Choosing Singleness With Self-Respect | Embracing Authenticity

Something small but meaningful happened this morning while I was walking the dog.

I ran into a woman I really enjoy speaking to. Not in a polite, surface-level way — but the kind of conversation where you feel met. She asks thoughtful questions. She listens. There’s curiosity there. I find myself genuinely animated around her, almost interrupting because I’m excited to respond.

That alone is worth noticing.

But then she did something else.

She suggested — kindly, warmly — that I meet her daughter. That she thought we might be a good match.

And what surprised me wasn’t the suggestion.

It was my response.

Saying no — and meaning it

I thanked her for the compliment and said, honestly:

“I’m really enjoying being single right now.”

As the words left my mouth, they felt grounded. Not defensive. Not performative. Just true.

I explained — gently, without needing to justify — that if someone comes into my life, I want it to add to it. And that right now, I don’t want a relationship that asks me to take on more responsibility than I already carry.

Because I already carry a lot.

I’m a father.
I look after my dog.
I’m learning how to look after myself properly.

That’s enough responsibility for now.

And for the first time, saying that didn’t feel like loss.

It felt like self-respect.

The rescuing pattern I don’t want anymore

I’ve noticed something over time.

Almost every woman I’ve encountered where dating felt possible came with a familiar internal pull: the sense that I would need to hold things together. To take care. To stabilise. To rescue, in subtle ways.

I don’t believe this is because women are inherently burdensome.

I think it’s because of a pattern I learned early on — one where love became entwined with responsibility and emotional labour. Where connection was earned through caretaking.

So now, when a dynamic hints at that familiar shape, something in me quietly steps back.

Not out of fear.

Out of clarity.

I’d rather be single than repeat a relationship where my nervous system is doing unpaid emotional work just to keep things afloat.

What I actually want (and what I don’t)

This feels important to name clearly.

I don’t want:

to rescue
to manage someone else’s life
to feel responsible for another adult’s stability

What I do want — if someone enters my life — is this:

Someone with their own life.
Their own supports.
Their own sense of responsibility.

Someone who can meet me, not lean on me.

So that we can share — not merge, not collapse into old roles — but genuinely choose each other.

Until that exists, being single isn’t a consolation prize.

It’s the healthier option.

The sacrifice people don’t talk about

There’s a quiet truth about relationships that often gets overlooked.

Choosing one person means closing the door to every other possibility.

That’s a real sacrifice.

And unless the relationship is nourishing, reciprocal, and growth-supportive, that sacrifice doesn’t feel worth making anymore.

This isn’t cynicism.

It’s discernment.

And I don’t think I’ve ever had access to that before.

A level of self-respect I had to grow into

What struck me most about this moment wasn’t the boundary itself.

It was how naturally it came.

I didn’t rehearse it.
I didn’t brace myself.
I didn’t feel guilt afterwards.

I simply spoke from where I am now.

I suspect many securely attached people grow up with this kind of self-respect as a baseline — because they were met consistently, early on.

I didn’t have that.

I’ve had to arrive here the long way round.

But I’m here now.

And that feels quietly significant.

Enjoying the life I actually have

There was something else underneath the words I spoke this morning.

A genuine enjoyment of my life as it is.

Getting to know myself.
Moving at my own pace.
Not organising my energy around someone else’s needs.

There’s spaciousness here.

And for now, I don’t want to give that up.

Not because I’m closed to love.

But because I’m finally learning how to love my own life first.

And if someone joins me one day, I want it to be because it truly makes things better — not because I was afraid to stand alone.

For now, being single feels like an honest choice.