If you’ve been reading this blog, you’ve probably noticed a few things:
1. I spend way too much time thinking about finance and career stuff.
2. You get it already, I got dumped. I should stop referencing it already. Jeez.
I keep mentioning it partially because I get a thrill from connecting my current posts to prior posts, and something something SEO. But mostly because, if I’m being honest, I’m still not over it.
I know. I’m a strong, independent woman and I don’t need no man. But I was with someone for almost 4 years, and even after almost half a year has passed, I’m still feeling the impact. And through the I’m totally fine guys talks and random bouts of crying in my car for no reason, I’ve been thinking a lot about Henrik Ibsen.
Context. When I was in college, I took a course on Ibsen and his plays because it satisfied an elective, and because I thought it’d bring me closer to my (sliver of) Norwegian heritage. The course, however, left an unexpected and lasting impression. Even though the course was on Ibsen’s plays and how they exemplified Norwegian culture, my professor would wax poetic about grander themes of time and language.
One of the concepts he shared was the idea of homelessness. Or, rather, the word itself. When we say someone is homeless, we’re saying that they’re at a disadvantage. They don’t have the thing that is normal. We describe them based on the thing that they lack.
The same could be said about those who are unemployed, or jobless, or “between jobs.” We’re defining them not by what they have (for example, time), but what they lack. And because of that, we’re saying through our language that they’re at a disadvantage.
Because, in our society, they are. You have a home, have a job. Or, I guess in some cases, you have a kid and call yourself a stay-at-home parent. But without the kid, without the job, without the home, our language will define you as without.
(Props to whoever coined the term Financially Independent, though – you clever minx, you found a solution!)
Ok, exposition aside… I realized I don’t feel like a single woman. Not really. Instead, I feel like I’m relationship-less.
I’m still defining my experience through what I’m lacking. And not intentionally – my brain has decided to fill in the blanks of living alone with what I got so used to hearing or seeing.
My bastard brain thoughtfully sends me little echoes of my last relationship. I stepped out of the bathtub and expected to hear video games in the living room. I planted forget-me-nots in my window box, and my asshole brain decided to hear “Cutie” from the other side of the window.
So when does being relationship-less transition to being single? Apparently the internet believes it’s 3 months after the relationship ends. Well,
fuck you, too, internet based on recent experience, I respectfully disagree. I’ve also heard it takes half the time you spent together to get over a big relationship. Two years of this weird feeling doesn’t sound great, either.
For now, I guess I’ll have to play it by ear, and start to own the Crazy Cat Lady title. And of course, learn the Single Ladies dance.
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