The hardest parts of being alone

Fridges, bins, weddings and tears.

I spend a lot of time telling people how much better my life is, now that the other life I had has fallen apart. And it’s (mostly) true. Lots of things about being alone are genuinely easier. Mostly the big, chunky ones, like not constantly worrying that your entire life is about to implode, because it already imploded, and not living with a low level sense of dread all the time.

But there are things about being divorced - especially about living alone - which are hard. So after seven and a bit months of living alone, I’ve put together a comprehensive list of what I think are the toughest things about getting divorced, and it goes as follows.

The Fridge

Every night after I put my daughter to bed, I stand in front of the fridge and have a teeny tiny existential crisis. Until my ex-husband moved out, I’d never had to decide what to eat. I was a child, then I was at boarding school, then I was in catered halls, then I was having wine and Malboro Gold for dinner most nights, and then I was cohabitating, so there was always someone to ask. For the entirety of my marriage I would present two or three catering options for the evening, and then cook whatever was chosen. It was a flawless system. Without it, I do not know how to decide.

Mostly I end up with a ‘hyperfixation meal’ (that’s what the kids on TikTok call it, which I eat over and over and over again. In January it was pastina, February it was fishcakes, March was chicken dippers (it’s always chicken dippers in my soul). I can’t remember April, May was red peppers and halloumi and June into July has been burrata with peaches and rocket. Same thing, every night, until I can’t stand it anymore and then I find something else.

Bins

I didn’t do the bins when I was married, or when I had a boyfriend, or when I lived in a house share, because I would make a quip about reparations for sexism and, crucially, because there was always someone who was willing to do it for me rather than allow the bin to ferment. But I’m an adult with a child so I have to have a clean, hygienic house, even if it’s not a tidy one.

Turns out, actually taking the bin out really isn’t a big deal, and everyone who fusses about it is being a big baby. But there is a very annoying side to the bins as a single parent, which is that I can’t leave the house when she’s asleep. So I can take the bin out, and then I have to sort of lean out of the front door to throw it into the big bin. Recycling has to remain in a horrible little pile until she’s in childcare, because I can’t walk across the road to where the recycling goes. It is unfathomably annoying, and it makes me feel intensely claustrophobic.

Weddings

In May I went to my first post-break-up wedding. I knew almost no-one going and I was terrified. Various of my friends prepped me that it might be emotionally draining, that I might find myself having a bit of a freak-out. But I didn’t. I had a fucking fantastic time, and was surprised at how I felt nothing but joy for the couple. Since then I’ve been to several more, including being a bridesmaid, and I’ve been surprised by how little pain I feel at every groom’s speech, at all the hope and the optimism and the love. What I really feel is that I’d like to have that again one day. A little flicker of optimism that it’ll be me again, and this time it’ll stick.

But my God the logistics of going to a wedding alone. Packing, which takes hours and has to be done when my daughter is asleep or in childcare. Getting her to her grandparents’ house. Getting to the wedding, with no-one to watch the suitcases while I nip and get us coffee, or drag the bags on to the street when the Uber comes. Getting a hotel room alone, not splitting the cost. Not having someone to exchange glances with when the best man makes a faux pas in his speech. No-one to debrief with on the way home.

Most of this has been worked around now. To my surprise I had the best time ever sharing a bedroom with one of my friends at the last wedding I went to, something I’d never have considered when I was married. I’ve spread the burden of reminding me that I need to pack things, helping me with the logistics of babies and bags and timings, amongst my friends and family. I’ve learned to accept help even though it makes me feel weak and pathetic and burdensome. And it’s okay. It comes together. But my God it’s easier when you get to take it on as part of a team.

Crying

Until a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t cried for six months. I’d tried - I am a huge crier. I love crying. I regard crying as a quick fix if I can’t get to therapy. But when my ex moved out, the tears dried up and there was just… nothing.

Then my best friend made a mean throw away comment and to my absolute shock, I burst into tears and couldn’t stop sobbing for 45 minutes. Proper stomach hurting, racking, wailing sobs. And since then I’ve had a couple of full blown, proper crying fits.

Crying is the emotional version of a storm when it’s close and humid. Afterwards everything feels cleaner and cooler and fresh. I’m grateful to be able to cry again. But even still, there’s something horrible about crying alone, because it’s impossible to convey to any of the people you wish knew you were crying, that you’re doing it. Messaging someone to say ‘I’m crying’ feels like attention seeking, and even if you can get past that, a Whatsapp doesn’t convey the depth of the pain.

I didn’t want to tell someone that I was crying so hard I’d soaked the front of my t-shirt. I wanted someone to be there, to see how much it hurt, and to want to hold me until it felt better. You can’t convey the visceral nature of a proper sob over a message, and while I am getting better at asking for help, FaceTiming someone to show them that you can’t stop bawling is a bit much.

DIY

Can’t do it. Refuse to believe I can’t do it. Do a very bad job at it. Wish there was someone who knows me well enough to pry the hammer out of my hand and tell me they’ve got this one, and then tell me to shut up when I tried to argue with them about it.

Anyway, those are the ones I haven’t been able to solve, as yet. If you’re single, what are yours? And if you’re married, what would you really miss?