To Be Continued: A Story of Space, Spirit, and Starting Over
Life has a funny way of handing us revelations—not in grand announcements, but in quiet moments. Mine came tonight, when I went to sit in my adjustable desk chair and—of course—it broke. So now I’m on a hard school chair, trying to collect thoughts that have been swirling around in my head for weeks.
These thoughts aren’t organized. They’re bits of conversations I’ve had, reflections I’ve avoided, and questions I’ve answered over and over. So I’m just going to write them down the way they come: honestly, messily, and from the heart.
The Questions I Keep Getting
I’m single.
I’m happy.
I’m free. (To an extent.)
Lately, I’ve been getting a lot of the same questions:
-
Why aren’t you dating?
-
Why are you still single?
-
Have you ever been married?
-
Aren’t you lonely?
And here are my answers:
-
I don’t have time.
-
I want to be.
-
Yes, twice.
-
No.
But if you really want to understand, I have to take you back a bit.
Why I’ve Always Needed Space
Relationships have never been easy for me. I always wanted them, but once the excitement faded and real communication was required, I’d pull away. I don’t know how to talk—really talk—because I never learned how.
I grew up with an alcoholic father and a bipolar mother. Coming home meant not knowing if it would be calm or chaotic. I was always on guard. And while my parents were loving in their own ways—never abusive, always providing—I learned early on that silence was safer than expression.
So, no, I’m not great at relationships. Every one of them ended one of three ways:
-
I got cheated on.
-
I was told, "You just don’t know what I’ve been through."
-
And yes... I got cheated on again.
Some say I’m too trusting. Maybe. Or maybe I just like having my own space. I’ve never been the type who wants to be with someone all the time. I need room to breathe, to be me.
Finding My Way Back to Myself
After my second marriage ended, I was left with a modest job, a child with medical needs, and not much else. I worked hard, often overtime, to make ends meet. I kept my mind busy and my daughter supported. Christmases were simple, but she never complained.
Eventually, I started to reclaim pieces of myself. I began exercising, eating better, and finding little sparks of joy again. That marriage had stripped me of my independence and my identity. I had to rebuild.
When my daughter went off to college, my father’s health began to fail. I became his full-time helper. His girlfriend had her own medical issues, and I stepped in there too—appointments, medication, errands. Life became a constant series of responsibilities.
My friends stopped asking me out. I always said “no.”
I passed up career opportunities. I didn’t have the energy.
And when my father was dying, he asked me to take care of his girlfriend. So I did.
She passed during COVID. I was already tired—but I kept going.
New Chapters, Same Heart
The pandemic isolated me physically but reconnected me creatively. I rediscovered old hobbies: sewing, painting, papercrafts, woodworking. I binged TV shows. I overate. I processed.
Then came a move. I downsized from a house I never loved and found my forever home. And during that chaos—I found out I was going to be a Grammy.
Now my daughter and grandson live nearby, and I see their faces every day. That, in itself, is a gift.
Why I’m Still Single (and Why That’s Beautiful)
So now, here I am—present day. Still single. And still content.
I’m still discovering who I am. I’m set in my ways, and I like it that way. I don’t want to share my house, my tools, or my bathroom. I want to hang shelves in my pajamas at 3 a.m. I want to blast classical music—or metal. (Sorry, Sarah, for those middle-of-the-night hammering sessions.)
I want to sit on the back porch and dream. Or read. Or just be quiet.
I don’t want to cook dinner for someone else. Or do their laundry. Or have one more conversation out of obligation. I’ve spent a lifetime caring for others—from my childhood to now. I had to be a chameleon. I had to adapt. Fit in. Be what someone else needed.
But now?
Now I want to be what I need.
Now it’s my turn.
Now, I choose me.
This Isn’t a Pity Party—It’s an Awakening
If I had to do it all again, I would. I’m not complaining. I did what I had to do—with love and without regret. But this moment? This season? It’s mine.
This isn’t a pity party. This is an awakening party.
Robin is going to live her best life now. My spirit is free.
I can do what I want.
Years ago, I wrote a poem that captured this feeling. I need to find it again—because it is me.
To be continued…
No comments:
Post a Comment