“What’s it like being on your own after 32 years?”

I thought about it for a moment and said:

“Actually, I’ve been on my own for 32 years.”

And I meant it.

Because being married isn’t necessarily the same thing as having a partner.

For the past two years, I’ve been doing the things I love, going out with girlfriends, spending time with family, travelling, eating where I want, staying where I want and, perhaps most importantly, making my own choices.

And honestly?

I’ve had more of my favourite things in the past two years than I had in the previous 32 years.

Chateaubriand.

Lobster.

Champagne.

Beautiful clothes.

Five-star hotels.

Italian food.

Indian food.

Thai food.

And do you know how many times I was told no?

Champagne?

“Only at Christmas.”

Your favourite food?

“I don’t like it.”

Chateaubriand?

“Too expensive.”

Lobster?

Apparently not worth spending the money on.

Beautiful clothes?

“You pay for them.”

Five-star hotels?

“No.”

Apparently, they were only something he had enjoyed before he met me.

Italian food?

“I don’t like it.”

“Have you tried it?”

“No. I just know I won’t like it.”

Indian or Thai?

“Never tried it, but I know I won’t like it.”

And eventually you stop asking.

Not because you don’t like those things anymore.

But because you already know the answer.

No.

Then something rather extraordinary happened.

I met people who didn’t need to like everything I liked.

They simply said:

“You love it? Have it.”

“You’ve never tried it? Let’s try it.”

“That’s your favourite? Order it.”

What a revelation.

I discovered that I could enjoy something simply because I enjoyed it.

I didn’t need permission.

I didn’t need to justify the price.

I didn’t need someone else to approve of my choice.

And suddenly I realised just how much of myself I had been putting away.

Because for 32 years I wasn’t just the wife.

I was the housekeeper.

The cook.

The babysitter.

The organiser.

The person who kept everything running.

Blah, blah, blah…

But somehow, my wants and pleasures always seemed to come last.

There was, however, one thing he never said no to.

Dogs.

Because he knew one thing for certain:

I would never leave my dogs.

And perhaps that’s the funny thing about freedom.

People imagine freedom is some enormous, dramatic event.

Sometimes it is.

But sometimes freedom looks like sitting in a restaurant ordering Chateaubriand because you bloody well want Chateaubriand.

Ordering lobster because you love lobster.

Having champagne because it’s Tuesday.

Trying the Italian restaurant.

Trying the Indian restaurant.

Trying the Thai restaurant.

Buying the beautiful dress.

Booking the five-star hotel.

And laughing when you realise:

“Bloody hell… I could have been doing this all along.”

So when someone asks me:

“What’s it like being on your own after 32 years?”

My answer is:

“I’m not on my own. I’m finally with myself.”

And after 32 years of being told what I couldn’t have, what I couldn’t eat, where I couldn’t go and what wasn’t worth spending money on…

I’m rather enjoying discovering what YES feels like.