Last night marked exactly one year since I broke up with my boyfriend of seven years.

As I lay dying on the floor of the gym after what might have been the most painful workout of my life, my trainer asked what my plans were later that evening.

“Well, it’s my anniversary,” spilled out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea. 

He stared at me confused, knowing very well that I was single.

“So, I think I’ll stop by Whole Foods and pick up some wine, dessert, and some flowers,” I continued.

You ever have one of those out of body experiences where you can see and hear yourself doing something and you’re in the background whispering “cut it out” to yourself but the real you in real time just keeps going knowing very well that you’re oversharing? Generally alcohol is involved but I’m starting to realize endorphins may have the same effect on me. Anyone else?

“People do that?” he asked even more confused.

“I do,” I replied with such confidence like I had done it before, several times. I hadn’t. 

But then as I walked to my car like a baby gazelle fresh out of the womb (squats, am I right?) I started to question whether to just go home. Did I need any of these things? I honestly probably could have saved the money. In the seven seconds it took me to walk from the gym to my car I must have come up with a dozen reasons why I didn’t have to do any of these things until that tiny little voice in the back of my head stopped me dead in my tracks. 

Why wouldn’t I treat myself? Why shouldn’t I celebrate being single? It seemed so hypocritical that I put so much weight and importance on every passing year where my ex and I managed not to kill each other but I questioned whether I should celebrate being the happiest I’ve ever been in my own company. Typing and reading this outloud makes that hesitation I felt sound so silly. 

So, I’m happy to share that I did in fact go to Whole Foods, picked up a bottle of malbec, a couple bundles of tulips, and one red velvet cupcake. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider purchasing one of their party-sized fruit cakes but reminded myself not to get carried away. After all, I wasn’t going to let all of those squats go to waste.

At one point I lit a candle to blow out like it was my birthday and somewhere in the ridiculousness of all of this I just started to laugh. It was stupid and it was cheesy and it made me so happy that I wouldn’t have changed a thing. And in a way, it was almost like a birthday or a rebirth of some kind. Having been in a relationship for longer than most of my friend’s marriages I had forgotten what it was like to be single and what I was like single.

I don’t think it’s a bad thing to pick up the same tastes in music, food, mannerisms, etc. when in a relationship, especially one so long; I think that’s totally normal. But somewhere in all those years I think I forgot who I was and lost bits of myself. I’m not sure I’ll get those pieces back because I’m not the same person I was back then and I’m not the same person I was in that relationship. I’m in an entirely new decade of my life and I’m pretty excited to get to know this new woman. 

This isn’t a platform for me to bash on marriage or anyone looking to start a family. This is simply just the recognition that everyone around me is married and starting families. Everyone but me. And for the first time in my life I don’t feel the pressure to do the same. If you’ve found love and your children have changed your life, that is amazing and wonderful. I’m just saying I have not, and that is also amazing and wonderful. 

For so many years I measured my value and importance on my relationship status and for the first time in my life I feel not only content with being single but grateful that I could remove myself from a place that felt so comfortable to start prioritizing myself, my wants, and my needs.

There are so many blogs and platforms that celebrate engagements, marriage, and starting a family and if you’re celebrating any of those things, congratulations, but this blog is probably not for you. 

But if you’re single, relate to every self destructive millennial meme on Instagram, and are trying to find yourself in the bottom of a wine bottle, well, buckle up bitch; you’re in for one hell of a ride.