Funeralizing Singleness and Good Grief on a Good Friday

Good Friday is a good day to talk about grief.

(Apologies if this post feels disjointed and piecemeal and less edited and streamlined than usual. I just wanted to get it out and post it before Good Friday ends, and I’m hungry and want to go roast some chicken.)

Ever since I turned 37 in February this year, something inside me just died. I think it was my hope — my hope in meeting a compatible partner, eventually falling in love etc,. My faith that anything of the sort would happen went into free fall. I spiralled.

And I know — I know — anything can happen. It happens when you least expect it. You’re never too old to find love, 37 is young, this is not the end, your life is not over, you are so beautiful, anyone would be lucky to have you, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Cognitively and logically I know this, and I only repeat these platitudes to beat others to the punch because someone will inevitably repeat them in response to this article/entry/essay. Emotionally and psychologically, I feel forsaken by God and I feel like the situation is irredeemable.

I don’t know what it is about 37 that caused me to utterly crash out. I used to encourage myself by saying stuff like, “Meghan Markle got married [albeit a second time] at age 36. Amal Alamuddin Clooney was…