Dating as a modern widow: the false narratives of finding love, post-loss

Last week, I created a lighthearted post on Instagram about dating as a widow (or really, my lack thereof). I whipped up a few of the “pitfalls,” via a faux dating profile, about having to cancel often, that I always have kid stuff in my purse, and answering the age old question: Do you really have your kids every weekend?

I was nervous about it, because I’m aware how disconcerting it is for our society to acknowledge loss, especially at a young age. I get it, genuinely, I’m just as uncomfortable with it as you all are, with the caveat that I don’t get a choice to turn my eyes away from it. What I found interesting about my post, was that people seemed comfortable discouraging dating in public comments; and yet, other people privately messaged me to offer words of encouragement, as though it’s “wrong,” or shameful.  This got my wheels turning, regarding the, sometimes hypocritical, ways that the widowed are “expected” to proceed. I’ve been “should-ed” by many; sometimes the same people who tell me to not date in one breath, will insinuate that the cure for widow-dom is to find a new spouse (it can’t be both, Karen!).

There are so many false narratives surrounding love after loss. From the concept of “readiness,” to the notion that one should settle, now that you’ve got baggage. Below are a few things that have been said to me over the course of three years, since my husband passed, that definitely gave me some whiplash:

You’re so pretty, you won’t be alone for long!

I actually heard this a few times. I’m aware its supposed to be some kind of compliment, but also, no. Someone’s attractiveness has nothing to do with any of it. I’m not a trophy waiting to be scooped up by the next guy. I have standards, I’m not desperate, and I despise the idea that the only way I could be happy in life is if I found another man to take care of poor little me.

You should really just focus on your kids.

Oh really? I thought I should be at the bar every night until I find me a man! Oh wait…I’m a HIGHLY devoted parent; I always have been, and the insinuation that hoping to have a partner, somehow makes me inept at parenting, is insulting.

You have three kids, you can’t afford to be too picky.

Yes. Yes I can. I will stay alone until I find who I want. Or forever if I don’t.

You should wait XYZ amount of time before dating.

How long did you wait to date after your spouse died? Oh, you’ve never had a spouse die? Okay, then…thanks for the expert testimony on what I should do.

Okay, okay, snark aside, I’ve mostly kept mum on the topic; because no matter how much time goes by, there are always people who will look at you sideways when you admit to re-entering the dating world after your spouse dies.

Then I had to ask myself why? Someone who’s divorced three years doesn’t have to worry about it…heck, people who are not even divorced yet aren’t judged for jumping right out into the dating pool. So why, as someone who, by all accounts, was a loving, loyal spouse to a terminally ill husband, do I sense some people shift in their seats upon the idea that I am out to dinner with someone that isn’t my late husband?

My personal belief is that this judgement has nothing to do with widows, themselves. It has everything to do with the fear of the person passing judgment: of finding themselves in our shoes, or of their spouses moving on after they pass. No one wants to feel like they can be replaced: and here’s the good news, friends: you can’t. I mean that. Not a single widowed person, whether they get married after a year, or ten years, is replacing the spouse they lost. It’s not possible.

What is possible? That if a widowed person is lucky, they find a whole new relationship, with a whole new person, that they love for totally different reasons than they loved their first spouse. It IS possible, just as it’s possible to love your second and third children as much as your first.

The heart is a magnificent muscle. It’s capable of enduring the weight of devastation so great, you almost wish it would stop beating, to end the pain. It’ll keep pumping, until the holes poked into it by life grow scar tissue, and you start waking up some days with a smidge of appreciation for life. It’ll keep healing, if you let it, until it feels strong enough to live again, and yes, love again. And I have to tell you, that’s a scary concept for most of us. I can tell you that my experience as a cancer caregiver absolutely shapes my view on what kind of people/relationships are worth the risk of ever having to be one again (in case you hadn’t thought of it, if I ever got married again, there’s a 50/50 shot I’d be a widow twice in my life…that’s not something I take lightly). This healing timeline is different for all of us; some people are ready before the magical “one year” mark, others choose never to do it again. So the next time you jump to questioning a widow’s decision to get back out there, remember how brave they’re being for trying again.

And if anyone is still wondering, I do, indeed, have my kids every weekend.

XOXO!