Single, Thriving, and avoiding eye contact

So… Simon came and went, and after discovering the monster that lurked in the dark corners of my subconscious mind (seriously, who invited that guy?), I decided to go on a full-blown hiatus. No dating for me—thank you very much—until I could put myself out there with the emotional support of a therapist.

My bestie—neuropsychologist, guru, and human Google for all things brain—put me on the waiting list for her top psychologist. Good things come to those who wait, right? Except apparently the universe thought a whole year was appropriate.

During that year, I avoided anything that resembled a dating site—or, let’s be honest, a man. Who knows what other monsters were hiding in the dark? I wasn’t ready to find out.

I also completely abandoned my fictional, toxic, half-animal, half-man-with-red-eyes book boyfriends (RIP, you perfect disasters) and started reading personal development books instead. They became my therapists for the year. Hermit life? Check. Social awkwardness? Double check.

My big sister—my hero, my heart, and rich auntie to my boys—met her partner later in life. She gave me this advice: Enjoy being single, because when you meet the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, you’ll miss the quiet, the freedom, living life with zero compromise. I took that advice to heart… especially the “zero compromise” part, which also conveniently includes avoiding awkward eye contact.

Because I had done everything expected of women according to the 1950’s handbook on how to be a wife—ignoring my husband’s indiscretions, cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids, and absolutely no social life—I had very little idea what it meant to truly have a social life. Thankfully, my tribe came through. Angels in human form.

My bestie’s specialty has always been concerts, so naturally we went to see our favorite artists. Next, my party girl introduced me to a life-changing concept: the Day Party. They start between 1 pm and 3 pm and end by 10 pm at the latest. For someone like me, who is fast asleep by 9:30 pm this is basically paradise. Dancing? Therapy. Socializing? Optional.

My favorite Yogi scheduled hot yoga classes and mountain hikes for me—because apparently, midlife is the time to voluntarily sweat while balancing on one leg.

I adopted a dog—a 2-year-old miniature long-haired dachshund named Chanel. She became everything my children and I needed: unconditional love, a walking buddy who loves to cuddle on the sofa when we watch our TV shows.

My baby girl Chanel ❤️

I went on a cruise for the first time. My children, my eldest’s best friend, and I tagged along to Italy, Spain, and France with my sister and her in-laws. It was phenomenal—a dream to bring my children to Europe. A few men tried to get to know me, but my eldest son channeled his inner Gandalf the Grey and made sure they did not pass. Secretly, I was grateful.

Later that year, we spent Christmas in Los Angeles with my sister and her family. Life? Single. Thriving. And successfully avoiding eye contact with anyone who might try to ruin it.

Somewhere along the way—between book therapy sessions, hot yoga classes, long walks with Chanel, and day parties where I danced like no one was filming (unfortunately somebody was)—I realized that healing after divorce isn’t a straight line. It’s more like an emotional scavenger hunt: some days you find peace, other days you find the version of yourself who keeps obsessing about past hurts. Both count as progress.

Trusting the process means letting go of timelines and Pinterest quotes about “blooming where you’re planted.” Some days you’re blooming, other days you’re just watering yourself with coffee and hoping for the best—and honestly, that still counts. Healing isn’t about bouncing back; it’s about rebuilding—slowly, intentionally, and with a little more self-respect and fewer red flags this time around.

Taking your time doesn’t mean you’re stuck; it means you’re choosing wisely. You learn what actually brings you peace, what makes you laugh until your face hurts, and what (or who) you’ll never make space for again. You start realizing that the more time you spend getting to know yourself, the less you feel the need to apologize for who you’ve become.

So yes, I’m single. Thriving. Still occasionally avoiding eye contact—because peace, boundaries, and good mascara are all I really need right now.

Here’s to trusting the process, dancing before dinner, and remembering that peace looks good on me. 🍷