I often reflect on my naivety of my past. I wore it like an invisible cloak. It would appear at the most crucial moments of times which, in hindsight, were my learning curves. I cringe at those times.
In addition, my twenties involved my growing from a girl, still living with her parents, to a woman, living with a husband.
It was at this point that I was at my loneliest. I cried alone trying to grip onto anything that made sense, but nothing did anymore. Then, I disliked myself. Finally, I reached a stage where I hated everything- my body, my lack of personality, and my worth. I became accustomed to love disappearing for myself and I was fine with that. My dad would cajole me and told me I was boring in order to snap me out of my zombie-like existence. It didn’t work. I felt empty. I didn’t care. That was my destiny and I was willing to accept living in this vacuum for the rest of my days.
I believe God and my angels rescued me. They threw out a lifeline and I grabbed it with all of my might to lift me out of the void.
Getting divorced saved my life.
Furthermore, being released from the following relationship also saved my future.
Having my heart smashed, melted and disintegrated by an ex boyfriend catapulted me into living alone. Properly. Independently. Happily.
My apartment was my bridge to true happiness. I chose what area to move to. Decorated its interior to my liking. I developed a routine that suited me. I went on a two year chakra healing journey with my best friends. Living completely and utterly on my own was where I found who I truly was. And from that, I loved myself so damn much.
I meditated every single night, uninterrupted. My mind would journey to the past, to the future and to the unknown. Inner peace was found.
Journalling became part of the healing and unveiling of my soul. Being honest released me from grieving how I my expected life to be, to accepting my current reality. I was grateful that I was solo and fulfilled, as opposed to coupled and isolated.
Cleaning my home was a welcomed ritual. I cleansed its surface, followed by lighting candles and playing my sound bowl in every room. That was cleaning my way. And for me, my sanctuary was always clear.
I enjoyed entertaining my friends. I held dinner parties; drinks poured directly from my vintage bar cart; and brunches that often included a Bloody Mary or two. Delicious.
The gym became my sanctuary. I graduated from the basic gym in my complex to one beyond my comfort zone. I was a regular and even earned the salutational nod from other regulars. The weights section, often dominated by testosterone, became my haven. I was not intimidated, especially when I reached a level of weight lifting which surpassed other men in that area. With my glittery nails, lash extensions, rock music in my headphones and 15 kilo dumbbell in each hand, I was truly in my element.
I think I can also brag that it was at this stage that I learnt to do chin ups and mastered 3 in a row- unassisted.
If it wasn’t for my life being capsized, I would never have realised true independence. I am so grateful for my life being torn apart as it has been pieced back together to form a colourful artwork that is my own.
Now that I am coupled up with a baby, I know that moment of being alone will never come back again. It was a moment of time that I always look back to with peace, joy and gratitude.
I implore every woman to live alone. Find yourself. Love every facet of your being, uninterrupted.