Challenging the stigma surrounding being spouse-less and child-less
”The other room awaits your presence,” the host announced with a touch of formality.
Fixed on assembling my Thanksgiving meal, I cautiously placed a napkin beneath my plate, tightly holding my utensils in my other hand.
My plate became a harmonious blend of leafy greens, potatoes, and a vegetarian Tofurkey. With plate in hand and a glass of wine delicately balanced alongside my utensils, I gracefully made my way to the adjacent room, where my designated table and dinner companions awaited.
Glancing into the room, I was welcomed by an unexpected sight. To my surprise, I found myself assigned to the children’s table—once again.
”Why must I, as the sole unpartnered adult without children, be seated with the young ones?” I pondered silently, searching for a seat as distant as possible from the vigorous toddler twins presiding over the table.
Choosing a seat without uttering a word, I attempted to conceal my slight embarrassment. Perhaps no one will take notice of my presence. Shortly thereafter, a recent high school graduate settled next to me, further highlighting my predicament. A cousin passed by the room a couple of minutes later and glanced inside.
Observing the scene, he remarked nonchalantly, “Ah, it seems the children and the bachelors have congregated here.”
In retrospect, this should not have caught me off guard.
I reflected upon numerous Thanksgiving dinners and family gatherings since my divorce. Time and again, I found myself relegated to the children’s table during meals, instructed to ride in the backseat on family trips, allocated the couch for sleeping in Airbnbs, and entrusted with looking after the children while the adults prepared meals.
When it came to potlucks, I was rarely tasked with cooking a dish; instead, I was advised to bring a “dessert.” Consequently, I would often leave these gatherings with substantial portions of homemade food, neatly packed in generously sized Tupperware containers. The assumption was that, as a “bachelor,” I would require the comfort of homemade meals more than anyone else. As a result, I would depart from dinner parties with enough food for a leisurely Sunday picnic and leftovers sufficient for the entire week.
Although there are certain advantages to being a bachelor, such as the abundance of pre-prepared meals and the freedom from cooking at large potlucks, I began to recognize that in the eyes of my loved ones, I was not regarded as a fully mature and complete adult.
My status seemed to denote an intermediary state in life, as perceived by my family and close friends. Indeed, I was no longer young in terms of age, having entered my forties, yet my unattached relationship status classified me as somewhat inferior compared to the other “adults” in the room.
The “adults” were engaged in genuine relationships, navigating through the complexities of partnerships, caring for their children, filing joint tax returns, and deducting mortgage payments. They conversed about married life, in-laws, schools, children’s sports, and colleges. Informed discussions ensued about current news and politics, as they recognized the profound impact of today’s events on their children’s future.
On the other hand, I flew solo. I didn’t comprehend the intricate nature of adult relationships or the responsibilities of raising children. In their eyes, I appeared carefree and unburdened by obligations. I could sleep in and wake up late. I had the freedom to cook at home or dine out on a whim. I could return home for the night or crash at a friend’s place if the evening grew late.
To the adults in the room, my lack of a spouse or offspring implied that I shied away from commitment. I couldn’t fathom the struggles and hardships of adulthood, parenthood, or even the experiences of residing in a suburban community.
According to societal norms, to attain full adulthood and be accepted entirely, one must be accompanied by a partner and a child. While being childless may be tolerable, being partner-less renders one incomplete, a person not fully mature.
Even in today’s era, traditional family dynamics and lifestyles are expected of us. Those within my social circle yearn, year after year, for me to arrive with a companion. Some view me with sympathy and compassion, while others regard me with disdain and irritation.
The most common inquiry I face is whether I have met someone or am romantically involved. When I respond in the negative, my fellow adults struggle to react. They are uncertain how to engage with me or what questions to ask. Their lives revolve so heavily around marriage and parenthood. Consequently, our conversations often stagnate into mundane topics. “How is work going?”
Is it fair to treat the unmarried, divorced, and single individuals as lesser adults? Is it justifiable to bundle these unattached souls together with children and relegate them to a second-class status during family and social gatherings? Is it equitable to continuously expect them to find a partner and have children?
Each of us possesses unique stories and reasons for being unattached. However, society at large continues to regard singlehood as a threat to the very fabric of its existence. If one person is divorced, it implies that others might follow suit. It’s seen as contagious, isn’t it?
If one is single and, heaven forbid, content with their situation, it may impart misguided notions to those of marriageable age and those desiring children. If we wholeheartedly accept unattached individuals for who they are, without an inherent requirement for a partner or child, then we might be acknowledging that it’s acceptable to be unpartnered and childless.
The traditional ideals of family and parenthood still grip society tightly. The unmarried and single individuals bear the weight of stigmas and taboos.
People may tolerate us, but they struggle to fully embrace our existence. We can only be perceived as complete when accompanied by a partner. Until then, lingering questions persist in people’s minds. “When will you find a ‘plus one’?”
We, the single, unmarried, and divorced, are seen as individuals residing in the transit lounges of airports. We may have destinations in mind, yet in our current solo state, we are perceived as waiting for our lives to commence. Our boarding pass to true adulthood is contingent upon finding a partner and culminates with the arrival of a child.