Last year, I was chatting with a friend over coffee about how much I wanted to book a holiday to Tasmania. I love daydreaming about all the places I would explore, but the plan would inevitably fizzle out at some stage.
“You should definitely go on a holiday. You would love it there!” my friend said.
“But I don’t have anyone to go with,” I replied sheepishly.
“You could book a tour!”
Deep down, what I really wanted to ask was, “Do you want to come with me?” But in the moment, I couldn’t say it out of fear of rejection. Or the possibility that they wouldn’t be able to commit.
As a 37-year-old single woman, my life is completely my own. No dependants. Lots of freedom. Endless opportunities for spontaneity and travel. I am aware my life is different to many of my coupled friends who juggle a relationship and family commitments.
Lately, I’ve noticed something else. While it sounds funny saying it out loud, I’ve come to realise that it is quite possible my friends don’t crave my company as much I crave theirs.
I said all this to my therapist, who considered the situation for a moment: “You just described loneliness.”
I’ve had an intimate relationship with loneliness for some time
Suddenly, I felt winded. The thing is, I’ve had an intimate relationship with loneliness for some time. At home, it nestles comfortably next to me on the couch and falls asleep in my bed every night. It is heavy – its grip leaves marks that no one else can see. Some may call this depression, but to me depression is a close cousin of loneliness.
The Australian Bureau of Statistics reveals that I am one of living in Australia and one of *. Even the census describes me as “lone”.
But what exactly is the definition of lone? The dictionary says: having no company, solitary, preferring solitude. Only, sole.
I am one of 7.8 million unmarried people living in Australia and one of 2.3 million people living in a lone-person household
For me, being a lone woman also means having never been in a romantic relationship. There is a pop culture term that describes my situation – a “relationship virgin” – which I have never felt comfortable with. I am not a virgin in the sexual sense. I have just never been called someone’s girlfriend or partner. Never been sent flowers on Valentine’s Day. Never heard a person tell me they love me romantically.
Being single means I constantly crave physical touch. My body yearns for oxytocin, and I wonder what it would feel like to live with a partner. Hold their hand crossing the street. Order take-away for two, instead of one. To buy another toothbrush.
But I know I’m not alone in feeling alone. I wonder how many of us there are? Do they feel lonely too? Ashamed, sometimes, like me?
I know I’m not alone in feeling alone. I wonder how many of us there are?
I have been trying to adjust to this life for many years. Growing up as the youngest daughter and cousin in an Italian family, I witnessed many relationships and weddings. I’ve been told I am fussy. Did you really put in an effort? Sometimes I never get asked anything at all. One year, a relative made a joke on Christmas day and asked where my boyfriend was. I laughed it off and then snuck away to the toilet to cry.
I was (and still am) socially conditioned to marry and have children. On a good day, I remind myself that falling in love isn’t the kind of thing you can orchestrate. There’s no planning when it will happen, and you can’t make someone love you. On a bad day, I feel like a child who has never grown up. When cousins whom I held as babies start dating and bringing their partners to family events, I feel a tug of humiliation. Relatives much younger than me doing things I haven’t experienced feels awkward and strangely cruel.
One year, a relative on Christmas day asked where my boyfriend was. I laughed it off and then snuck away to cry
In truth, I am not sure why or how I came to be a relationship virgin. I have always been shy, was always scared to talk to the boys at school and university. I probably came across as stand-offish, which was never the intention. Despite my introversion, I have pushed myself out of my comfort zone over the years. I have asked a number of men out on dates and been rejected. It has been hard on my self-esteem each time.
I don’t know what it feels like to be ‘in love’. I have loved a few men over the years but it has mainly been one-sided. The kind of love where two people feel the same way about each other is something I have only ever imagined.
I have pushed myself out of my comfort zone over the years. I have asked a number of men out on dates
To me, having a partner means companionship, connection and mostly intimacy. Not just physical intimacy, but emotional, where you share common values and communicate on a deeper level, including the relief of being able to be vulnerable.
Perhaps the root of my loneliness isn’t simply the lack of a relationship. After all, couples get lonely too. What I want is to be part of life’s bigger ebb and flow. I want cause to celebrate my life choices – like those who get engaged, married or have kids. I have a constant itch to have my turn and be included.
Right now, I am changing my thought patterns, speaking more kindly to myself and being less rigid about achieving things by a certain age
Sometimes people try to reassure me with compliments and platitudes. Statements such as, “How are you single?”, “Everything happens for a reason” and, “You have to love yourself before you can love someone else” are not helpful. I think people say these words because they don’t know what else to say. A better solution would be asking, “How can I support you?” or even better: offer a hug.
Right now, I am working on building intimacy with myself. This means spending time writing and going to art classes, journalling, going to yoga and being in nature for self-care. It also involves changing my thought patterns, speaking more kindly to myself and being less rigid about achieving things by a certain age. Ultimately, it’s about having my own back and – whether or not a Tasmanian holiday eventuates – giving myself a well-earned break.
Anna-Nicole Del Re is a health and lifestyle features writer living in Perth, Western Australia. You can follow her on Instagram .
* See Table 3, Line 55 in spreadsheet available under Data downloads.
Related reading
We finally all understand what it's like to be lonely
