Soft Sundays

the joys of being single on a Sunday

I am writing this from my long wooden dining table which is adorned with fennel tea in a oversized mug, an empty plate of scrambled egg on rye toast and two dried red roses left over from valentines, a gift from a friend. 6music is on in the background - a Sunday essential for me - quietly reminding me of the greater world pulsing around outside.

I am content. I am quiet. I am single. And I have never been happier.

I am an only child and so to me being independent feels natural. This wasn’t always the case. My Dad used to have to physically drag me over to introduce me to the other kids on holiday, whilst I hid behind his legs…shy, nervous yet desperate to be accepted and allowed to join in. Within five minutes, however, my Dad was a distant memory and I would be knee deep into whatever make-believe game me and my new best friends had constructed - three sisters washed up on a desert island, hotels, MI5, receptionists. (If you know, you know.) It was glorious.

As I grew up I slowly started to realise that I was a creature who preferred being in groups. I wanted to be a part of a tribe. To belong in a place where I could contribute, I could participate, I could offer, I could join, I could play, I could be me. This is a very natural thing. A very ancient thing. We originate from tribes where living in community was the norm. Granny in the corner, kids by the fire, cousins next door. In small villages where you had everything you needed around you and being together wasn’t an act or a choice, it was just the way of being.

So when I hit school and the grouping ‘system’ suddenly falls victim to the decades of social conditioning, the growing presence of social media and the pressures that comes with it, and the reality of what happens when you throw 800 teens who are going through some of the biggest hormonal changes they will ever go through together… NO WONDER we all have a bloody crisis. Suddenly what you wore told the world who you were, you were cool if you had straighteners and uggs (and uggs are back now baby lol who knew?), you suddenly had to act like you didn’t actually care even though obviously we all did…AKA you suddenly fall into an absolute identity FRENZY … the fear of wanting to belong only increasing, as the rules to actually be able to belong seemed to be changing, and changing fast. (If only I could have asked my Dad to introduce me…but that would have been social suicide, as we all know. Social suicide…I hate that phrase, I’ve just realised.) And so we all doubled down on distancing ourselves from our parents, adopting an ‘I don’t care’ attitude because if we showed we cared…they would have seen the extend to which we were scared. Scared and alone.

ANYWAY (I don’t feel like getting into school today, I will another day because that is a BIG topic…) I want to get back to the point I’m trying to make about choosing solitude over rushing to fill my Sunday with plans and people, just because other people at the market or in the park are…

So after years of searching and yearning for the right group (and then right partner) to give me a feeling of belonging, of acceptance, of social identity - I realised I was looking in all the wrong places. Somewhere along the way (probably school, who are we kidding) I had confused my being accepted into a group as ME being accepted. And so I started to crave that feeling and I would go anywhere to find it. To afterwork drinks, to birthdays of people I didn’t really like, to random house parties, to pubs on dates with people who were literally making me DIZZY with the ferocity in which they were waving their red flags…you name it.

My very archaic desire to feel like I was part of a community morphed into a totally different thing. I was howling up a tree that was never going to bear fruit. Yes, you could make some genuine friendships amidst the smokey kitchen at a house party backdrop, yes, you could wear a leather coat and Salomon trainers which would give off a very strong Berlin aesthetic which gives people the heads up that you’re pretttttyyy coooool actually…but until you came to the realisation that you were whole without that group, without those trainers, without that coat…you really were just going to be a very-socially-busy-yet-totally-burnt-out mannequin who fills up all your Sundays out of fear. Probably then reaching the age of 35-40 surrounded by noise but filled with unbearable silence. Not the good kind. The kind you want to escape from and fill up with distraction. And a few years ago I realised I. Did. Not. Want. That.

I wanted to come back to myself. To romance my life. To buy myself flowers (thanks Miley). To learn what I authentically loved and not what was ‘in’. To read books again. To get quiet enough that I could hear my fears and then to gosh dang face them. To go to therapy. To become really f***ing good at my job. To realign with other people doing the same. To stop drinking. To stop dating red flags. To own my shit and not need to fill every moment of the day with NOISE. I wanted to come back to myself and to look inward so that on a day like today I could happily sit in silence. A silence which is peaceful, clarifying and recharging.

And so now. Back to my Sunday. I love waking up alone, being able to stretch out, make a cacao, pad around my beautiful flat and to choose what I actually want to put into this day that I am lucky enough to get to enjoy. And sometimes that is seeing my wonderful pals, the pals I have chosen and who have chosen me…for who I am (underneath my leather coat and salomon trainers). I love that my friend bought me roses for valentines. I love that my other pal invited me to yoga tonight. I love that I could say ‘Thank you, I would love to. But I’m having a me day.’

Dare to be quiet. I promise after the noise subsides and you find the place where the fear resides…it gets a lot less scary.

Bx