52, Single, and Somewhere Between Wanting Love and Protecting My Peace

I watched a video that hit me harder than I expected. It talked about women choosing to stay single and why so many women seem less willing to stay in relationships that don’t make them happy. And at 52 years old, this one got personal for me, because this part of life is hard. There. I said it.

I see so much stuff about women over 40 and 50 being empowered, confident, independent, and finally not caring what anybody thinks. And some days I absolutely feel like that woman. Other days, not so much. Sometimes I’m confident. Sometimes I’m insecure as hell. Sometimes I love the freedom of being single, and sometimes I really wish someone was sitting beside me. I think one of the things I’ve learned at this age is that both things can be true at the same time.

I’ve been single for a long time, and I’ve learned how to do life by myself. I work, travel, camp, dance, get involved in things, and build ridiculous costumes that somehow become even more ridiculous halfway through. I spend time with my friends and family. I’m Mimi to three little girls I adore. I can jump in my Jeep and take off somewhere because I feel like it. I’ve built a life, and I’m proud of that life. But being independent doesn’t mean I never get lonely, and I think that’s something women our age don’t say enough.

We’re told to embrace being single, love ourselves, live our best lives, and never settle. And yes, I believe all of that. But can we also admit that sometimes we would really like someone to share that life with? I can love my independence and still miss companionship. I can protect my peace and still want someone to come home to. I can be perfectly capable of taking care of myself and still wish someone would occasionally take care of me. I don’t think that makes me less independent. I think it just makes me human.

Dating, relationships and even the thought of falling in love at 52 feels completely different than it did at 22. Back then, you have all this time in front of you. You’re still becoming whoever you’re going to be. Life hasn’t knocked you around quite as much yet. At 52, I’m bringing a whole damn history with me. I’ve loved. I’ve hurt. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been disappointed, and I’m sure I’ve disappointed people too. I’ve raised children, built a career and lived enough life to know that love alone doesn’t magically fix everything.

And then there’s the part we don’t always want to talk about — getting older.

My body isn’t the body I had at 25. Neither is my face. I’ve gained weight, lost weight, and fought with my own reflection more times than I care to admit. And as much as I’d love to write some beautiful inspirational sentence about embracing every wrinkle, every pound, and every change that comes with aging, that wouldn’t be completely honest. Sometimes I struggle with it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m still attractive. Sometimes I wonder if someone will look at me and really see me instead of seeing my age or my size first. There are days I feel great about myself and days when my confidence is somewhere down around my ankles.

There’s another side of this too, though. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been alone so long that I’ve become too comfortable doing things my own way. I have my routines. I make my own decisions. I go where I want to go. If I want quiet, I have quiet. If I decide I want to take off somewhere, I don’t have to negotiate it with anybody. I’ve worked hard to create a life that feels like mine, and somewhere in all of that comes this question I don’t always know how to answer: Do I even want to give up the peace I’ve worked so hard to create?

I think that’s the strange place a lot of women over 40 and 50 find ourselves in. We haven’t necessarily stopped wanting love. We’ve just reached a point where we don’t want love at any cost anymore. We’ve learned what it costs to abandon pieces of ourselves trying to keep somebody else happy. We’ve learned how exhausting it is to keep explaining our feelings and wondering why we’re not being heard. And maybe most importantly, we’ve learned that being in a relationship doesn’t guarantee you won’t be lonely.

Once you’ve discovered that you can survive on your own, being alone isn’t quite as scary anymore. And that changes what you’re willing to accept.

I don’t need someone to rescue me or give me a life. I already have one. Maybe that’s what makes relationships at this age both harder and, hopefully, better. If I let someone into my life now, I don’t want him there because I need him. I want to want him there. There’s a huge difference between the two.

I want someone who adds something good to this crazy life I’ve built. Someone who can handle my independence without being threatened by it. Someone who understands there will be dance practices, pirate events, costumes taking over a room, spontaneous road trips, camping trips, family, grandbabies and probably another idea I absolutely do not have time for but will start anyway. That’s me. That’s the life I’ve created. I don’t want to become smaller to make room for somebody else.

But here’s where I have to be vulnerable with myself too. I don’t want to become so protective of my peace that nobody can ever get close to me. Because protecting yourself can become a wall if you’re not careful. Maybe after you’ve been on your own long enough, opening that door becomes scary in a completely different way. You start wondering if you’re protecting your peace or protecting yourself from the possibility of being hurt again.

I don’t have that part figured out.

I’m 52. I’m still figuring out my body. I’m still figuring out confidence. I’m still figuring out what I want the next twenty or thirty years of my life to look like. And yes, I’m still figuring out love. Maybe there will eventually be someone beside me for that part of the journey. I hope there is. I’m willing to admit that too. I do still want love. I just don’t want to lose myself trying to have it.

So maybe I’m somewhere in the middle right now. Independent but still wanting connection. Strong but sometimes insecure. Happy with my life but still wanting someone to share pieces of it with. Comfortable being alone but not always wanting to be alone.

Maybe that’s actually what being a woman in your 50s looks like. Not magically having everything figured out because we reached a certain birthday. Not suddenly becoming fearless or completely confident. Maybe it’s simply knowing ourselves a little better than we used to. Knowing what hurts. Knowing what matters. Knowing what we’re no longer willing to sacrifice, while hopefully still being brave enough to leave a little room for something good to find us.

That’s where I am at 52.

I’m not giving up on love, but I’m not chasing it either. I’m trying to build and live a life that I love enough that anyone who comes into it doesn’t have to complete me.

They just have to make me glad I opened the door.