Why I Was Single For-Fricken-Everrr
Okay, fine, you asked. (Let’s assume that’s true.) So, I’ll tell.
2012
My last “real” relationship wrapped up before the new year. Done. Finito. Cue the credits.
Then came 2013 and I didn’t. Pun.
The infamous Summer Fling Ish™. This fella was supposed to be The One. I mean, on paper—yep, I still had “the spreadsheet”—he scored a smug 93%. Ninety. Three. Percent. I practically had the wedding Pinterest board open.
Spoiler: logic packs its bags and peaces out when attraction ghosts. Zero sparks. Meh chemistry. Just couldn’t do it (or him).
If you’ve read my memoir (shameless plug), you know I was convinced I had epic burnout from two decades of 80-hour real-estate-grind weeks.
Turns out it was peri-menopause plus something big that would go misdiagnosed and mis-medicated for over a decade.
2014
“I’m cured enough to hike the Himalayas!” Famous last words. I dragged my heavy-metal-detoxed butt (body, not band) up high mountains in low temperatures and called it character development. I was not well enough for the excursion, limped home lame and defeated and slept well into the new year, wondering what to do with my exhausted life.
2015
Floundered about for a few months in my childhood hometown then moved to Vancouver that summer, tried a 50 first dates challenge (self-inflicted and other-inflicting), and decided I was a dating pro. By fall, I launched wingmam.com. Look at me go! Adulting level: expert. (Narrator: she was not.) (Me: Is she really third-party referring to herself as the narrator?)
But by late fall, my brother-in-law’s cancer had returned in full force. Back-and-forth to my childhood town to help my sister and keep My Little Mom company.
Then came the year that broke me… 2016
Cue the gut-punch montage.
January: MLM got tested for cancer on the sly (from my sister).
February: Published my first YouTube video. (Coped by disconnecting from my reality and focused on men’s.)
March: Brother-in-law died and My Little Mom (MLM) confirmed with stage 4 lung cancer . Fack. (That’s the polite version.) I shuttled back and forth from the city until denial finally lost the fight.
Summertime: A blur of all the stages of grief: denial, disbelief, negotiating (with God, “Please don’t take her!”), anger etc.
October: Our little mom died. Two massive losses in one year. I still don’t have words for it, but I definitely had tears. Buckets. Oceans. I also collected a new psychological association: love. leads. to. pain.
2017
Tried to outrun the devastation by bolting to Calgary, Alberta. Zero obvious loss reminders! Fresh start! I even dipped a toe into online dating in Cow Town… which was basically me swiping right on distraction. Bad idea. I wasn’t ready; just running. (Sorry, dudes I met in Texas North, Canada.)
2018
Five years of zero income + startup costs = money panic. Self-doubt about my “calling” hit Olympic levels. Got an eye twitch and a day job. Adultier adulting.
2019
January: Sister-in-law diagnosed with lung cancer. (Really, Lord, really?) More back-and-forth Vancouver-to-family relays. (My siblings and I did home hospice for all three, because apparently we like our grief extra intimate.) Falling asleep at my desk isn’t a great look, so by May I was “laid off” (code for “please come back when you’re not narcoleptic”).
October: Sister-in-law died. The last inheritance dollars from MLM said bye-bye, YouTube still had paid zilch. I swallowed pride, asked my sister if I could crash with her, and had many dramatic “Why, Lord, WHY?” moments. (Prayers, not meltdowns. Mostly.)
November: After 3.5 years and 300+ videos of me yapping into the void… my. first. YouTube. pay-check. Cue confetti and ugly-crying relief and thank You prayers.
At that point, I was still mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted and didn’t know from what other than stress.
2020
2020 said “hold my Corona” and dropped Covid. (And people don’t think God has a sense of humour.)
2020–2022
Official hibernation era. Mental, physical, emotional recovery mode. Think bear in a cave, but with more Netflix. Then I poked the YouTube bear a few times asking “illegal” questions and getting my channel shadow banned. (That’s what I tell myself, because if it wasn’t YT I pissed off, then it was the viewers, and that makes me sad.)
2022
After 10+years of unexplained chronic fatigue, finally diagnosed with Lyme disease activating chronic intermittent mono. Stress is basically its favourite party trick, it reactivates everything like a bad ex who keeps texting. As it happens, there had been a bit of stress in my life.
Siting irreconcilable differences with a heavily-masking city, I moved back to Vancouver Island to be near family and recalibrate, I basically hid in the boonies like a glamorous hermit.
2023
Years of various traditional and alternative treatments kicked in. Energy! Actual energy! Not 100% but enough. Went to Europe with two besties. Still needed daily naps (call it “power siestas for the soul”), but wasn’t dying on hills anymore. Progress!
I knew island life wasn’t me—I’m a big-city gal who needs lights, overpriced lattes, and energy (even if it’s not mine)—so dating in the sticks? Nope. Energy for swiping? Double nope.
2024
Basically, 2023’s chill cousin. Entered menopause and was healthy enough to be bored sillier.
2025
Made peace with my on-again-off-again love affair with Vancouver and moved back. The city only asks for as much energy as I’ve got that day and never asks for an evening booty call. We’re in a healthy relationship now.
So yeah… I’ve been reluctant to shout my single-and-celibate status from the rooftops. Plus, um, I’m a dating and relationship coach, people love a gotcha moment.
But here’s the irony: my life right now is living proof of what I teach. Wait, hear me out…
Build a life you love so darn much that loneliness doesn’t get a vote. Desperation? Who dat? I’ve invested time crafting a world that feels full, meaningful, and fun enough for me—even solo, even at home in bed before 10pm. Done and done.
And the celibacy thing? Flings are not my thing. Been there, dumb that.
So, am I back on the market?
If God drops the right man organically in my path—no apps, no awkward replies to my blog—then sure, universe (aka Dad upstairs), I’m listening.
But dude would have to adore my particular brand of high-maintenance quirks and that would require an act of, well, Dad.
Mr. Perfect For Me would have to adore my particular mocktail of dealbreakers: I’m allergic to (deep breath): alcohol, going out after dark, kids, pets, FaceTime, phone calls, small talk, small towns, sand (or being on/in/too near the water—which water, Anna? Any water, silly gander!), and honestly, a whole host of other random deal-breakers. Plus, I still chronic fatigue when stress re-activates Lyme and that re-activates mono. Nice, huh? (Also, while we’re on the topic, it would be ideal if Mr. Right lived right in my ‘hood, or what the heck, in my condo building. Ask and ye shall receive, riiight?)
God may love me unconditionally (yay me!), but that laundry list disqualifies me for a solid 99% of the male population. (And vice versa—mutual disqualification is the healthiest kind of weeding, after all.)
Stepping in as Coach AJ for a hot second here: Dating is a lot of work. It requires energy. If everything else about someone was ideal—chemistry, values, the works—would you rather stay single foreverrr or accept the annoying quirk (and have that person accept yours)?
That’s the real question worth asking ourselves. Because the right one won’t see your “allergies” as red flags, but as the exact reasons you’re you. (Assuming you actually like those things about yourself and aren’t living in delusion.)
And if no one shows up who gets it? Either get out there and make something happen if a romantic relationship is important to you, or make sure your life’s already full, satisfying, and quirk-approved. No settling required.
So if my man shows up? Well played, Big Daddy. And if not, I’m still sick, and tired, but at least I’m content and at peace.
If you want to chat about this (or roast me for the spreadsheet and being an oddball), leave a comment below. Email? Nah, let’s keep it public so we can all judge lovingly together.
Much obliged, big hug, and God bless!
AJ
