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Christmas night, 2011.

stock-photo-22611817-points-of-light-in-the-darkness

Alone.

In the kitchen.

You already know where this story is headed, right? If you’re a single women over 40, it’s safe to assume you too have a tale of woe on a Christmas night.

Sitting on the floor.

(Next to the fridge.)

Crying.

Single and 40+ is a special kind of torture when you don’t like either one. I handled turning 40 worse than anyone in human history. Almost solely because I was single. I was easy prey for the culture vultures shrieking, “There is something wrong with old unmarried you.”

When the nightly news proclaims that you have a problem, you believe it. “Only married people are happy,” we see in print and on-line, and everywhere we look– who wouldn’t believe it?

Shame on us: crazy-making, single shame, inflicted on us unimpeded.

Back to the Christmas story. You’ll hear what put me on the floor another time. For now, cut to the climax: 

Picture a full-on, rom-com cliché:

Sudden cease to the sobbing,

Stunning realization.

I literally picked myself up, dusted myself off and announced to the dogs, “I am done. I am sick of feeling like shit about myself because I am not married. I’m tired of wondering what is wrong with me. I am pretty great and my life is better than anyone I know and other people should be jealous! I am done.

My stunning realization: Life waits for no man.

And now, neither do I.

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