Alone Is Not as Lonely as Being Someone’s Secret

I never had to be a partner’s first priority. As an adult and single mother, I understand that adults often have to prioritize things other than romantic relationships. Self-care should be first, and children should be a primary consideration. Jobs also have to take precedence at times. It’s how we sustain ourselves in the world. I didn’t need to be the first person on a lover’s list, but I also didn’t want to be the best-kept secret either.

At times in my life, I didn’t mind being the casual lover.

I haven’t always wanted to be center-stage, and after having my heart broken many times, I’ve been reluctant to enter a relationship that could break it again. It’s been easier to keep my entanglements superficial, making it easy to cut and run.

If only I were the cutting and running type.

Because, of course, I’m the type who doesn’t do superficial anything. My casual energy is someone else’s girlfriend energy. I can’t connect without care and some level of attachment. While this isn’t a bad thing, it certainly can be a challenging combination of factors for casual relationships. Because there will come a point when I just don’t want to be someone’s secret. Eventually, I want to be loved out loud.

I want date nights and holding hands in public. I want posts about how delightful I am. I want to celebrate silly anniversaries no one else gives a shit about. I want the public professions of adoration and not just the whispered reassurances that my secret place in someone’s life is still meaningful.

I don’t have to be first, but when did I let myself become last?

An afterthought, a backup plan. A fun Friday night when a better plan fell through. I have to admit that what began as a fun-and-games arrangement slowly changed into a creeping sense of inadequacy.

There’s being alone, and then there’s the feeling of loneliness that comes with being someone’s secret someone. It’s the ache of pictures we don’t post and stories we don’t tell. It’s the knowledge that we have been once again relegated to a position we don’t like but have always accepted as if it’s all that we deserve.

I didn’t mind, and I didn’t mind, and I didn’t mind, and then I did.

One day, I woke up, and everything about the situation felt lonely.

If I’m going to feel alone, I want to be alone. I want to luxuriate in my solitude and hold it close. I don’t want to feel the cutting isolation of having been slotted into a place of secrecy and convenience. I don’t want to feel this somber solitude while being someone else’s sexy secret. Secrecy isn’t sexy when it makes us feel like we’re putting ourselves last.

It was fine, and it was fine, and it was fine, and then it wasn’t.

I want to be loved in the open. I want to be the first choice of romantic partners and not the one slotted to stay on the sidelines. I want to throw myself headlong into love and not have to be superficial or casual or any of the other things I’m not and never will be.

If I’m alone, I want to feel the full breadth and width of that solitude. I want to be able to stretch my arms in any given direction and feel the air around me vibrate with freedom and potential. I want to know that my solitude is a beautiful state I’ve chosen and not a corner I’ve been backed into because I couldn’t hold my ground. I want to feel the full potential of my time without feeling like I’m waiting to be summoned at a word or a whim.

I agreed to casual and to secrecy. I walked in with my head up and eyes open. I’ll walk out the same way.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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