents that my husband and I were splitting up, that I was going to be a divorcee, the first in our family. And whilst they were truly supportive, I still feel the shame of failure, of letting them down. Every time I have to tick the divorcee box on a form, I feel a pang of failure. However, I know that being married made us both unhappy and that we were better apart. But what I didn’t know was that actually, I’d be better, happier even being on my own.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against dating, I do in fact still date (occasionally) but what I don’t do is search dates out. I don’t feel compelled or pressurised to date. I don’t feel the need to date. Dating for me is now an occasional, organic pleasure. I have no fear of saying out loud that I’m single. I’m Julia and I’m single and happy!
So, a bit like never wearing a suspender belt again, when my husband and I split up, I didn’t realise that I’d be single for a very long time. But that actually, single is ok and the more you are single, the better at it you become and this is now my mission, to make being single acceptable, even covetable in a world where expectations bring so much pressure.
Please join me on this mission to show that being single can be fun, can be liberating and can be surprisingly enjoyable. What are your ‘being single’ watershed moments?
Julia – AKA Just me.