Being Undateable: A sentence or a release?

I get a number of predictable responses to the statement that I regard myself as undateable.  True, I used to state this in a passive aggressive kind of way to elicit sympathy, to garner assurances from others that I was all right really.  Part of a psyche that does not trust itself.  My judgment has been found to be flawed so many times that I find it difficult to shake off the notion that I don’t know best.  But now I have started to be irritated by responses, exhortations and demands that I am not undateable.  There is someone out there, perfect for me, just around the corner, if I stopped looking.  But I have stopped looking.  I still look at men because I like looking at attractive men, but I do not want to do internet dating, I don’t see potential partners in the places I go, I don’t want to be ‘picked up in a bar’

This is a new stage in my life, and one I thought I’d never get to.  I wanted to spend my life with my husband, couldn’t imagine life without him, and with my family health history, it is in all likelihood that I won’t make old bones.  We talked about this when we were planning for the future.  Ok, not actually planning, my husband was working himself into a misery of despair that we were going to end our lives in poverty, and I pointed out to him, that with my mother’s prognosis not being good, my blood pressure already medicated and my lungs being weak, that there was more than a reasonable chance he wouldn’t have to worry about providing for me.  Maybe he comforts himself on cold, bleak nights when he wonders if he did the right thing ten years ago, that he made his new start before he had to grieve for my loss.  I, of course, grieved for him for many years, but at least that period of grieving has now ended and he very rarely comes into my thoughts and only occasionally does his memory genuinely hurt.  A far cry from the married years when the thought of a space where he used to be was so painful I couldn’t even imagine it.  I should take strength from such recovery, except of course there is a greater pain that was inflicted on me two years ago and whilst I am recovered in most ways, I no longer believe there can be that man ‘just around the corner’.

I don’t feel empty with this loss of hope, just resigned really.  It would be nice to touch someone, for that is the thing being single excludes you from, except for emotionally laden hugs, the feel of another person.  From holding hands to a snuggle in bed, to a comfortable close standing, to an arm round you, the affection of a relationship is difficult to fill with single life.  ‘Being kind to yourself’ is often synonymous with indulgence, a special bath foam, chocolate, a manicure.  But being kind to yourself is rather more than that, an acceptance of who you are, and what you are about. I am undateable.  No amount of Neal’s Yard essence will change the fact that I have four critical characteristics that when combined produce this result.

1.       I’m in my 50s

2.       I’m tall

3.       I have above average intelligence

4.       I’m ‘nervy’

Now I’m not going to waste time arguing each of these points, if you do not agree, then that is your belief, but this is my experience, and how I rationalise my experience.  I cannot change any of these factors, nor would I want to, I am me.  I am becoming braver about talking about how anxiety influences my life, and to be in a relationship would see me try and change myself to fit in.  To be acceptable to someone else because I don’t trust myself.  Normative conformity we psychologists call it, although as I get older I don’t need to fit in quite like I did.  Fortunately, I can earn a living and live independently, so there are reasons to be grateful to be in 21^st Century.  I would like to argue I am the first generation where female independent living is becoming commonplace, as women are not hounded back to the kitchen sink when marriage and children arrive.  I haven’t had Spousal Maintenance from my ex-husband for many years, something I chose to end when I was earning enough to support myself.  So I have courage as well as anxiety, and was called ‘challenging but in a good way’ by my last boyfriend.  The one who caused so much heart ache that I have absented myself from the dating game.  Is that the truth, I can’t risk that much pain again?  It was, but as the months roll past I find I can live with the emptiness and take comfort in a life I have made.  You get used to loneliness in time and now it feels as if I slip into a role when I leave these doors, to be the person everyone thinks I am, the one that could be dateable.