“You’ll Find Someone.”

“You’ll find someone.” My aunt says to me during Thanksgiving dinner. A sentiment I find both presumptuous and intrusive. I tilt my head. “The right person will come along. You just have to be patient.” I smile an awkward smile and nod politely, but I am genuinely confused. I don’t understand why this is still a topic — or why my family assumes I’m waiting for a man to arrive and complete my life.

Whenever an extended family member says, “you’ll find someone,” they’re almost always referring to a potential male partner. That alone is irritating, considering I haven’t been sure I even want to settle down with a man for over seven years now. What’s more puzzling is that my aunt, the one offering this advice, has never had a consistent male partner that I’m aware of. The irony of the situation is that she herself raised her two kids alone. I’ve heard stories of prospective lovers and vague rendezvous, but I’ve never seen her with someone she calls her own. So why is my existence without a partner the conversation starter?

Is she projecting? Does she think I’m embarrassed? Does she assume I’m longing for intimacy? Or is this just her making conversation — the default small talk for women at family gatherings? I may never get an answer.

The truth is, raising my daughter on my own hasn’t been the tragedy people imagine. Our kitchen appliances are pink. Our walls are painted. Our home is mushroom‑themed, cottage‑core, enchanted‑garden — all the things that make us feel comfortable and creative. The hardest part is celebrating milestones alone and handling tantrums from both my child and my ever-changing hormonal young adult self. But all and all it’s pretty great here.

Honestly, I wish more young adults had the chance to live alone for a while. The silence. The first time you have to call the landlord because something breaks. The decorating. The moment you realize apartments don’t come with furniture and someone has to furnish the entire space. It’s trial and error, and it’s enriching.

What my aunt doesn’t see — or maybe doesn’t understand — is that my life isn’t missing anything. I’m not waiting for someone to arrive and make it whole. I’m not incomplete. I’m not secretly longing for a partner. I’m raising my daughter, building my home, and creating a life that feels intentional. If someone comes along, fine. If not, I’m still living my life the way I see fit and the way I believe is best.

So when my aunt says, “You’ll find someone,” I know she means well. But the truth is, I already have someone: myself, my daughter, and the life we’re building together. I’m not waiting to be completed. I’m not waiting to be chosen. I’m not waiting for a man to validate my adulthood. I’m living it — right now, in my own way.