“I have two children,” I said. “A 24-year-old son and a 23-year-old daughter.”
“Are you divorced?”
The question came from an elderly woman I had just met. It was asked casually, the way people ask about the weather.
“No,” I said. “I’ve never been married.”
She blinked.
Not once. Not twice.
Several times.
I could almost hear the gears grinding inside her head as she tried to make sense of this information.
For a brief moment, I considered making things easier on both of us.
“Yes, divorced.”
That would have neatly solved the mystery. Instead, I chose honesty.
“I’ve never been married. I’m single.”
Now she looked completely lost.
I had apparently presented her with a scenario that wasn’t covered in the operating manual she had been given eighty years ago.
I could practically see the questions forming.
You have children.
You’re not married.
You weren’t married.
How exactly did that happen?
Realizing I was responsible for her temporary confusion, I offered additional information.
“My children are adopted.”
Immediately, everything clicked into place. Her shoulders relaxed. Her expression softened. Order had been restored to the universe.
Apparently, unmarried woman plus adopted children was a combination that fit comfortably within her understanding of the world.
The truth is that becoming a mother was the best thing that ever happened to me.
Marriage simply wasn’t.
Or more accurately, marriage never happened because I was remarkably talented at finding reasons to avoid it.
Not at first, of course.
At first, every relationship seemed promising.
I would meet a nice man. We would date. We would enjoy each other’s company.
I would think, This could actually work.
Then, somewhere along the way, my brain would begin its familiar routine.
Maybe he chewed too loudly. Maybe he interrupted stories. Maybe he left cabinet doors open. Maybe he told too many bad jokes.
The specifics didn’t matter.
Once my mind started looking for flaws, it became an Olympic-level sport.
I wasn’t searching for reasons to stay. I was conducting a criminal investigation. No infraction was too small. No annoyance was insignificant. I could build an airtight case against virtually anyone.
To be fair, I met some genuinely wonderful men over the years.
Kind men. Intelligent men. Successful men. Funny men. Men my friends thought I was crazy to let go.
Looking back, I suspect the problem wasn’t them. The problem was that I liked the idea of forever far more than the reality of it.
The closer a relationship came to becoming permanent, the more I felt an overwhelming urge to head for the nearest emergency exit.
Some people dream about finding the person they want to spend the rest of their lives with.
I spent years wondering why that sentence sounded slightly terrifying.
Remaining unmarried was probably the best thing for me.
Not because marriage is wrong. Not because relationships are bad. And certainly not because I think everyone should live the way I did.
It simply wasn’t the life that fit me.
For a long time, I felt as though I owed people an explanation.
Why aren’t you married? Didn’t you ever want a husband? Don’t you get lonely?
The questions never completely stop.
What I’ve learned is that people are often less interested in your answer than they are in whether your life follows the script they expected.
Mine didn’t. And that’s okay.
I never found a husband. I found something else.
I found two children who changed my life.
And when I look back, I wouldn’t trade that story for anyone else’s.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Everton Vila on Unsplash
