I’m 33, and I’m Deeply, Deeply Tired of Being Single

A story for anyone who’s heard “Love will find you when you stop looking” one too many times

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

It was early February, and I was sitting on the couch with my best friend, talking late into the night as best friends do. At one point, she started to cry. With tears in her eyes, she told me how she’d been praying for me to find “my person” and how it tears her up inside that I have yet to find someone to love and be loved by.

I often put on a brave face, but I have to admit that it tears me up, too.

I’ve been told I’m a great catch for years—by friends, family, and men who (temporarily) think they love me. They often say things like “love is just around the corner,” “love will find you when you stop looking,” and “what is meant to be will be.” But these hollow platitudes do little to comfort me when getting underneath the covers alone, night after night.

Sometimes, though, I think I’ve turned that corner. The last time was in the spring of 2022 when I thought I had found him. I remember how the weight of a million maybes that came before him washed over my heavy heart, and I felt so light, so free. So ready for the possibility. I remember him talking about a future that sounded like a love song…until I stopped hearing anything from him at all.

It’s devastating, no doubt, to be wrong about love. But there’s an added layer of embarrassment when you have to tell the people rooting for you that you’ve just experienced (another) false alarm. Recently, the fiancé of one of my newer friends heard my latest dating story, and his response was, “Wow, she really is unlucky in love, isn’t she?” And he’s only known me for two years. It goes far deeper for those who’ve known me for decades, like my friend at the start of this story.

As much as I know the support from my friends and family is heartfelt and genuine, I also know that it’s difficult for them, nearly all married and with kids, to understand what it feels like to spend a decade waking up alone, wishing someone’s hand would gently rest on your back to signal good morning.

I’m glad they don’t have to feel the guttural whiplash of getting your hopes up again and again. I’m glad they don’t have to keep searching in the eyes of strangers because they want so badly to be seen by somebody. And I’m glad they don’t know what it’s like to be at your happiest and still think about how you’d rather scoop a part of that happiness out of you and give it to someone who loves you. 

I, for one, wish I didn’t have to.

Over the years, I’ve done all “they” (whoever “they” actually are) and self-help books tell you to do. I’ve put myself out there. I’ve approached strangers at bars and baggage claims and asked them on dates. I’ve taken the initiative. I’ve also tried “not trying,” to no avail. I’ve worked on myself so much that I can honestly say I do love myself, but I’m left wondering why I can’t find someone who loves me, too.

And yet, I do (sort of). Unfortunately, the ones I do find all fall deeply and hastily. Sometimes for a weekend, sometimes for a few weeks, and then, out of nowhere, they dematerialize almost instantly. I’ve read enough to know the trend comes from attracting narcissistic tendencies, and I try to be better at spotting them. Still, sometimes I fall for it because it just feels so good to be fallen for, even if it’s fleeting.

But the truth is, I’m tired of tripping.

My heart is tired of repairing itself, my eyes are tired of watching possibilities walk away, my ears are tired of hearing clichés and false promises, and my mind is tired of convincing myself in a loop that it’ll all be worth it soon. While I remain hopeful, sometimes hope hurts.

It hurts to swallow disappointment until you’re nauseous because you’re so full of it. It hurts to smile at babies (even though I always do) because I’ve gone from imagining having a child with someone I love to wondering if I’m strong enough to have one on my own. I think I am. I know I want to be a mother. But I’m sad about the probable change in course, especially as options for single women are now further at risk. I’m sad because I’ve been imagining love stories since I was five years old, and I’ve never been able to live out my own.

One thing I will say, though, is that this journey has made me fiercely independent and undeniably capable. Make no mistake: I’m not looking for someone to fix me or complete me. No, I’m looking for someone to enjoy life with. Someone to learn from. Someone to laugh with. Someone to stay up late at night talking about our fears with. Someone to start a family with. Someone to read bedtime stories with. Someone to grow old with. Someone to love not because I’m empty but because I have so much to give.

What makes me really angry at times is that I absolutely love the life I’ve built, but damn if I won’t admit that I want someone to share it with. So, despite it all, I refuse to give up. Should I meet someone on the train today or in the coffee shop tomorrow, I would drudge up the energy and the hope (like I always do) and open my heart to the possibility. I’m proud of myself for this. And I’m proud to be someone who sees love everywhere, even if it’s not next to me.

Now, you might be wondering why I'd share this deeply personal truth so openly. Why do it after admitting I feel embarrassed telling friends about each love life failure or knowing full well that this level of vulnerability will undoubtedly attract unkind commentary?

Because I know what it means to feel lonely, and today, a rising number of adults are lonely, too. I also know that hearing stories that feel like your own chips away at loneliness. It makes a difference.

But I’d be lying if I said sharing this was all altruistic. Part of me just wants to be seen and to see a bit of validation. Part of me just wants to admit how tired I am. And part of me, well, wants to urge people to stop saying things like “You’ll meet them when you’re both ready!” or “There are plenty of fish in the sea,” because, if you look closely, our hearts are already drowning from searching.

But, above all, I write this for the person reading this, thinking, I’m tired too.

I feel you, I do, and I hope your next decade isn’t full of wanting and waiting but overflowing with loving and belonging. I hope that any day now, you finally get to rest your heart in someone’s hands. I hope that soon (very, very soon) you meet someone who sees you—really sees you—and wants to spend the rest of their lives looking for new ways to love you.

And I hope this for myself, too.

Sonya Matejko adores writing words and helping people find them(selves). As a writer, poet, author, and founder, she uses words to make people feel seen and heard (and does so using the Oxford comma). Her writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Forbes, Business Insider, HuffPost, Yoga Journal, and more. Her writing also appears on bookshelves with her debut poetry collection, Everlasting Spring, recently released with Yorkshire Publishing. Sonya is also the founder of Nurtured Narratives, a writing services company rooted in wellness, where she helps brands and female founders tell their stories (well). Follow her poetry @aforceofnurture or connect with Sonya at www.sonyamatejko.com.