I Want to Want It, But I Don’t

Unpartnered on Purpose

I used to think I wanted a relationship.

A real one.

The kind with Sunday mornings and shared meals and inside jokes and goodnight kisses.

And maybe I do want those things… in theory.

But in practice?

In real life?

I want to want it—but I don’t.

I like the beginning, I’ll admit that.

The conversations. The getting-to-know-you phase. The flutter of newness.

But after a few months—three, maybe—I start to feel the familiar squeeze.

Not of love.

Of pressure.

Of expectation.

Of someone else’s needs inching into the quiet, sacred spaces I’ve fought so hard to carve out.

I start to see the cracks—not just in them, but in me.

I start to feel caged, even when no one is holding the lock.

It’s like commitment fogs my clarity.

Like I can’t see the relationship clearly until it’s already closing in.

And when that happens, I don’t want to fix it.

I want to leave it.

That used to scare me.

Used to make me think something was wrong with me.

But now? I’m starting to see it differently.

Maybe I’m not broken.

Maybe I’m unpartnered on purpose.

Maybe I don’t need to explain my solo-ness, justify my peace, or apologize for wanting a room of my own.

Maybe I’m allowed to love people—and still choose myself.

Maybe companionship doesn’t have to come with contracts and shared closets.

Maybe I wasn’t made to settle in beside someone forever.

Maybe I was made to stretch out, to wander, to breathe.

And maybe that’s not a flaw.

Maybe that’s a calling.

I don’t want to carry someone.

I don’t want to be carried.

I want to walk beside someone who doesn’t need me to dim, shrink, soften, or overfunction.

But if that doesn’t show up, I’ll still be whole.

I’ll still be home.

Unpartnered. On purpose.

And completely, unapologetically, me.