How to Be Alone: If You Want To, and Even If You Don't

by Lane Moore

all, all our lives, girls are told in not so many words that our main job in life is to please men, don’t embarrass them, don’t make them angry, give them what they ask for, be nice.

With Sam, she proved my worst fears to be true: that I was too much and needed too much. I’ve spent so many of my relationships being terrified the person I love will hurt me, and always questioning whether or not the other person really means what they say, and worrying if I love more, or feel more, and what that means if it’s true.

Even now when I get sick I often get impossibly depressed because I just want someone to take care of me, like I wanted someone to take care of me then, and no one’s coming for either of us.

MAYBE SOMEONE ELSE WILL LOVE ME AND THAT WILL FIX EVERYTHING

I can honestly say I have spent my entire life searching for romantic love in a way that I thought for a very long time was adorable and that I now see as heartbreakingly sad. I’m sure it’s closer to the truth to say it’s in between the two, but maybe because I’ve lived it and know where it comes from, it seems mostly like the latter. That intense Anne of Green Gables romanticism, bursting from every cell in my body, came from a similar place in me as it did in Anne: a tragic backstory and a desperate need to belong to someone.

I loved Anne Shirley for all the right reasons. She wasn’t the right kind of pretty or the right kind of girl; she was too loud, too messy, too romantic, wanted too much, felt too much, and needed too much.

At times I’ve struggled to feel seen, to have my history feel seen, to have where I come from feel seen because I “turned out great.” But that doesn’t mean that I Am Fine. I am working every day, tirelessly, like you wouldn’t believe, on being fine, fucking finally, can we get this over with, I’m so tired and I just want to travel and eat and smile and move through the world with a semblance of peace.

It no longer seemed worth it to try to be someone I’m not, especially when I love all the things that I am. I love how intensely I love people, especially despite my background. I think it’s an incredible gift to meet people you connect with and want to give all of yourself to, to be able to risk that much of yourself to go all in with someone, because why the fuck not?

People have these entire worlds, entire histories inside of them, with thousands of knots tied by people you’ll probably never meet and will never know, so your helping to untie them is just not a thing.

If you beg people, “Please, I’ve already been through enough. Take good care of my heart because I won’t be able to handle it if you don’t,” and they say, “Of course, darling,” and then proceed to break everything in your life anyway, because fuck you, what do you do with that?

If you see a woman who is working super hard to become who she’s meant to be and to achieve the things she wants to achieve, and you have nothing to add to her life or to give back to her in any way, please just leave her the fuck alone.

Be the person you’ve been waiting for.

I thought having a dog would be another example of my taking care of everyone but myself, but I quickly realized it was the opposite. All the things I give to this dog—the twelve thousand times a day I tell her I love her and she’s beautiful and special and perfect, all the belly rubs and dog massages I give her—are greatly appreciated, and that love is returned. And on the days when I can’t do that as much, or I get wrapped up in work and forget, I always think she’ll be mad at me, she’ll hate me now, she’ll leave. And she doesn’t!!! That’s a thing??? You can be not perfect and still be loved? THAT’S SO COOL!