Women

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One of the most painful and honest descriptions of singlehood I’ve read is from Mardi McConnochie’s book Coldwater. She writes:

“We are taught in myriad subtle ways that to be a spinster is to be a failure; it is a kind of invisibility, a social death, to be the one not chosen. You are a burden on your family, an embarrassment to your sex, not beautiful or agreeable enough to be plucked from the sidelines and asked to take your place in the dance of adult life.”

McConnochie was writing about 19th century Australia, but, even today, singlehood (or its more unsightly sister spinsterhood) is viewed as a sign of “unwanting.” There are few things more painful to a woman than being unwanted. Even the most thoroughly untidy woman will look at the band of gold around her sausage finger and raise her chin in confidence. Someone loves me, she thinks to herself.

Indeed, tremendous power lies in knowing you are loved. Every day, obstacles are overcome and great achievements accomplished by one who knows she is loved. What is more, love helps us survive the grim and endless tearing down of the every day.

The author comes to an even more insightful conclusion at the end of the passage. She writes:

“But, there is also a kind of protection in that invisibility.”

This may be even more piteous than to be the “one not chosen.” To somehow relish invisibility, to embrace it, is unsettling. Most of all, because the sentiment is utterly familiar.

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