“Being single must be amazing, though! You’re free!” This is a sentence, or an iteration of it, that I hear fairly often. The idea that singlehood is this empowering, liberating or even feminist act – especially if you remain single in your 30s and beyond. And that isn’t to say that it isn’t all true; singlehood can be empowering: to learn who you are as a person, to be comfortable in your own body, to live a life on your own terms. It can also be freeing and liberating, particularly if previous romantic relationships have shrunk or constricted your sense of self.

Some of the happiest times of my life have been the quiet moments spent alone reading in my local cafe on a Sunday afternoon, going on a long walk through Hampstead Heath or catching up with my best friend at a new restaurant we’ve wanted to try for weeks. I find a lot of ease and comfort in the fact that while singlehood may still exist outside the traditional norms of society, it is no longer viewed as some warped or alien concept.

I enjoy being unattached and having my own routine that doesn’t involve another person or considering the needs and wants of a partner. I may not have someone to wake up to in the mornings, but if I decide to go for a swim or catch a film at the cinema, I can simply do those things at that very moment. Compromise still plays a part in my life but not anywhere near as much as it would if I shared a life with another person. But that doesn’t mean singlehood always feels empowering or liberating. Sometimes, being single doesn’t have a deeper or bigger meaning; it just is what it is.

And then there are the other times, when you feel sad or low about your single status. For me, one of those times is Valentine’s Day. It is a time when you cannot seem to escape the love and romance of couples and relationships, both offline and online. I’m a hopeless romantic at heart and a big believer in celebrating love, but even I have a limit. Apart from the day being a commercialisation of love, it’s a stark reminder that even though I have my family and friends, romantic love is still something that’s absent from my life. Going to the supermarket? Beware the comically large red hearts adorning the entrances. Wanting to make a dinner reservation? It’s either an impossible task or you will be surrounded by couples on dates. Scrolling through Instagram? The algorithm will serve you every couple’s relationship timeline in the form of a curated love-infused photo dump.

I know this sounds like I’m a Miss Havisham-style bitter woman, but singlehood isn’t a binary concept. It isn’t feeling independent and empowered at all times, and it isn’t wallowing in your loneliness every night of the week. Like most things, it’s a mixed bag.

For the most part, I feel content with my life, but there are days – like Valentine’s Day – when my lack of a long-term romantic relationship makes me panic about my future and gets me down. It likely doesn’t help that I’m the only single friend in my friendship group, which comes with its own complicated feelings. Being the ‘single friend’ can make me feel left out and left behind. I feel as though I often have to present this ‘empowered’ version of singlehood, especially now that I’m 30, in the hope that people won’t pity me or give me unsolicited advice about how to meet a partner.

It doesn’t always feel liberating or empowering. Singlehood is nuanced, and the lack of romantic love in my life does, at times, make me feel lonely, sad and in need of a big ugly cry. It isn’t just the lack of romance, though; it’s also feeling under-appreciated at a time when a lot of people seem to have their ‘person’ to love and appreciate publicly. It’s why I’m glad things like Galentine’s Day seem to have gained popularity in the last few years (thank you, Amy Poehler), to ensure that platonic love and friendships have the space to be celebrated too.

So, this Valentine’s Day, instead of putting on a brave face while fielding comments like ‘It’s just another day’ (I know) or ‘It’s stupid to let it affect you’ (I’m well aware, thank you), I’m going to allow myself to wallow in my feelings. I’m giving myself permission to be the sad single woman for a day while watching my favourite romcom on the sofa, because feelings need to be felt.

Image: Getty