That’s what I told myself the evening after watching Eat, Pray, Love, the movie adaptation. It was one movie I felt connected to although I don’t agree with everything it portrayed.
When those words crossed my mind, it felt like a line I’d put on the pages of one of my stories someday: a character confessing that they’ve been holding their breath to get married.
As much as it was a spur-of-the-moment inspiration, the truth slapped me hard in the face a second later.
Wait.
Have I been holding my breath to get married? Was that my subconscious whispering the hidden truth to me?
Almost immediately, I rebuked the thought. Not me. I don’t think so.
But it was the truth. That was me. It was.
Seeing that I couldn’t run from another self-awareness session with myself, I surrendered and did that thing I now do when I unveil a part of me I never knew existed: examine it until I am well aware of its depth, impact, and antidote.
Here’s how the uncluttering went:
Growing up, I had big hopes about marriage. Even though I come from a broken home (if I can call mine that), the one thing I always wanted was a happily-ever-after life and a one-time shot at love.
Let me explain.
In my head, as I used to visualize it, I’d meet a fine dark-skinned man (because I like him so). We’d fall in love and never part ways (friends-to-lovers plot). One boyfriend, an enduring courtship or dating season, and marriage.
In all my daydreaming, I only ever wanted to date or court once before marriage. I’m repeating it for emphasis. Have never been a fan of jumping from one man to another in search of what’s not lost.
I used to fantasize a lot about the beautiful life of being in love and the exciting ride I’d have as my husband’s baby girl (a drama queen, true and true).
And I believed that one day, somewhere down the line, in the most romantic way and place, I’d meet him. I even had songs and made-up fantasies about how it’d all play out.
Yet, although I had such fancy desires, having a relationship was the remotest thing in my life as a teenager in my secondary school days. I had a few celebrity crushes on and off, but that was all there was to it—a passing juvenile behavior. And not until my second year in the university did the first door open to love.
I met this young man that I really really liked. We were coursemates. At first, it was a casual hello in class, but soon, we started hanging out after lectures.
I was naive and thought because I liked him and he confessed to liking me, we’d strike a perfect match. It failed. Woefully. My first attempt failed, and just like that, my first shot at love became my first heartbreak—which meant I’d never have my storyline in a perfect linear progression.
I was shattered and left with questions that never got quite the answers I wanted at the time. If we both liked each other, why couldn’t we be together? I mean, I like you, you like me, but you’re saying we can’t be together?
How? Why? It was my first attempt and honestly, I wasn’t the best at things like ‘God said he’s the one.’ I just went with my gut, which sadly has never served me well in matters of the heart.
Like I said, I was naive but not stupid. So, I questioned him, and the response I received was, “You’re a good girl, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
[Someday, I’ll sit down and write extensively on this ‘good girl vs bad girl’ label because as a Jesus-minded baby, I’ve suffered under it.]
Back then, I didn’t understand the weight behind those words, but I listened and walked away. One of the things my mom taught me was to never force myself on anyone—any freaking one.
Yet doing the right thing didn’t take away the heartbreak that followed. It was hard to move on, so I spent my penultimate and final school year coping with the shards of that rejection—feeling not good enough.
Back when I forged the narrative about how my love story would play out, I had set a timeline too. By twenty-four, I’d be married. That was it. It felt like the right age to get hitched, right? So I believed.
But at twenty-four, I ended the third relationship. I’m thirty-fine, wondering what the heck happened to my love life. It sucks sometimes and I cry, while at other times, it’s not even a bother that I’m still here, single and picky.
Sometimes, when I remember the funny guitar song about the man who became his own grandpa because he married an old widow whose daughter married his father…I see how much time has gone by since my first heartbreak.
My investment in romantic relationships has been the worst thing I spent my time and energy on but I’m grateful for how they broke and taught me to grow into a better woman.
On this cold evening, as I looked back, I wondered to myself why I had such rigid expectations about how my journey of love would go. Why 24? Why the theory? Why the pressure?
I’ve since grown a faint annoyance over this matter, although it’s not worth it to put myself in such a mood. For one, I’m not desperate to get married—have never been—because I come from a family that is content with its own, whether married or not.
I could as well choose never to get married, and no one in my immediate family would ever raise the topic. We even joke that we’re a family of more unmarried people.
So, I’m not one of those women raised to define themselves by their marital status. However, we regard it as the highest and most important institution in God’s agenda and one worth desiring.
I cannot deny that I’m a big feeler and romance is a desire I’ll carry with me all my days whether I get a chance or not. My position has made me ask why I haven’t given up already since it has not worked for me.
The mirror said I was the soulful one, the one with so much curiosity, the rebellious (thank God for Jesus), and the feisty one. Romance was something I picked up as a teen, and gosh, I can’t deny how much I’m crazy about it on the one hand and aloof on the other hand sometimes. That’s pretty messed up, I know. Or maybe not.
The mirror said that in my quest to honor the part of me that wanted a happily-ever-after, I held myself to a love theory that is flawed and fleeting.
Age. Timeframe. Rules.
These are standards that make you pause and build unrealistic expectations for something out of your control and when it doesn’t play out according to your rules, you drown in disappointment and get desperate, especially if you come from homes or families where they have very backward mindsets about marriage.
I’m done being broken by my own shackles. I’m done trying to measure up to some unnecessary standards and be some type of girl to attract the one. I’m freaking tired of chasing love. God, over to you.
I’m done and sorry, big guy, I’m not settling anymore cos when I think back on how I carried myself in previous relationships I see that I’ve been settling in some type of way.
I’m also done seeing things in colored mirrors. I am done trying to fit the label. Be a bad girl. Be a good wife material. Thank you very much, I am me. Let me breathe. No more holding my breath to be the one who fits the mold. Whatever they think I am…whatever they think I didn’t do right to still be single at 30…I am, my darling.
Sounds like I’m howling. Yes, I am. Sounds like I have regrets. No, I don’t. Just mistakes I wish never happened. Sounds like I’m still tripping. Yes. I want love and a real one I’ll get.
To all the men I’ve turned down who silently diss me for my choice, sorry, everyone chooses. Don’t take it personal.
I don’t think I used to be so picky even though I had standards and principles, but girl, I’m setting the bar high now. I’ve put in so much work on myself as a person so whoever is going to have this life-sized god should come correct in every way.
And this one is for you, my church girl going through the phase. May God’s love flood your heart so you’ll see your worth and choose better, whether it is investing in your personal development, self-care, spiritual growth, influence, or grooming. Just don’t pause any part of your life waiting for sunshine in the Bahamas.
Right where you are is a good place to enjoy the tan if you get what I mean. It’s time you unyoke yourself from the shackles you made for yourself. I know you meant good but if it no longer has a place, it’s time to let it go. And if those shackles have ruined you, it’s never too late to make a fine piece of Kintsugi out of you.
Love will find you at the right time but before it does, take a deep breath and exhale.
An aside:* Call this the aftereffect of the movie, but somewhere in my thoughts, I tell myself I’ll organize a slumber party for all my single sisters in 2025 (I drafted this in 2024), where we laugh and share our sad love tangos with lots of wine or shots of whiskey just to fool around for once in our single life.
But on second thought, since I know this is nothing whiskey can fix and alcohol is not healthy, maybe we just stick to lots of sad songs and some Jason Mraz, Chike, Johnny Drille, and AEO.
Shakes head because somewhere in my thought, I know we’ll need a bit of wine, and I promise, this is not how you become a b.e.a.c.h. To Jesus, I yield. But a slumber party still. Who likes?
*A random silly thought that intrudes into my reflection just because it can.