Confessions of a Serial Monogamist

What do you do when you haven't been single for 30 years?

Today’s post is a bonus for paid subscribers. If you aren’t one yet, don’t worry, you totally can be! I have a summer special where an annual subscription is just $30. If finances are a hardship and you’d like the extras, leave me a comment and I’m happy to help.

I am sharing a handful of bonus posts this summer to thank my readers who are helping to support my work as I am knee-deep in the hellscape of book proposals.

Today I’m exploring the delightful topic of being divorced in your forties and staring down the dreaded question, “How the fuck did I get here, and am I doomed to repeat the same relationship problems forever?” You know. Super light stuff.

(If you’re one of the many midlife women who has endured divorce, I would love for you to join my “Writing Divorce” workshop this fall. You can put your name on a no-commitment interest list to stay in the loop here. )

There is no shortage of advice and opinions on post-divorce dating, and there are always a handful of cheerleaders encouraging you to “get back out there” and join the world of dating apps. (Vicarious adventure seekers, perhaps? A combo of voyeurism and schadenfreude? Discuss.)

The last time I was single, dating apps did not exist. We had barely dipped our toes into the world of online dating in the early 2000s, and to be honest, I would rather sign up for monthly colonoscopies than enter this terrifying realm.

But here’s the thing: I was terrible at dating even when I was a teenager and young adult. As in, I didn’t do casual dating. It felt unnatural—I mean, I loathe small talk—and I preferred real connections to brief encounters and meaningless fun. But despite my distaste for dating, I was never single. I loved having a boyfriend, and I almost always did. Let’s call it what it is/was: I am a serial monogamist. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. I think maybe I’m not supposed to feel good about it.