THE YEAR OF SINGLE

Being very single is a lot like being naked in

Victoria Park at 10am on a Sunday morning…

At first it’s alien. Then it’s kinda like oh shit this is actually niiiice. It’s just you, in a park. And there’s a breeze in places you didn’t know could get breezy. It’s cool, a bit wild, a bit free. It’s better than you ever thought it would be.

Then just as everything feels like it’s gonna be alright. You start to notice everyone else in the park (world) is wearing clothes (in relationships). And you start to think, oh fuck, was it a really bad idea to get rid of your clothes (needy,ex-boyfriend)? The panic sets in. If everyone is wearing clothes (in a relationship), then maybe there will be no more clothes (fit cool nice boys) left for you. And what if everyone thinks you are weird because you are the only naked (single) one in the park (world). Or even worse what if everyone thinks that you can’t get any clothes (fit cool nice boys). And that’s the only reason you are naked (single).

So you run to the charity shop (tinder/hinge/bumble) and start searching for clothes (new boyfriend). You think a pair of Levi’s 501’s would be great (funny, interesting, creative lad). Yet you end up squeezing yourself into a tight pair of blue skinny jeans from Dorothy Perkins (moody, boring, fuck boy). You know deep down they aren’t right, but you buy (date) them anyway.  

This is called the “naked in the park theory”. And I made it up.

I have been ridiculously scared to be naked in the park.

I’ve not always had a boyfriend, BUT I have always made sure I’ve had some lad that I’m messaging. Someone who sparks up my “I’VE GOT A TEXT” endorphins. And like a badly put together outfit. These boys felt wrong. They didn’t suit me, they made me worry my thighs were too big, or that I was trying to be something I wasn’t.

I became the “coat hanger girl”. I would hang out with any lad who wanted to hang out with me.   If he liked me. I usually “liked” him. Which actually meant I didn’t have a clue what I felt. I was forever being chosen, rather the chooser.

I wasn’t until I decided to give up boys for an entire year, that I truly realised how much I relied on compliments and text messages to feel normal. With empty dm’s. I felt ugly, useless - my thumbs missed quickly tapping away at my screen until the early hours of the morning. I know, it may sound ridiculous, and looking back it is. But like all rags to riches stories. I came out the other side.

And before long I just stopped worrying about it. I start to see the benefits of being single. I forgot how it felt to get a message from someone you half fancy. I forgot about blue-ticks, and stalking people’s tagged on Instagram

The more time I spent single. The more I realised that single suits me, really really well.

Which brings me full circle. Because being naked in the park - doesn’t have to be a bad thing. In fact it’s really quite brilliant! And I love it. I see people with clothes on. And I am happy for them that they’ve found clothes that suit them. But for me personally, I love feeling this naked. I’m into the breeze on my bum. And I wouldn’t want to give it up for just anyone. I am no longer like a coat hanger, desperate for any clothes to make me feel useful.

Instead I have created my very own outfit out of my very own skin. Maybe I will find an accessory which suits it - maybe I won’t.